Chapter 28 The professional line

Chapter 28 The professional line
BRISELLE’S POV.
 The air in the conservatory was too thick, too charged, and suddenly, far too dangerous.
 The warmth of Kai’s body against mine, the way his breath had just brushed over my neck, and the terrifying softness in his eyes—it wasn't part of the deal. I could feel the boundaries we had built over the last few weeks melting away, and in their place was something I wasn't prepared to name.
 I felt my heart hammer a warning against my ribs. Professional, I reminded myself. This is a contract. You are a tool, not a guest.
 I placed my hands against his chest, against the cool, expensive silk of his waistcoat, and pushed. It wasn't a violent shove, but it was firm enough to create a gap of cold air between us.
 "Stop," I whispered, my voice shaking more than I wanted it to.
 Kai didn't move at first. He stood there, his hands still hovering near my waist where they had been holding the dress together, his gray eyes searching mine with a look of raw, unmasked confusion. Then, slowly, the wall went back up, the warmth vanished, replaced by that familiar, steel-cold composure.
 "Briselle?"
 "We need to keep it professional, Kai," I said, clutching the loosened bodice of the emerald dress to my chest. I stepped back, putting the stone bench between us. "The 'gone for you' act is for the ballroom. It’s for your father, for the cameras. It’s not for...here. In the dark when no one is watching."
 Kai straightened his posture, his expression shifting into something unreadable. He reached for his jacket, slinging it over his arm with a clinical efficiency. "I was helping you breathe."
 "You were," I acknowledged, my throat tight. "And I’m grateful. But let’s not forget why we’re both in this room. You have a trust fund to protect, and I have a sister to keep out of trouble. Anything else... it’s just a distraction."
 Kai looked at me for a long moment, the moonlight catching the sharp angle of his jaw. "A distraction," he repeated, the word sounding flat. "Right. My apologies, freshman. I'll be sure to check the script next time."
 He turned toward the door without another word, his stride long and hurried. "Fix yourself. We’re heading back out in two minutes. Richard expects us to make the rounds before the night ends."
 The final hour of the fundraiser passed by with forced smiles and shallow pleasantries. Kai was perfect, attentive, charming, and utterly devoted to me whenever a donor or a board member approached. But the second we were out of earshot, he was a ghost. He didn't look at me, he didn't whisper jokes. He didn't even touch my back.
 When the last of the limousines began to pull away from the Thornefield estate, I stood in the grand foyer, my feet aching in the designer heels, waiting for him to grab his keys. Instead, Kai stood near the bottom of the staircase, deep in conversation with a group of older men in pinstriped suits—friends of Richard’s, judging by the way they looked at the world as if they owned the deed to it.
 I waited by the door, feeling the weight of the emerald necklace like a lead weight.
 "Miss?" a voice said from behind me.
 I turned to see one of the Thornefield drivers, a man in a crisp black suit, holding the door open.
 "Mr. Thornefield has requested that I drive you back to the university," the driver said politely. "He has business to attend to with his father’s associates."
 I looked toward the staircase. Kai was laughing at something one of the men said. He didn't look over, didn't wave. He didn't even acknowledge that I was leaving the house we had spent the last four hours pretending to rule together.
 "He's not driving me?" I asked, a strange ache opening up in my chest.
 "He said he would be occupied for several more hours, miss."
 I nodded slowly, gathered the heavy skirt of my dress, and walked out into the cold night air. The SUV was waiting.
 The city lights blurred past the window, but I didn't see them. All I could think about was the way Kai’s face had changed when I pushed him off in the conservatory. He was doing what I asked. He was keeping it professional, he was treating me like an employee who had finished her shift. So why did it feel like I was the one who had been discarded?
 It’s better this way, I told myself, clutching the velvet jewelry box in my lap. He’s a Thornefield. He doesn't care about freshmen from the south side. He was just doing his job.
 But the silence of the back seat felt deafening. I thought about the way he’d helped me with the corset, the way he’d stood behind me like a shield, and the way he’d looked at me in the moonlight. I’d told him to stop, and he had. He had stopped completely.
 By the time the driver pulled up to the curb outside my dorm, the clock on the dashboard read 1:30 AM.
 "Thank you," I told the driver, stepping out into the biting wind.
 I stood on the sidewalk, watching the taillights of the expensive SUV disappear into the dark. I was back at the dorms. I was back in my world. The emerald dress felt ridiculous here, a costume from a play that had just been cancelled.
 I walked up the stairs, my heels clicking loudly in the empty hallway. I had pushed him away because it was the smart thing to do…it was the "professional" thing to do.
 Was it?