My head rests on the armrest of the couch. I'm in the living room, my mind racing with a million questions. I thought I'd finally learn more about Alonzo by sneaking into the left wing.

But all I got were splinters of glass embedded in my skin, a threat to terminate my tutoring, and a head full of questions about what really happened in that burnt room.

I stretch out on the couch. My leg throbs, but I don't have the strength to go upstairs and treat it. I close my eyes, guilt crawling under my skin. Everything went downhill today. I ruined Ella's weekend, risked Oscar's job, and tore open what probably are Alonzo's memories…. memories he'd probably buried for good.

My body stiffens at the faint click of shoes breaking through the silence. I know that sound too well.

I keep my eyes closed, pretending to sleep, waiting for the footsteps to fade. Maybe if I'm still enough, he'll go away. But instead, I hear cabinets opening and closing, and then footsteps approaching the couch I'm laying on.

The couch dips near my feet. A warm hand brushes my ankle and I startle, eyes snapping open.

"Relax," Alonzo mutters, rummaging through a first-aid kit. "I'm mending the damage from your little adventure."

"Adventure?" My voice comes out small and shameful.

He hums. "That's what we're calling it now, aren't we?"

There's no real anger in his tone anymore, just tired sarcasm.

He sets a first-aid kit beside him and moves closer. For a heartbeat, his gaze lingers on me…. waiting. I realize he's asking for permission. I nod faintly.

He gently lifts my leg onto his lap, fingers closing around my ankle, his touch is careful, too gentle for a man that was so furious half an hour ago.

He sterilizes the tweezers and plucks out the first shard. Pain shoots up my leg. I bite my hand to keep from making a sound, tears burning my eyes.

Alonzo glances up, frowning. "Why are you biting your hand? You planning to injure yourself again?"

"To keep from screaming," I mutter.

"You're loud enough," he says quietly. "I don't mind another sound."

My head jerks toward him, startled. For a second, I forget the pain, forget everything except the man sitting before me. It's him– Alonzo touching my leg, not his shadow, not his threat to keep quiet and I realize I can finally cry without hiding it.

He works in silence, pulling out one shard after another. The pain bleeds out in raw, muffled sounds, but it feels better than bottling it up.

When he removes the last piece, the shard catches the light and something in him snaps still. His knuckles whiten around the tweezers. His jaw tightens, like he's fighting ghosts.

"Alonzo?" I whisper.

He blinks, once and the walls slam back into place.

"Don't move." His tone softens, but it's colder too.

The words tumble out before I can stop them.

"I'm sorry."

He doesn't look up. Of course he doesn't. I hurt him.

"I really am," I go on, voice trembling. "I cross boundaries, I know. I don't even know why I do it. Maybe I just wanted to see what you were protecting."

His gaze flickers confusion, annoyance, something darker.

"Then, did you find what I was protecting?"

I shrug. "A burnt room with glass splinters?"

He looks at me for a long time before tearing away his gaze to the wound.

"I do stupid things," I say, faster now. "I tell myself if I walk where I shouldn't, maybe I'll understand people better. And maybe I wanted to understand you."

His jaw flexes. "There's nothing to understand about me."

"That's not true." I shake my head slowly. "There's always something to understand in everything. But we humans are just… scared of being seen. Of someone naming the ache we've learned to live with. But even darkness has its own kind of light, Alonzo. And we can't keep pretending we're made of neither."

For a heartbeat, surprise flickers in his eyes or maybe something sharper, something he buries too fast.

"You think curiosity excuses trespassing?"

"No," I whisper, "but maybe compassion does."

He stares at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he says, low and firm,

"Don't ever use compassion as an excuse to bleed for someone like me."

He says it like, he's more angry at himself that I bled instead of me barging in.

He cleans the wound with a warm washcloth. I sit up and reach for the cotton, but before I can press it, his hand closes around my wrist.

"Don't use cotton. The fibers will stick. Let me."

I drop the pad with a small huff and cross my arms. "You talk like you've got personal experience treating wounds."

His hand pauses on the bandage. Then he says coolly, "Can't say. I'm an experienced and intelligent man."

A small smile escapes me. "Boasting, aren't you?"

"Stating facts. I'm a successful lawyer, managing partner at Accardi Law, have a thriving real estate business, and I'm the best tutor you can ask for."

He sounds like someone reading his own Wikipedia page.

"I'll be a baddie lawyer too, one day."

He frowns. "Why would you want to be a bad lawyer? I'm spending my time so you don't become one."

I blink, then burst into a giggle. "Not bad, Alonzo. Baddie."

"That's… worse?" He looks at me, completely serious, like he's solving a case.

I burst into laughter. "Baddie means confident, attractive, and successful."

He looks genuinely lost for a second, eyes narrowing in that serious, lawyer-mode way of his. "So... being a baddie is a good thing?"

"Mhm," I hum, grinning. "Basically someone who walks into court and everyone's like– wow, she owns the place."

He finishes the bandage and gives me a look. "You have a strange vocabulary."

"Thank you for the compliment."

His jaw ticks. "And an even stranger way of taking criticism."

"My pleasure," I say sweetly.

His thumb idly traces over my skin, checking for more glass. My pulse skips. He's quiet for a long moment, eyes fixed on his task.

For the first time today, silence between us isn't filled with smoke or guilt. My legs are still draped across his lap, utterly relaxed in a position I should only feel comfortable in with someone I'd known for years not for a month.

But I still don't dare to move my legs from his lap, as he neatly repacks the first-aid kit. His fingers brush my ankle, the touch sends a soft relief rippling through me.

I bite down on my lower lip, as my mind is fixated on the sight before me. The veins cording his forearms, standing out in sharp relief, his skin is warm and slightly rough against my bare leg.

Just beneath my thigh, where my shorts had ridden up, the hard, sculpted muscles of his stomach feels like a solid, undeniable presence.

I look at the tattoos on his forearms, the contrast of the black ink against his pale skin and I imagine colouring them in ridiculous pink, the same shade that rushes to my cheeks whenever his fingers brush mine by accident, or his breath grazes my temple, or his gaze lingers a moment too long. Just to see how far he'd let me cross the line.

I shift, the small movement bringing my body an inch closer, causing his inner thigh to graze mine. The sensation is like a spark. He clenches his jaw, the veins in his neck standing out, and he tilts his head back, eyes squeezing shut for a brief, shuddering second.

After a few seconds his eyes drops to my lips and then again back to my eyes. A look in his eyes says it all that we are hurtling past casual and straight into something irrevocably deep.

His thumb begins tracing lazy, mesmerizing circles on my knee before his hand slowly, agonizingly slowly, starts to crawl inward toward my thigh. I could feel the heat radiating from his palm through the thin material of my shorts. Every fiber of my being screamed that this is too fast, too much, too wrong.

Yet, no of us pulls away. In fact, my leg instinctively brushes down across his stomach seeking more contact and the friction.

His breath hitches and he groans, a deep guttural sound escaping his throat when my leg start sliding toward his c—

Bzz-bzz. Bzz-bzz

The sound of my phone buzzing snaps the moment like a thin string. Alonzo pauses his hand, just millimeters from the hem of my shorts, the delicious anticipation instantly curdled by the rude intrusion.

The spell is broken. He sighs, a frustrated, low sound that rumbles in his chest. Without even glancing at the screen, Alonzo takes it out of my pocket and hands it to me.

It's Aratrika. "Aanya! Where are you? I sent you pictures of dresses and you didn't even reply!"

I groan inwardly. Right. The club tonight.

How am I supposed to tell this to my tutor?

Hey, Alonzo, I missed your morning session because I was busy uncovering your secrets… and I'd like to skip the evening one too, because I'm exhausted from all that discovery and want to go clubbing.

"Hello? You there?" Aratrika's voice yells through the speaker.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here. I'll check them now."

"You sound tense. Everything okay?"

"I'm fine. Just scrolling through your choices," I lie, glancing at the dresses. "Wear the red dress."

"Harsh said it's too revealing."

"Then he can close his eyes. Problem solved."

I smile faintly and hang up.

Then I look at him, nerves coiling in my stomach. "I might not be able to attend this evening's tutoring session."

"And why is that, Iraanya?" His voice is low, tired, yet my name on his lips sends a flutter through me.

"I have plans."

"What kind?"

"Just... going out with a friend."

His tone sharpens. "Your exam schedule is out, isn't it?"

He doesn't have to say it, I hear the disapproval buried under every word.

"I'll cover the missed time tomorrow," I say quickly. "Or tonight, if needed."

"You think I have extra time to tutor you beyond our schedule?" His voice cuts through the room, harsh and clipped.

"I won't ask for help with whatever you were going to teach today," I shot back, my temper and frustration from earlier rising.

"You think skipping help will get you far in this field?"

"God, what's wrong with you today?" My voice cracks. "It's just one day off! Everyone takes a break once in a while."

His eyes flash. "Sto cercando di proteggerti da cose che ancora non capisci.

(I'm trying to protect you from things you don't even understand yet.)

"You're not on vacation, Iraanya," he snaps. "The dream you've chosen isn't easy. People would kill for the chances you're wasting. Prioritize what you want."

The words slice through me.

"You know what?" I say, standing abruptly. "I won't ask you about today's topic. I will go to the club. And. Fuck. You."

I storm out before he can see the tears threatening to spill.

He might be right.

But even I deserve a break.

And he's not my father to shout at me like that.

Vote and comment if you like the chapter.

Happy reading<3