Isabelle froze.
For one long, too-still breath, her body refused to move.
The tip of her nose still tingled faintly from where his finger had tapped her—light, but not playful. Not careless. Just precise enough to carry weight. Like he'd drawn a line in invisible ink and dared her to wipe it away.
And then—heat.
It surged up her neck in a clean, sharp line. Not embarrassment. Not exactly. Just intensity. A kind of pressure she wasn't used to holding.
'You will be mine.'
The words echoed louder in her head than when he'd said them aloud.
She swallowed.
Looked at him again—really looked.
His blue eyes, calm and crystal clear, didn't waver. They weren't narrowed or smug or filled with arrogant challenge. They just… looked. Unflinching. Present. Like he wasn't hoping for a reaction. Just waiting for one.
'This is… too direct.'
And that was the problem, wasn't it?
