Chapter 86 The Trigger in My Heart
Chapter 86 The Trigger in My Heart
"Sophia." When my voice finally broke and I stopped, breath ragged in my throat, he spoke at last. His tone was rasping, like sandpaper on stone. "I'll admit it… at first, I just wanted to watch the show."
"But when I saw you storm out of that room, when I saw that look on your face… like your whole damn world had collapsed… I regretted it."
He lifted a hand as if to touch me, then halted halfway, letting it fall uselessly to his side.
"I didn't expect you to react like that."
"I didn't expect you… to care about me."
The words hit like a hammer straight to my chest.
I froze.
Why was I like this? If I'd only been using him, if I'd only been playing along, I should have stood back and let his little scheme unfold. I should have been detached. Maybe even helped it along.
But I hadn't.
I'd lost control.
Because I'd fallen for him.
That truth was more terrifying, more disarming than the fact that he'd manipulated me.
"I don't care about you," I said, turning my face away, refusing to meet his eyes. "I just… I just hate being lied to. I hate being used."
"Fine." He followed my lead, voice carrying a careful note, almost appeasing. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have kept it from you."
He leaned forward slightly, and the warm mix of tobacco and aftershave—heavy, unmistakably male—wrapped around me again.
"But, Sophia, you can't deny I solved a problem."
"Your assistant won't be distracted by her feelings anymore. She got what she wanted."
His gaze burned into me. "I handled the crisis for you. Isn't that exactly the kind of thing you need someone to do?"
I had no answer.
Arthur always had a way of twisting logic until it fit perfectly into his hands.
The room fell into a suffocating silence. I could hear the waves hitting the hull outside, could hear our breathing growing sharper, tangled in the quiet.
"Sophia."
His voice broke the stillness, carrying something I'd never heard from him before—fatigue, and a desperate kind of plea.
"Let's have dinner."
I blinked, not understanding.
"Just like normal people." He held my gaze, and the eyes that were usually full of calculation and control now held something almost humble. "Just us."
"No guns. No men watching us. No schemes."
"I'll wear a suit. I'll open the car door for you. I'll take you to the best restaurant in Asteria City. You can wear that white dress you love."
His voice dropped lower, rougher, like a predator too tired to hunt, craving a moment's peace.
"Please, Sophia."
"Just one dinner."
"Let me chase you… just once."
The last thread of reason inside me snapped at those words.
This ruthless man, this devil who had cornered me again and again, was asking—almost begging—for a proper date.
I saw the red veins in his eyes, the exhaustion etched into his face, the vulnerability he couldn't hide. I saw a man who had stripped away every mask, every weapon, standing bare before me.
My heart clenched, aching so hard it stole my breath.
I'd always thought I was the one standing at the edge of the cliff.
Now I realized he was there too.
We were each other's abyss… and each other's only chance at salvation.
I said nothing.
Slowly, my hand rose, trembling, touching the sharp planes of his face.
Then I leaned in. Under the stunned, disbelieving gaze of those amber eyes, I pressed my lips to the left side of his chest.
Through the thin silk of his robe, I felt his heartbeat slam against me—wild, unrestrained.
"Alright."
I lifted my head, meeting the storm brewing in his eyes, and whispered with everything I had.
"I'll go."
The next morning, I woke to the steady rhythm of the sea.
Sunlight slipped through the gap in the floor-to-ceiling curtains, laying a golden strip across the dark carpet.
I shifted, realizing I was locked against a solid, searing heat.
An arm was wrapped around my waist like steel, holding me tight.
My cheek rested against his chest, breathing in that clean, commanding scent that was entirely him.
I didn't move.
I barely breathed, greedy for the stolen quiet.
The chaos, the loss of control, the shame of last night felt like they belonged to another lifetime.
Now there was only his heartbeat—steady, strong—and my own, racing for him.
I raised my head slowly.
He was still asleep.
Without his usual edge, he looked almost harmless. Long lashes cast shadows beneath his eyes, lips relaxed, no trace of the tension he carried when awake.
Drawn in, I reached out, wanting to touch him.
Before my fingertips could graze his skin, his eyes opened—amber, clear, bottomless. No trace of sleep. He'd been awake, waiting.
My hand froze in the air.
"Morning."
His voice was low, rough from sleep, sinfully intimate.
"Morning…" Heat rushed to my face. I pulled my hand back.
He caught my wrist first, guiding my fingers to his lips.
Lowering his eyes, he kissed them—slow, deliberate, reverent.
The warmth of his mouth sent a current through me, lighting every nerve.
"Arthur…" My throat tightened, my voice trembling.
He looked up, gaze burning.
"Sophia," he rasped, "does last night still count?"
The date.
The one he'd asked for with something close to prayer.
My heart skipped a beat.