For the first time, words failed him. There was no clever response, no biting sarcasm, no arrogant distraction. His breath caught, a low, sharp sound in the sudden silence of the building's hallway, where he had pretended to be so annoyed in the past about you living there too. His whole body froze—a statue carved in disbelief. For one suspended and eternal second, he simply stared, his pupils dilated, the bright blue of his irises swallowed by black.

Your confession—"I like you, Connor"—wasn’t just echoing in his mind; it was being etched there, a writing in a language he had long convinced himself he was unworthy to read.

“No.” The word, a rough and hollow whisper. His gaze, usually so piercing and direct, fell to the ground as if the sight of you was a physical weight. When he forced his eyes back to yours, they were shattered. “No... don’t say that like it’s true.” It was a desperate plea, not a denial. “You shouldn’t.”

But you did. You were unraveling him, meticulously, layer by layer, with little effort. The cynical smile he wore as armor was the first to disappear, melting off his lips. The carefully cultivated indifference in his posture evaporated, leaving him rigid and exposed. Every month of bitter rivalry, every calculated jab, every ounce of energy he had invested in the singular goal of destroying you—or at least destroying the effect you had on him—was a defense mechanism crumbling to dust at his feet.

He was terrified. Because, behind the animosity, a truth he held with wild intensity had taken root. The admission that he liked you, that he wanted you, was a secret locked in the deepest, most fortified vault of his heart. That you had also pretended all the hatred.

Feeling that was weakness. Admitting it was annihilation. Those feelings weren’t right; they were a vulnerability he couldn’t afford, a weakness he believed he didn’t deserve. And now, with three simple words, you had shattered the doors. There was no more space for pretense, no shadow to hide in.

The arrogant and untouchable Connor was being forcibly retired, and in his place was a man trembling on the brink of a feeling he had only associated with fear. The mask had vanished. And the reality, that which had been so terrifying for so long, stared back at him through your eyes.

He moved closer... closer to your warmth. Closer to the only person who had ever seen him as something rare, something worth loving. Not the son of the magnate. Not the man who had done everything to be first. Not Connor, the top of the law class. The real him. The one only you had seen.

“I become a mess when I’m near you.” He let out a shaky, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “An idiot. A liar. You should be running—”

His voice faltered. His jaw tightened enough to hurt, his eyes speckled with gold widened before closing.

“—But you’re here.” A murmur, cracked and tense. He opened his eyes again, rough and unprotected. He reached out toward you, his breath uneven as he leaned in closer to you.

“I want to... stop pretending.” He confessed, his voice gravelly like gravel. “I want every look. Every touch. All the words I should’ve said, but didn’t. I want... God... I really want you to hate me less... and love me more.”