Chapter 17 Chapter 17
Chapter 17 Chapter 17
Myla’s POV
Blake.
Of all people.
The universe just keeps screwing me over with not a sticker of an apology.
I guess my day just got brighter.
He was standing just across from me like he had been expecting it, like this was inevitable.
No surprise. No reaction. Just that same unreadable expression with his dark eyes locked on mine with a sick look that made everything shift uneasily in my chest.
For a second, neither of us moved.
The shuffling of feet, the low murmurs, the instructors barking orders, the noise as a whole died around us. All of them fading into nothing distant whispers.
Then, he tilted his head slightly. “Of course it’s you,” he said.
My jaw tightened. “Disappointed much? Can't lie, I am.”
He didn’t answer that, he just stepped fully onto the mat.
That was enough of an answer.
I inhaled slowly and stepped forward too with my feet settling into position across from him.
The mat felt firmer under my weight than it actually looked, like it was grounding me whether I liked it or not.
“Positions!” the instructor’s voice cut through the air.
And I didn’t look away from Blake, neither did he.
“Begin!”
He moved first. Fast.
I barely had time to react before his hand came towards me, I shifted back instinctively, blocking it as much as I could, but the impact sent a slight sting through my arm.
He didn’t press immediately, he just watched me as I gathered myself together.
I narrowed my eyes and stepped in, aiming for his side.
He deflected it easily, like he had already seen it coming.
He brushed my wrist just long enough to redirect me and I nearly ended up on the mat.
“Too predictable,” he murmured.
I scoffed under my breath, circling slightly. “Says the one who dragged me into a corner last night.”
His eyes twitched a bit, but his stance didn’t change. “You were trespassing.”
“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”
I moved again, faster this time, aiming higher. He blocked and stepped in closer, too close.
For a second, our shoulders nearly brushed each other.
“You were careless,” he said quietly.
“And you were following me,” I shot back.
“I wasn’t.”
I huffed, pulling back and trying again, but he caught my hand halfway through my strike, stopping me with minimal effort.
“Right,” I muttered with my hand still in his. “You just happened to be there.”
“I was,” he said simply.
I glared at him. “And you expect me to believe that?”
He didn’t answer, he just moved back sharply, letting go of my hand in the process and forcing me to adjust my footing or hit the mart again.
That's twice now. Shit.
I steadied myself, pulling together my breaths.
My gawd, he was barely trying.
“Then why do you care?” I pushed on, circling again. “Why warn me? Why tell me to ‘find a better way’?”
His eyes held mine, calm, unreadable.
“First of all, I don’t care,” he said and I lunged.
This time he stepped aside smoothly, letting my momentum carry me forward before stopping me again with a firm grip on my arm.
“Then stop acting like it,” I snapped, pulling free.
Silence stretched between us for half a minute.
Then I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Tell me what you have found.”
My jaw muscles flexed a bit and I spotted it at once.
“You’ve been looking longer than I have, tell me something interesting,” I said.
He released a quiet breath. “You’re asking the wrong questions.”
“Then give me the right ones.”
He shook his head slightly. “You’re not ready for that.”
My expression hardened instantly. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That,” I snapped. “Telling me what I’m ready for or not.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “If you have to ask—”
“I’m not asking for permission,” I cut in, moving again, forcing him to engage as we had stood for too long.
He blocked and stepped back, then forward again, controlling the space between us like I was just tagging along.
“You don’t even understand what you’re stepping into,” he said.
“Then explain it,” I shot back.
“You wouldn’t listen.”
“Try me.”
A pause.
Then—
“You don’t belong here,” he said out of nowhere and the words stung all over again.
Why? Cause I clearly remember hearing them before, clearly remember being told so before, and now?
I'm getting the same words from a different face.
I went still for just a second.
Big mistake.
He took advantage immediately, knocking my balance off just enough to force me to step back quickly to avoid falling over.
Third time!
My chest rose slightly as my blood boiled over.
“What does that even mean?” I demanded.
“It means,” he said with his voice quieter now, “this isn’t your world.”
I held my jaw in place. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough.”
“Oh, really?” I challenged, stepping in again despite the warning signs in my muscles. “Then tell me.”
He didn’t hesitate this time.
“You’re reckless,” he said, blocking my next move effortlessly. “You act without thinking,” he added, hitting my punch away. “You walk into things you don’t understand,” he jumped to avoid a sweep and stopped just before his knee could crash into my face.
I stared at the knee as I was completely defenseless to it, if he wanted to strike, I would be seeing stars now.
“Remember it's just a sparring practice!” The instructor called out and Blake stepped back, running a hand over his hair.
I got up, arranging myself before pushing harder. “And you think you do?”
“I know more than you,” he replied calmly.
“Clearly,” I muttered, frustration building as he redirected me again and my attacks failed to land once.
Gawd, this was annoying.
“Control is needed to win,” he continued. “And you don’t have it.”
I laughed bitterly. “You don’t get to tell me what I need.”
“You’re proving my point.”
That did it.
I went in faster, sharper, trying to break past his rhythm, but he adapted just as quickly, like he had already mapped out every move I could possibly make.
“You’re not ready for this,” he added just as he pushed my hand away again.
“Stop saying that.”
“Then prove me wrong.”
I tried. Gawd, I tried. But he kept stopping me. Blocking. Redirecting. Controlling the way I moved, like I was nothing more than practice.
My breath hitched slightly as frustration burned hotter in my chest.
“You don’t belong here,” he repeated, softer this time, but somehow worse.
Something cracked.
“You don’t get to decide whether I belong here or not,” I said with my voice lower now, tighter.
“I don’t have to,” he replied. “You already know it.”
Silence hit hard between us.
And suddenly, I was done holding back.
“Is that what this is?” I shot back, biting back a bit in my tone. “You push everyone away because you think you’re the only one who can handle it?”
His expression didn’t change.
“Or is it because you’re scared?” I continued, stepping closer, ignoring the warning in my own head now.
His jaw muscles flexed again.
“Careful,” he said quietly, but I did nothing but stop. I couldn’t.
“I know why you act like this,” I added with my emotions taking over at this point and clouding my logic. “I know why you think you have to do everything alone.”
His eyes sharpened. “Don’t—”
“I read it,” I said and that was it.
He froze.
“The house,” I continued, keeping my tone heavy and tearing. “The fire… you were there.”
Silence followed as he just stared at me blankly.
I was practically on my toes, leaning into him now to avoid others hearing.
“You watched it happen,” I added with my chest tightening slightly as I said it, then the file flashed again in my head. “You watched them—”
“Stop.”
His voice cut through mine instantly.
I hesitated, for a second.
But then, I shook my head slightly. “I get it,” I said, softer now, but still pushing. “I get why you are like this, why you don’t trust anyone, why you think you have to—”
I moved again with my instincts taking over as I tried to press forward, expecting him to block like he always did.
But he didn’t.
Everything shifted in a second as his hand came faster than before and hit me straight in my neck, sending me falling to the ground.
It wasn't the hardest blows, but it was certainly more than he had offered all day.
A sharp gasp tore out of me as I struggled to regain my footing, rubbing my neck where he hit.
The entire room seemed to go quiet.
And I looked up at him, the expression on his face wasn’t the same dark calm one, it was cold.
Dangerously cold.
He stepped forward towards where I laid on the floor and stopped just a few feet away from me.
My breath hitched slightly with my chest still rising unevenly from the hit.
No one else moved. No one spoke.
And then, he leaned closer and whispered words low enough that only I could hear.
“Don't ever mention my parents again.”