Ares ; A Mafia Romance ||✓

Chapter 9

Callista Miller

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The silence in Ares's room was suffocating. His intense gaze bore into me, making me squirm in my seat. The black couch, which should have felt soft and comfortable, now felt like a hot pan, frying me under the weight of his scrutiny. With his ankle resting on his knee, he sat across from me like a king, exuding power. The coffee table between us seemed more like a boundary I dared not cross. He hadn't bothered to change clothes; he still looked like a Greek god, effortlessly outshining any model. My cheeks flamed red, and my stomach fluttered with nerves. He was breathtakingly handsome, the black suit enhancing his ethereal presence, like a swan gliding smoothly across a calm lake under the twilight of a sparkling moon. A sight so heavenly that anyone who encountered it would be starstruck and transfixed. I was no exception; his effect on me was tenfold. I couldn't meet his gaze, knowing I'd melt like ice under the scorching intensity of his eyes. The cool temperature in the room should have brought goosebumps to my skin, but it was his magnificent presence that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. The black decor of the room matched his aura, reminiscent of a devil ready to pounce. His cologne wafted past my nostrils, awakening a sense of serenity within me. It was soothing, like the smell of rain, but at the same time, it made me painfully addicted to it.

Time passed slowly, like a snail, as we both remained silent. I didn’t know what to say now that he was in front of me, looking absolutely perfect. A wave of relief washed over me. He was fine, though I couldn't see his shoulder to check on his injury. Judging by his calm exterior and nonchalant demeanor, it was easy to assume he was okay. My purpose for coming here was fulfilled; I had seen him.

Fumbling with the strap of my sling bag resting on my lap, I pondered how to avoid voicing the real reason I visited him. I couldn’t tell him that. He was waiting for me to say something. Peeking at him from under my lashes, I saw him staring blankly at me. Gulping, I sighed and said, “I came to work on the project.”

For a few seconds, there was silence, and I couldn’t understand why he didn’t respond. Raising my head to meet his gaze, I noticed that while his posture remained the same, his face told a different story. He didn’t believe me. Swallowing hard, my hands fumbled more with the strap as I continued, “I didn’t have your number, so I came here. We don’t have much time to do the project, and I don’t want to fail it.”

Carefully observing him, I bit my lower lip, praying he would buy my excuse, but who was I kidding? He was Ares. Uncrossing his legs, he commented, “I hate liars.”

Standing up, he walked toward me. My heart accelerated with every step he took. Dang it, I’m busted. What do I do now? Panic surged through my veins, and my eyes frantically darted back and forth. Sucking in a breath, my hands clutched the bag strap tightly as I felt a slender finger lift my chin. I became acutely aware of him standing just in front of me, our knees brushing. Eventually, our eyes met—his electric blue eyes, blank like a canvas, eager to be filled. My panicked gaze met his as his voice entered my ears like a dangerous tune, cautioning me of the consequences.

“Tell me the truth.”

Unable to look away, feeling hypnotized by his magical blue eyes, I gave myself away. “I was worried.”

Raising a brow in question, he silently asked me to elaborate. His action was so attractive and smooth that I found myself frozen in awe. I felt my knees spreading slightly as his brushed against mine. The smoothness of his expensive pants felt like feathers against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. Now, he stood between my legs. My heart danced in my chest, either from nervousness or joy—his closeness was doing wonders or causing blunders, I wasn't sure. But I was definitely not prepared for what he did next. He cupped my face with both hands, his warmth contrasting with the coldness of his touch. Ironic, indeed. His eyes roamed over my face, every inch and curve. My breathing grew labored as I tried to process what was happening. And he knew it well. He was making it difficult for me to hide my true intentions, using my weakness to his advantage. It was beyond me how he knew he affected me. For the life of me, his cleverness would be the death of me. Finally, I succumbed, confessing with a strangled, defeated sigh, “I was concerned about your shoulder injury. When you didn’t come to school, I wanted to see for myself if you were doing better or if you were in any pain.”