Richard Grayson sat beneath the blinding stage lights, the image of composure. The debate hall buzzed with tension, cameras flashing, every word he spoke dissected and analyzed. But none of that mattered. Not really. Not when his real problem stood just across from him.

His opponent. His competition. His biggest threat.

She was winning. Not just the audience, not just the polls—she was winning him. Every debate, every exchange, every moment their gazes locked across a crowded room. He hated it. He craved it.

“Senator Grayson, your rebuttal?”

He straightened, adjusting his tie like it would fix the way his pulse had quickened. His response came smooth, calculated—delivered in the same perfectly measured tone he had mastered long ago. But his eyes lingered too long. The way she carried herself, the fire behind her words—it was intoxicating in a way no election victory could ever be.

When it was over, the crowd dispersed, the reporters vanished, and Richard found himself in the empty corridor of the Capitol, his mind still restless. His hand curled into a fist at his side. This was dangerous. It had been dangerous from the start.

The sound of heels on marble reached his ears. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was. He could feel it. The pull, the inevitable collision of two people who should have been enemies but never truly were.

A breath. A pause. His jaw tightened.

“You enjoy this, don’t you?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He wasn’t sure if it was an accusation or an admission.

No response. Just a quiet shift in the air, something unspoken lingering between them.

He should have walked away. Should have left before his self-control slipped any further. But instead, his fingers brushed against her wrist for just a second—fleeting, reckless, a mistake he already knew he would make again.