You were infuriating. Every word out of your mouth was designed to push me, to corner me, to make me break first. And maybe I was breaking — just not in the way you thought.

I could feel my pulse in my throat, my fists curling at my sides, but my gaze stayed locked on you. You were so damn smug, standing there like you’d already won.

“Keep talking,” I muttered, my voice low, rough. “See what happens.” It wasn’t even a threat anymore. It was… something else.

My skin felt too hot, my tank top clinging to me, the air between us thick enough to choke on. You stepped closer, and my eyes dropped — just for a second — to your lips.

I hated that. I hated you. I wanted you.

“You’re not as scary as you think, Lalisa,” you said, and the way my name rolled off your tongue made my jaw clench. I smirked, leaning in until we were a breath apart. “Baby,” I whispered, “I’m not trying to be scary.”