Falling with Style

Falling with Style

Siara’s POV

Oh, for the love of—

I was falling.

Plummeting.

Spiraling through the air with all the grace of a malfunctioning ragdoll.

It was almost comical, really. Here I was, bleeding out, exhausted, betrayed—and now? Now, the universe had decided to yeet me off a ledge.

Honestly, at this point, I was tempted to just accept it.

God, I’m coming. Brace yourself.

The wind howled around me, snatching the breath from my lungs. My heart slammed against my ribs, but my mind was stuck somewhere between actual terror and dry sarcasm.

Then I heard a second set of movements.

What the—

Ekansh had jumped after me.

The absolute idiot.

"You’ve got to be kidding me!" I yelled, twisting in midair to glare at him.

"Siara," he called back, calm as ever.

"Oh, what, you thought I was lonely and needed company on my way to hell?"

He didn’t answer. Instead, he did something infuriating.

He reached for me.

Right before I could hit whatever awaited me below, his arms locked around me.

And just like that, I wasn’t falling alone.

I was falling with him.

"Really?" I snapped, pushing against him. "What, you’re planning to die with me now? How romantic."

His hold tightened. "Shut up."

"I—excuse me?"

Before I could throw another sarcastic remark, we hit something.

Not the ground. Not even sharp rocks.

A net.

We bounced. I landed first, and of course, Ekansh landed right on top of me.

Fantastic.

I groaned. "Get. Off."

His breath was warm against my cheek. His body was solid against mine.

Too close.

Too familiar.

Ekansh didn’t move. He was just… staring.

The way his dark eyes held mine made something shift inside my chest—something I did not want to acknowledge.

"Siara," he murmured, voice low.

I hated the way my stomach tightened.

I hated the way my body almost—almost—forgot who he was.

Because for a fraction of a second, I didn’t feel like the girl who had lost everything.

I felt like the girl who once trusted him.

Who once—

No.

I snapped out of it.

With all the strength I had left, I shoved at his chest. "I said get off!"

Ekansh sighed but rolled off me. The moment I was free, I tried to push myself up—

Only for a sharp, burning pain to tear through my side.

I sucked in a breath.

The wound.

I was bleeding faster now.

I pressed a hand against my side, feeling the warmth of my own blood seep between my fingers. Not good.

I barely had time to register the pain before a shadow loomed over me.

Ekansh.

His eyes flickered to my wound, his expression turning dark.

"Siara," he said, stepping closer.

I waved him off, forcing myself to stand. "I’m fine."

I was not fine.

The world tilted for a second, my vision blurring at the edges.

Ekansh, of course, noticed.

And then—

He saw it.

The shirt.

The one I had stolen from his wardrobe. The oversized, slightly wrinkled button-down that still smelled like him.

His lips curled into something infuriatingly smug.

"Hmm," he mused. "So she does know how to make my things hers."

I stiffened.

Shit.

I had forgotten I was wearing it.

I straightened my shoulders, glaring. "I was trying to find something that didn’t drown me."

Ekansh smirked. "Oh? By destroying my wardrobe?"

I clenched my jaw. "Don’t tempt me. I’ll burn the rest of it next time."

He let out a soft chuckle.

And then—

He took a step closer.

Something in the air shifted.

Dangerous. Heavy.

He wasn’t smirking anymore.

His gaze dropped to my wound again, and something in his expression flickered.

Something deadly.

"Siara," he murmured.

That voice.

Low. Rough. Almost gentle.

I didn’t trust it.

Before I could react, his hand lifted—brushing against my wrist.

The touch was barely there.

But my entire body went rigid.

A slow, maddening warmth curled through my skin.

It was wrong.

I hated him.

I hated him.

But for a moment—

For a fleeting, traitorous moment—

I almost melted.

Because this was how it used to be.

Before the betrayal.

Before the blood.

Before everything.

And that was when it hit me.

He had murdered someone.

In cold blood.

And here I was, standing in his arms like nothing had happened.

The memory slammed into me with full force. The blood-stained hands. The chilling smirk. The way he had watched the life drain from his victim’s eyes.

Something inside me snapped.

With all the strength I had left, I shoved him hard.

"Don’t touch me," I snarled.

Ekansh barely moved.

Of course he didn’t.

Because my strength compared to his was nothing.

His expression turned unreadable.

"Siara—"

"No," I cut him off. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act like you care."

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

And then, before I could stop him—

He grabbed my wrist.

Not hard. Not painfully.

But enough.

Enough to send a sharp thrill of something dangerous through my veins.

My pulse thundered as he pulled me closer—so close I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.

"You think I don’t care?" he murmured, voice dark.

I swallowed. "You—"

"You think I jumped after you because I don’t care?"

I clenched my jaw. "I think you’re a liar."

He exhaled, slow and deliberate. Then, before I could react, his arms wrapped around me—

And hugged me.

Tightly.

Like he was trying to hold me together.

Like he was afraid to let go.

I froze.

His grip was firm. Possessive.

My body betrayed me again, leaning into him for half a second too long.

And I hated myself for it.

"Let. Me. Go," I whispered.

Ekansh didn’t move.

His lips brushed against my

temple. "I can’t."

I hated the way my breath hitched.

I hated the way his warmth sank into my skin.

I hated him.

And yet—

I couldn’t push him away.

Not yet.

Not when I could still hear his heartbeat.

Not when, for a moment, I almost believed it was real.