Chapter 24 Twenty Four
Kennedy stared at her like she was a ghost.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The room hummed with a fragile, dangerous stillness—broken only by the faint clink of glass as his hand tightened around the bottle.
“Why are you really here?” he asked finally, his voice rough, stripped of its usual authority.
The question sliced through her.
Antonia’s heart leapt straight into her throat.
She hadn’t planned this far. Hadn’t planned at all. The truth—I came because I was worried you were falling apart—lodged painfully behind her teeth.
She swallowed.
“I came to return the ring,” she said quickly.
The lie tasted bitter, but it was safer. Controlled. Professional.
Kennedy blinked, clearly not expecting that.
“The ring?” he echoed.
“Yes,” she nodded, her hands fisting at her sides. “You asked for it back. I didn’t want to… keep holding on to it.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her empty hands.
“You came all the way here for that?” he asked slowly. “Couldn’t it wait until I returned to the office?”
Her chest tightened.
“I didn’t think it should,” she said softly. “It felt wrong to keep it any longer.”
He studied her for a long moment, eyes dark, unreadable. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lifted the bottle and took a long gulp.
The sight made something twist painfully inside her.
“Kennedy…” The word slipped out before she could stop herself. “Why are you drinking like this?”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s not any of your concern.”
She flinched.
“I know,” she said quickly. “I just—”
He turned away abruptly, pacing a few steps before stopping near the window. His shoulders rose and fell as he exhaled sharply.
“I forgot,” he said.
She frowned. “Forgot… what?”
His jaw clenched. He turned back to face her, eyes blazing now—not with anger alone, but something deeper. Rawer.
“I forgot the date,” he said. “I forgot her memorial.”
Antonia’s breath caught. Sarah was right.
“Every year,” he went on, his voice tightening, “I plan ahead. I take the day off. I prepare myself. I remember her properly.”
He laughed again, bitter. “And this year? I didn’t even know what day it was.”
Her heart sank.
“Kennedy, I’m so sorry—”
“I was distracted,” he cut in sharply.
He took a step toward her.
“Consumed,” he added, voice dropping.
Antonia’s pulse raced.
“And do you know why?” he asked.
She shook her head slowly, unable to speak.
His gaze locked onto hers. “Because of you.”
The words landed like a thunderclap.
Her breath hitched.
“You’ve been ruling my thoughts,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “At work. At home. In my sleep. Everywhere.”
Her heart fluttered painfully at his confession, even as fear crept in.
“I forgot everything,” he continued, eyes darkening. “Because I couldn’t get you out of my head.”
Antonia’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
“I didn’t mean to,” she said finally, shakily. “I never meant to—”
He crossed the remaining distance between them in two strides.
Before she could finish the sentence, before she could gather her scattered thoughts, his hand came up to cup her face.
And then—
He kissed her.
The contact was sudden. Fierce. Devastating.
Antonia gasped against his mouth, shock racing through her. For half a second, she stood frozen—then panic surged.
She pushed against his chest. “Kennedy—wait!”
He stumbled back a step, eyes blazing, breath uneven.
“What?” he asked hoarsely.
“You’re not thinking clearly,” she said, her voice trembling. “You’ve been drinking. I need to know you understand what you’re doing.”
His chest rose and fell as he stared at her.
Then he reached for her again—but this time, slower. Deliberate.
He pulled her into him, his forehead resting against hers.
“No matter how drunk I am,” he murmured, his voice steady now, certain, “I will recognize you, Antonia.”
Her breath shuddered, her heart beat accelerating with every word he uttered.
“Even in a crowd of a million people,” he continued, his lips brushing her temple, her cheek, her jaw, “I would still find you.”
Her resolve cracked.
Her hands trembled where they rested against his chest.
“Kennedy…” she whispered.
He lifted her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. There was no haze in his eyes now. No confusion.
Only want.
Only desire.
Only truth.
He kissed her again—deeper this time. Slower. Intimate.
And Antonia stopped fighting.
Every wall she’d built collapsed at once. Every rule she’d clung to shattered under the weight of how much she’d wanted this.
She kissed him back.
With the same hunger.
The same urgency.
The same reckless abandon.
In that moment, nothing else existed.
Not the ring.
Not the office.
Not the lines they’d sworn not to cross.
Only two hearts finally admitting what they’d been trying so desperately to deny.
Antonia’s fingers bunched into the fabric of his shirt, the linen wrinkling under her grip as she hauled him toward her with a sudden, fierce desperation. She didn't just want him close; she wanted to erase the very air between them. Her arms slid up, winding tightly around his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck to anchor him there.
The kiss shifted—it was no longer a question, but a frantic, starving answer.
Kennedy groaned low in his throat, a sound of pure, shattered restraint. His hands dropped from her face to her waist, his palms hot even through her clothes, as he crushed her flush against him. He hiked her up, his grip bruisingly tight, as if he were trying to pull her right into his skin.
She tilted her head back, offering him more, her mouth opening under his in a rhythm that was ancient and undeniable. It was a collision of everything they’d suppressed: every cold shoulder in the office, every lie told to his mother, every night spent aching in separate beds.
The heat in the room spiked.
The kiss turned deeper, wetter, more possessive. Every slide of his tongue against hers was a claim, a promise that "moving on" was a lie and that "tomorrow" could wait.
The lines had been crossed. The bridge had been burned.
And as he carried her in his arms and headed towards the bed, Antonia knew there was no going back to who they were after this.