Vivie stormed out of the training room, her heart still hammering in her chest. The tension had been unbearable, suffocating. Ashton had almost kissed her—or had she almost kissed him? It was a dangerous game they were playing, one that neither of them could afford to lose.

She needed space. Distance. Anything to clear her head.

Once she reached her room, she slammed the door shut behind her and pressed her back against it. Her breathing was ragged, her mind a mess of emotions she didn’t want to name. She hated him. She wanted him. Both feelings warred inside her, each as strong as the other.

A long, hot shower. That’s what she needed.

She peeled off her sweat-drenched clothes and stepped under the steaming water, letting it wash away the ache in her muscles, the tension in her body. But no matter how much she tried to push Ashton out of her mind, his presence lingered. The way he had looked at her. The way his breath had brushed against her skin. The way his fingers had lingered on her wrist just a second too long.

By the time she finished, she felt slightly calmer, though the weight in her chest hadn’t completely disappeared. She wrapped a towel around herself and stepped out of the bathroom, running a hand through her damp hair.

And then she froze.

Ashton was standing in her room, his broad frame filling the space effortlessly. His dark eyes swept over her, taking in the damp strands of hair clinging to her neck, the single towel barely covering her body. His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

A slow, suffocating silence settled between them.

“What the hell are you doing in my room?” Vivie finally managed, gripping the edge of the towel like it was a lifeline.

His gaze lifted to meet hers, dark and unreadable. “You left training too abruptly.”

She let out a breathless laugh, her fingers tightening around the fabric at her chest. “So you decided to break into my room?”

He took a step closer, and she instinctively backed up until she was pressed against the bathroom door. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating in a way that made her pulse quicken.

“You ran away,” he said quietly, his voice low, almost accusing.

Her breath hitched. “I didn’t run.”

His eyes flickered with something dangerous. “Then why do you look like you’re about to?”

She swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how much he affected her. “I’m not.”

Another step. This time, she had nowhere to go. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off his body, the scent of him—something dark and rich, laced with the faintest hint of smoke. Her fingers dug into the towel, her skin prickling with awareness.

“You think you know what you’re doing,” he murmured, his voice like a slow burn against her skin. “But you don’t.”

Her breath shuddered out of her lungs. “Then why don’t you enlighten me?”

His gaze dropped to her lips, and for a moment, she thought he might actually do it. That he might close the space between them, erase the unbearable tension hanging in the air. Her heart pounded, every nerve in her body on high alert.

His fingers twitched at his side, a muscle in his jaw ticking. And then, just when she thought he would finally snap, finally let go of whatever restraint he was clinging to, he stepped back.

The shift was sharp, almost painful.

“Get dressed,” he said, his voice cold, almost emotionless. “We’re not done yet.”

Her chest rose and fell in quick succession, the weight of unsaid words pressing between them like a vice. “You act like you don’t want this,” she whispered, hating the vulnerability in her voice. “But I see through you, Ashton.”

His gaze darkened, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned sharply on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving her standing there—breathless, shaken, and painfully aware that whatever was building between them was far from over.

She let out a ragged breath, pressing a hand against her chest as if it could slow the frantic rhythm of her heart.

Whatever this was—it wasn’t going away.

It was only getting worse.