Fated Series. Book #2
"Be possessive of me, own me, keep me, because if you do then nothing and no one else can." - Maddox.
My name is Maddox Vallero, and I'm dead.
Well, that's not quite true. I'm alive in the breathing, walking, talking sense-but...
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Chapter 16 Behaving or Misbehaving? Sophia
Mateo crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing as he studied Maddox with suspicion. "You're acting so damn shady. Worse than Ash trying to pretend he's not smoking weed again."
Maddox raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Oh, you know about that?" he asked, letting out a low chuckle.
Mateo's eyes widened. "Wait—you knew?"
Maddox pressed his pouty lips together, feigning innocence. "Well... he's not exactly subtle, is he?" He waved a hand dismissively. "But this isn't about Ash. This is about me, apparently acting 'suspicious.' Maybe you're just overthinking things, as usual."
Maddox's grin widened, lazy and unapologetic. "Unfortunately for you, I don't really have the energy or inclination to convince you otherwise today." He shrugged, then added with a mischievous glint in his eye, "So I'll leave you to guess."
Mateo's scowl deepened; his annoyance palpable as he walked beside Maddox. "What kind of messed-up game are you playing, Madds? I don't even understand why you bothered coming in today."
Maddox strolled toward my desk with that foxy grin that somehow made him look both charming and dangerous. He was dressed in slim black jeans that hugged his muscular legs, a black long-sleeve shirt tucked in just right, and a gray overcoat that added an edge of elegance to his otherwise devilish look. The closer he got, the more I felt like I was overheating. The click of his polished Louboutin boots echoed through the office, each step a reminder of the kiss we'd shared yesterday—a memory that had haunted me all night.
I took a slow sip of my coffee, trying to appear nonchalant, but it was nearly impossible. Since that kiss, he'd become even more magnetic, his presence pulling at something deep and dark inside me, something that craved his touch despite the obvious risks. I could still feel the ghost of his hand on my neck, the way his lips pressed against mine with such intensity, like he was starving for something only I could give him.
I hated the effect he had on me. Or, at least, I tried to.
I forced myself not to squirm in my seat, but the heat in my veins was relentless, a low burn that pulsed under my skin. His hand on my neck, the taste of his lips—it's like he's imprinted himself on me, a brand I can't erase. Today, even his ghostly eyes, usually so detached, were alight with a fire I know I set. The power I feel from that knowledge—knowing I've stirred something deep and dormant within him—fills me with a thrill as dark as it is addictive. It's a high I know I shouldn't indulge in, but I can't resist.
The truth was, this man was my undoing. Maddox liked pushing boundaries, testing limits, and pulling me into his dangerous little games. I'd agreed to take things "one step at a time," but I wasn't blind. I knew he was already testing that promise, seeing how far he could go before I pushed back. The problem was, he was good at it—too good. And every time I tried to stay grounded, he found a way to make me want to fall.
