The silence between them thickened, heavy and suffocating, as if the air itself was holding its breath.
"Is that what you really think, Jason?" Her voice broke the tension—low, quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the weight. "That I'm just here for… sex? For some kind of deal?" Her eyes finally locked with his, unguarded now—no pretending, no shields.
The words stung worse than they should have. He wanted to brush them aside, to stay untouchable, but beneath the cold surface, something inside him stirred—uneasy, exposed.
His lips parted, but no words came. Instead, he leaned forward, eyes narrowing, battling to keep control. This wasn't about feelings—not for him.
"I never said it was just about sex." His voice came out colder than intended, a sharp edge slicing the fragile space between them. "But that's the only thing that's clear here, isn't it?"
Her eyes flashed with something raw—anger? Hurt?—and for a brief second, Jason caught a glimpse of something deeper. Something neither of them dared admit.
She shook her head, breath coming in quick, uneven bursts. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's easier this way. Easier to pretend it's just business." The sarcasm dripped from her words, but beneath it, pain simmered.
Jason fought the urge to soften, to reach out. Instead, he stayed still, watching her like a hawk. Her words were armor, but beneath the surface, there was something else. Something fragile and dangerous.
And it was there.
"Catherine…" He leaned in again, voice dropping to a near whisper, a secret meant only for her. "You think I don't know what I want?" His fingers traced the rim of his glass, slow, deliberate. "I'm not here to complicate things. But I won't pretend there isn't something between us. Not anymore."
Her breath hitched. Her eyes searched his—looking for trust, or maybe for proof she could believe in.
But what was she really searching for? Not just what he wanted. She was scared of what she wanted. And that scared her more than anything.
Jason felt the pulse in his neck quicken. He could almost hear her heartbeat echoing in the silence—the walls she built around herself reflected in her eyes. Walls he wanted to tear down. Not because he had to, but because he needed to.
"I don't owe you an explanation," she said, voice trembling, fingers tightening around her wine glass. "I'm not some… prize, Jason. Not some conquest for you to win." She stood abruptly, pushing her chair back with a sharp scrape against the floor.
Jason's gaze tracked her every movement, the air thick with tension pressing against his chest.
Her words hit him harder than expected. But he wouldn't let her see it. Not now—not when he was this close to understanding what this really was.
Her lips parted as if to speak again, but the door behind them opened.
Zane stepped in, eyes flicking between them, no judgment—just a knowing smirk. "You two good here?" His voice was casual, almost too casual.
Jason didn't look away from Catherine. "We're fine," he said coldly, words sharp, directed at her. "Just talking."
Zane raised a brow, smirk deepening. "Right. Dinner's coming. You can finish your chat after."
Something inside Jason clenched, a warning he couldn't silence.
And that terrified him.
---
The atmosphere shifted. The restaurant felt too small, too intimate, the air thick with unsaid words and dangerous sparks neither knew how to escape. But Jason didn't want to run anymore.
As Zane disappeared toward the kitchen, leaving them alone again, Jason felt it—
The pull.
The electric charge.
But he wasn't giving in. Not yet.
The untouched wine caught the flicker of candlelight, his fingers tapping a steady, rhythmic beat against the glass. Controlled on the outside. Torn within.
Catherine sat across from him like a silent storm—poised, electric, and waiting. Her eyes never left his, and neither did his. A challenge hung between them, unspoken and daring.
"So," she said finally, voice smooth, calm—too calm. "Are you always this good at pretending you don't feel anything?"
Her question caught him off guard—not unfair, just too true.
He smiled—cold, practiced, but hollow. "I've had practice."
Her brows lifted. "That I believe."
A heavy pause. Then she added softly, "But I don't think you're as good at it as you think."
Jason's fingers stilled. His jaw clenched briefly before he shrugged. "You're giving me too much credit."
"No," she said, voice low. "I'm giving you exactly what you deserve."
A rough laugh escaped him, sharp and bitter. "Is that why you're here, Catherine? To dissect me over dinner?"
"I'm here," she said steady, "because someone planned this dinner without telling me you'd be here. Let's not pretend otherwise."
Jason studied her. Beautiful—elegant, sharp, guarded. Yet beneath it all, he saw the woman who haunted his thoughts: the warmth of her skin beneath his hands, the softness of her voice when it slipped free, the way she looked at him—falling, terrified of the fall.
He hated that she still had that power.
"I didn't expect you to stay," he said at last.
She tilted her head, lips pressed together. "I almost didn't."
"Then why?"
Her throat moved as she swallowed, the mask slipping for just a second. "Because I wanted to know if what I remembered was real—or just a mistake."
The words hit him like a punch to the chest.
Jason leaned forward, voice low, dangerous. "And? Was it a mistake?"
She didn't answer at once. Her hand traced slow circles at the base of her glass. When her eyes met his again, they were steady. "I haven't decided yet."
Her honesty caught him off guard.
So did the flutter in his chest.
He hated what it meant.
Jason exhaled—measured, controlled. But she unraveled him.
"You left without a word," he said quietly, remembering, not accusing.
"And you let me."
The tension sparked between them, raw and electric.
Jason held his silence. Because she was right. He had let her go.
Why?
Because she scared him.
Not with threats or betrayal, but with the way she made him feel.
He wasn't ready to admit it. Not to her. Not even to himself.
"You think I'm dangerous," he said, eyes searching hers.
"I think you're something I don't understand yet," she replied softly. "And that scares me more."
He stared, memorizing the way the candlelight danced across her face, the gentle rise and fall of her breath.
He wanted her. That hadn't changed.
But this—this wasn't just wanting.
And that made him furious.
The waitress returned, placing their food between them without a word. Neither moved to eat.
Catherine lifted her fork, distracted rather than hungry. "Are we going to pretend this is just dinner?" she whispered.
Jason leaned in, elbows on the table, eyes locked on hers. "Are we?"
Another spark. Another challenge.
She took a breath, held it, then set her fork down. "You want control. I see that. But what if you can't have it?"
Jason smiled slow, deliberate. "Then I take what I can get."
He expected resistance.
Instead, she leaned forward, voice low and breathy. "That's your problem, Jason. You always think you're in control. But you're not. Not with me."
God, the way she said his name.
It did something to him.
And she knew it.
Their faces were inches apart now, charged with electricity.
His fingers twitched, itching to reach for her, to pull her close.
But he didn't.
Not yet.
Instead, his voice cut the tension. "Then show me."
She blinked, startled.
Jason leaned back just enough to give her space, but his eyes never left hers. "If you think you're the one in control… prove it."
The challenge sent a shiver down her spine. He saw it.
She smirked, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Careful, Jason. You might not like what you find."
"Try me."
She looked away first.
Only for a moment.
The silence stretched—this time intimate, not tense. Their plates remained untouched. The world around them blurred and faded.
Finally, Catherine stood.
Jason frowned. "Leaving already?"
She tilted her head, lips pressed tight. "No. Just need a minute."
Without another word, she walked toward the restroom.
Not away to escape. But like a storm gathering strength.
Jason watched her go, every step lingering like electricity in the air.
The moment she disappeared around the corner, his mask dropped.
He ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard.
What the hell was happening to him?
Whatever this was—it was going to ruin him.