Bound by Fate (Bound Duology Book#2)

The Crack in the Mask

That night, after hours of careful distance and deflection, Calista couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned, Matteo's words replaying in her mind, questions she didn't dare ask herself forming in the shadows of her room. She hated the way he was getting under her skin, how his every look and lingering touch had begun to shift the lines she'd so carefully drawn between them.

The house was quiet as she slipped from her room, padding softly down the darkened halls to the library—a room she'd found comfort in earlier that day. As she opened the door, she was startled to find Matteo already there, standing by the window, bathed in the soft silver glow of moonlight.

He turned at the sound, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. He looked different in the dim light, softer, his usual mask of arrogance set aside. The sight disarmed her, and before she could stop herself, she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.

"Couldn't sleep either?" he asked, a trace of a smile tugging at his lips.

"No," she replied, crossing her arms as though to shield herself from the vulnerability she felt standing there with him. "You're not exactly helping with that."

He chuckled, though it was a tired, quiet sound. "Fair enough. I haven't exactly made this easy, have I?"

Calista leaned against the edge of a nearby table, studying him, wondering how someone so infuriating could also make her feel... whatever it was she felt. "Why do you do it, Matteo? All the teasing, the arrogance... this constant game?"

He was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on some point outside the window. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost hesitant. "Maybe because it's easier than letting people see what's real."

The admission surprised her, but she kept her expression neutral, afraid that if she showed too much, he would retreat behind his mask again. "And what's real?" she asked softly.

He looked at her then, his gaze intense, like he was weighing something he couldn't take back. "I don't know," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm starting to think that maybe... maybe it's you."

Her heart skipped, her breath catching in her throat. She wanted to argue, to remind him that this was all an act, that they were only here because of their families, because of expectations. But the way he looked at her silenced every protest.

"You can't mean that," she said, her voice shaky. "This is all pretend, Matteo. We're just doing what our parents want."

"Maybe," he replied, stepping closer, his voice quiet and raw. "But not all of it has to be pretend."

She felt her heart racing, every instinct screaming at her to pull away, to remind him of the lines they'd drawn. But his closeness, his warmth, everything about him was drawing her in, blurring the boundaries she'd held so tightly.

Without thinking, she reached up, brushing a stray curl of hair from his forehead, her hand lingering for a moment longer than it should have. His eyes softened, and before she knew what was happening, he was leaning in, his face inches from hers.

"Calista," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Tell me to stop."

But she couldn't. Her voice failed her, and instead, she closed the remaining distance, her lips meeting his in a kiss that was both hesitant and electric, filled with the tension they'd been denying for so long.

The world fell away, leaving only him, his hands gently cupping her face, his touch careful, almost reverent. It was nothing like she'd expected—no games, no teasing, only a quiet, honest warmth that made her heart ache.

When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, as if savoring the moment. Neither of them spoke, the silence thick with things unsaid.

Eventually, Calista pulled back, the weight of reality crashing down on her. "This... this changes nothing," she whispered, her voice trembling. "We're still... this is still just a game."

Matteo's expression darkened, but he nodded, stepping back. "If that's what you want."

"It's not about what I want," she replied, her voice stronger, though her heart ached with every word. "It's about what's real, what's possible. And this..." She gestured between them, trying to steady herself. "This isn't."

He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze pained. But he didn't argue. With a small, defeated nod, he turned, leaving her alone in the moonlit library.

As the door closed behind him, Calista sank to the floor, her fingers brushing her lips, the memory of his kiss lingering like a ghost she couldn't shake.

And she knew that no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, something had shifted. Something real had broken through their game.

Bisou,