Just Once

Chapter16-Zayden

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft hiss, but the tension still lingered, coiling around my chest like a vice. I leaned against the mirrored wall, staring at my reflection, my expression unreadable.

I should've known better than to push her.

Sofia Volkov wasn't someone who let her guard down easily. She was all sharp edges and iron walls, and I had no business trying to pry them apart. And yet, I had.

I'd kissed her.

And for a moment, I thought she'd let herself feel something. But her words, cold and cutting, had slammed the door shut again.

It meant nothing.

I clenched my jaw, the memory of her voice slicing through me. I didn't believe her. Not for a second. But that didn't mean it hadn't stung.

The elevator dinged, and I stepped out into the hallway, my footsteps echoing in the empty space. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts—her defiance, her vulnerability, the way she'd looked at me before shutting me out.

Maybe I should just let it go.

I was halfway to my suite when I heard it—her voice, sharp and urgent.

"Zayden! Wait!"

I froze, turning slowly. Sofia was standing at the end of the hallway, her chest rising and falling as though she'd run to catch me. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her eyes wide, and for once, she looked... unsure.

"Sofia?" I said, my tone guarded.

Before I could say more, she was moving toward me, closing the distance between us. And then, suddenly, her arms were around me, her embrace tight and desperate.

I stiffened, caught completely off guard.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice muffled against my chest. "So, so sorry, Zayden."

I stood there, stunned, before my arms slowly wrapped around her. Her apology, her vulnerability—it wasn't like her. This wasn't the Sofia Volkov I knew, the one who wielded her composure like a weapon.

"What are you sorry for?" I asked, my voice low.

She pulled back just enough to look up at me, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "For shutting you out. For pretending it didn't mean anything. Because it did. It does."

Her words hit me like a freight train, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe.

"Sofia..." I began, but she shook her head.

"Don't," she said, her voice trembling. "Don't say anything. Just—"

I didn't let her finish. My hand came up to cup her face, my thumb brushing against her cheek. And then I kissed her.

This time, it wasn't impulsive. It wasn't rushed or reckless. It was deliberate, slow, and full of everything I couldn't say.

She melted into me, her hands clutching at my shirt like I was the only thing anchoring her. And for that moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning.

When we finally broke apart, her forehead rested against mine, our breaths mingling in the quiet.

"This changes things," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her eyes still closed. "I know."

But the weight of what lay ahead was already settling over us. This wasn't just about us. It couldn't be. The Society, Marcus Lang, the war we were fighting—it was bigger than anything we felt for each other.

And yet, in that moment, I couldn't bring myself to care.

For the first time in years, I allowed myself to hope.

Hope that maybe, just maybe, Sofia Volkov and I could find something worth fighting for beyond the chaos.