Days passed, each one slipping through Vivie’s fingers like sand, yet every moment she spent in Ashton’s orbit only tightened the invisible thread tethering her to him. She tried to ignore it. She tried to tell herself that what she felt was a passing infatuation, a reaction to their forced proximity. But with each glance, each unspoken exchange, she knew it was a lie.

She was falling. Hard.

Her feelings for him twisted and turned inside her like a storm she couldn’t control. The way he moved, the way his gaze would linger for just a second too long, the way his voice dropped when he spoke directly to her—it all made her insides coil with anticipation and frustration. He was a paradox, a man who ignited her every nerve yet remained just out of reach, denying himself as much as he denied her.

Vivie found herself changing in ways she never expected. She started dressing differently, choosing outfits that made her feel beautiful, that she hoped would make him look at her just a little longer. She carefully braided her hair in the mornings, hoping he’d notice. She made excuses to be near him, feigning interest in things he liked just to hear his voice. And when that wasn’t enough, she tried something else.

She cooked.

It had been a disastrous decision. Cooking was never something she was particularly good at, but she wanted to do something for him—something that would make him pause and see her. So, one evening, after much trial and error, she set the table herself, ensuring everything was perfect before nervously awaiting his arrival.

When Ashton walked into the dining room, his expression remained impassive. His sharp gaze flickered over the meal before moving to her, unreadable. She held her breath, heart hammering against her ribs.

“I made dinner,” she said, trying to sound casual.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he inspected the food. Then, slowly, he reached out, taking a single bite. She watched him like a hawk, waiting, hoping for a reaction. But as he chewed, he remained eerily silent.

Her stomach twisted. “Well?”

His expression didn’t change. “It’s edible.”

Her jaw dropped. “Edible?”

He shrugged, setting his fork down. “Better than I expected.”

Vivie felt a surge of irritation. She had spent hours trying to make everything perfect, and all he had to say was that it was edible? She scowled, snatching his plate away. “Forget it. Starve, for all I care.”

To her surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched, almost like he was amused. “You’re getting worked up over nothing.”

“I cooked for you,” she snapped. “And you don’t even appreciate it.”

His gaze softened for a fraction of a second, so quickly she almost missed it. “I noticed,” he murmured, but before she could question him, he pushed back from the table and left, leaving her fuming.

At first, she thought he truly didn’t care. That he ignored her efforts, disregarded her feelings. But as the days continued, she started to notice things.

The way his gaze would linger when he thought she wasn’t looking.

The way he’d adjust the thermostat at night because he knew she got cold.

The way he always positioned himself between her and any possible threat, even if they were just walking down a hallway.

He noticed her. He always noticed her. And yet, he refused to let her see it.

Late one night, she found herself on the balcony, staring out at the city, the cool air brushing against her skin. She hugged herself, lost in thought, when she heard footsteps behind her.

Ashton.

She didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge him, but her body instantly became hyper-aware of his presence. He stopped beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth but not close enough to touch.

“You shouldn’t be out here this late,” he said quietly.

Vivie exhaled. “Why do you care?”

A beat of silence. “Because I do.”

Her breath caught. She turned to look at him, searching his face for any sign that he meant it, but as always, he wore that infuriating mask of indifference. And yet, something about his stance, the way his fingers twitched at his sides, told her he was holding back.

She took a small step closer. “Then stop pretending you don’t.”

He exhaled sharply, turning away as if putting distance between them would make a difference. “Vivie—”

“I see you,” she interrupted. “I see the way you hold back. I see the way you fight yourself. But you want me, Ashton. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.”

His jaw clenched. “You don’t understand what you’re asking for.”

“Then make me understand.”

For a moment, he remained silent, the night stretching between them. Then, slowly, he turned back to her. His gaze was intense, burning with something he refused to name.

“You think you want this,” he said lowly. “But once you step into my world, there’s no going back.”

She lifted her chin, unwavering. “Maybe I don’t want to go back.”

His fingers twitched again, his restraint a tangible thing between them. She could see it—the battle waging inside him. And then, just when she thought he might give in, he stepped away.

“Go inside, Vivie.”

She swallowed down her disappointment. “Is that an order?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes.”

She held his gaze for another second before finally conceding. Without another word, she turned and walked back inside, her heart pounding in her chest.

Ashton remained where he was, watching her disappear into the house, his expression unreadable.

And yet, as she closed the door behind her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was fighting a losing battle.

That maybe, just maybe, she was winning the war.