"Cleo..." Seth whispers, our breaths mingling as his thumb slowly traces my lips, maintaining eye contact. I watch him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. His eyes dare me, and the pulse in my pants surges. Suddenly, our lips crash toge...
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☀︎ ︎MANHATTAN, NEWYORK ☀︎︎ DECEMBER 12:03 AM
"Really, Zion?" Cleo's voice cuts through the silence, sharp as glass. "What the hell do you want?"
"Look, Cleo, I messed up. Just—just give me another chance," he says, trying to keep his voice steady, but I can hear the crack in it.
Cleo snatches the flowers from his hands, then slaps him across the face with them. Tulip petals scatter across the floor. I almost smirk, impressed by the force behind it—she's stronger than she looks.
"Zion," she says, her tone colder now, controlled like ice. "I don't want to see you again. Ever."
She goes to slam the door, but Zion shoves it back open, stepping into the doorway. "Clee, come on, don't do this! One more chance, that's all I'm asking."
That's when I step in. I'm there in the blink of an eye. I grab Zion by the collar, yank him off the doorframe, and throw him onto the ground. He stumbles, catching himself, eyes locking with mine, his jaw clenched.
"Who the fuck are you?" Zion snaps, pushing himself up.
Before I can respond, Cleo cuts in, her smirk downright cruel. "My bodyguard. Zion, if I ever see your pathetic face again, he'll make sure you regret every second of it. This is your only warning."
I lock eyes with her and give a sharp nod. "Count on it."
Zion glares, fists clenching like he's debating something stupid. But he knows better. After a long, angry stare, he turns and storms off.
Cleo leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Finally," she mutters, rolling her eyes.
I watch from the hallway as Zion stomps off, his shoulders stiff like he's still clinging to the last scraps of his pride. For a moment, I think he might turn around, but he doesn't.
Cleo, though—she doesn't look the least bit bothered. She nudges a stray tulip petal with her foot, her sigh exaggerated like the whole thing was just an annoyance.
"Took you long enough," she says, not bothering to glance over her shoulder as she heads toward the kitchen. Her tone is casual, as if she's commenting on the weather. I follow her inside, close the door, and lock it. When I turn around, she's already across the room, leaving wet footprints behind her. She grabs a glass of water, taking a sip like nothing happened. "I had it handled, you know."
"Sure you did." Slapping a guy with flowers isn't exactly what l'd call handling it.
She shrugs, not even looking at me. "Zion was harmless. Pathetic, but harmless."
I cross my arms, not letting her dismiss the situation. "Didn't look that harmless when he was pushing his way in."
She turns around, leaning against the counter, and studies me with a look of disdain, like I'm the one out of line. "And you think swooping in at the last second made all the difference? Trust me, I had it under control."
