Chapter 110 Chapter 109
Logan POV
I don’t think.
I just move.
Harper’s heels click sharply against the floor as I guide her away from the center of the room, away from the donors and the laughter and the champagne glow. The noise fades with every step, replaced by the quieter hum of a side corridor lined with framed university photos and too-clean marble.
She yanks her arm back the second we’re out of earshot.
“Logan,” she snaps, eyes flashing, “what is wrong with you?”
I stop so abruptly she almost runs into me.
The hallway is dimmer here, lit by soft sconces that cast everything in warm shadow. Her black dress looks even more dangerous in this light. Like she stepped out of someone else’s fantasy.
My chest is tight.
My hands curl at my sides.
I can still hear them.
The comments.
The laughter.
The way they looked at her.
Harper folds her arms. “You can’t just walk up and drag me away from a conversation like—like some jealous caveman.”
I laugh once, sharp and humorless.
“Jealous,” I repeat.
Her chin lifts. “Yes. Jealous.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” she cuts in immediately. “You were practically vibrating.”
My jaw clenches.
She takes a step closer, voice low and furious.
“What is this, Logan? You don’t get to ignore me for days, show up tonight, and suddenly act like you have a claim.”
“I don’t have a claim,” I say tightly.
“Then why did you do that?” she demands.
I stare at her.
Because the answer is sitting right there between us, loud and undeniable.
Because she knows.
I swallow hard.
“I saw the way they were looking at you.”
Harper’s eyes narrow. “They’re donors. They’re bidders. That is literally why we’re here.”
“I know,” I snap. “I know what this is.”
“Do you?” she fires back. “Because you’re acting like you don’t.”
Her breath rises and falls quickly, anger making her glow.
“Tomorrow,” she says sharply, “people are going to bid. That’s the event. That’s the whole point. You knew that.”
My voice drops.
“I don’t like it.”
Silence.
Harper blinks, like she can’t believe the audacity.
“You don’t like it,” she repeats slowly.
“No.”
She lets out a disbelieving laugh. “That’s almost funny.”
“It’s not funny to me.”
Her eyes flash. “Why?”
The question hits like a blade.
Why?
Because you make my head a mess.
Because I can’t breathe when you walk into a room.
Because the thought of someone else taking you out—touching you—laughing with you like they get to—
I rake a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself.
“I don’t know,” I say roughly. “I just—”
Harper steps closer again, voice trembling with anger.
“No. Say it.”
I stare at her.
Her eyes are bright, sharp, demanding.
“You don’t get to storm over here and ruin my evening without saying it,” she whispers. “Say what you mean.”
My pulse is loud in my ears.
The hallway feels too small.
She feels too close.
I can smell her perfume, something warm and expensive that makes my brain short out.
I swallow.
“I don’t want anyone else bidding on you.”
Her breath catches.
Then her face hardens.
“And why is that?” she asks softly, dangerously.
“I don’t know,” I repeat, but it sounds pathetic.
Harper shakes her head.
“No,” she says. “That’s not an answer.”
She gestures sharply between us.
“You don’t get to want me only when someone else might have me.”
“I don’t want you only then—”
“Yes, you do!” she snaps, voice breaking through her control for the first time tonight.
Her eyes shine.
“I have spent months feeling like I don’t exist to you unless you’re cornered,” she says, words spilling out now. “Unless you’re jealous. Unless you’re scared. Unless it’s dark enough that you can pretend it doesn’t count.”
My chest aches.
“That’s not fair,” I whisper.
“It’s true,” she says, voice raw. “And I hate it.”
The air between us crackles.
Harper’s shoulders rise and fall.
Then she laughs again, softer this time, bitter.
“Do you know what the worst part is?” she murmurs.
“What?” I ask, barely breathing.
Her eyes lift to mine.
“I still wanted you to come after me.”
The confession punches straight through me.
My throat tightens.
“Harper…”
She shakes her head like she hates herself for saying it.
“I hate that you can look at me like that,” she whispers. “Like you’re starving.”
I take a step closer without meaning to.
Her voice drops.
“Like you want to ruin me.”
My pulse stutters.
“Stop,” I breathe.
“No,” she says, eyes locked on mine. “You stop. Stop acting like you don’t feel it.”
“I do feel it,” I admit, voice rough.
Her breath catches.
The space between us is nothing now.
“You’re driving me insane,” I whisper.
Her lips part.
“So are you.”
And that’s it.
That’s the last thread of restraint snapping.
I kiss her.
Not gentle.
Not careful.
Like confession.
Like frustration.
Like everything I can’t say out loud.
Harper gasps against my mouth, fingers clutching my jacket as if she’s holding herself upright.
The hallway disappears.
The auction disappears.
The donors disappear.
There is only her—warm and furious and soft in my hands.
She kisses me back like she’s been waiting for it, like anger is the only permission she has.
My hands slide to her waist, pulling her closer, and she makes a sound that goes straight through me.
“Logan…”
My name breaks from her lips like a warning.
Like a plea.
I press my forehead to hers for half a second, breathing hard.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispers.
“I know.”
Her fingers tighten in my shirt.
“But God,” she breathes, “I can’t stop.”
Neither can I.
I kiss her again, deeper, and she tilts her head back slightly, a soft gasp escaping her.
The sound is pure heat.
The kind that makes my control feel like a joke.
Tomorrow is coming.
The whole world is watching.
But right now, in this hallway, with her trembling under my hands—
All I know is that I don’t want to let her go.
And she’s saying my name like she doesn’t want me to.