The elevator’s chime faded into memory as you stepped into the hushed hallway, each footfall echoing against marble floors like a ticking clock. Reflections wavered across the building’s polished surfaces—fragmented glimpses of tension and anticipation. An evening with Zayne was never simple, never predictable. You knew that.

Before your knuckles could meet the wood, the door swung open.

Zayne stood framed in warm light, like a Renaissance portrait come to life. His dark hair was perfectly undone—like he’d been tugging at it—and his rolled sleeves revealed forearms sculpted with casual strength. There was an effortless elegance to him, as though the scene had been curated but not contrived.

“Hey.”

His voice was whiskey and dark honey—familiar, but with a new edge. His hazel-green eyes moved slowly over you, deliberate as a touch. “You made it.”

Your heart kicked against your ribs. Zayne had always drawn you in, but tonight the pull was magnetic—dangerous.

“Of course,” you said, stepping inside. The door clicked shut behind you with a soft, sealing finality. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

The apartment was minimalist perfection. Sleek lines softened by shadow. Tasteful, expensive furniture that whispered wealth rather than flaunting it. Cedarwood and vanilla lingered in the air, laced with something sweeter—something unmistakably him. A single candle flickered on a side table, casting gold across the walls. Intimate. Intentional.

Zayne’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Come in. The movie’s ready.” His voice dipped, low and smooth. “You look like you need to breathe for once.”

You let out a shaky laugh, lowering your bag beside the couch. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

You sank into the cushions, the tension in your body refusing to leave even as you tried to relax. Zayne followed a moment later, close—so close their shoulders brushed. The contact was light. It might have been nothing. It felt like everything.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you murmured.

A stretch of silence hung between you, quiet but taut. Zayne idly traced patterns across the remote with his thumb, as though he wasn’t watching you from the corner of his eye.

“You’ve been burning it at both ends,” he said finally, voice softer now. “Long hunts. Late nights. You look... tired.”

You nudged him with an elbow, the smallest deflection. “Way to make a guy feel seen and judged.”

Zayne’s responding smile was faint, almost private. “Not judging. Just noticing.”

The film started, but you barely registered the opening scenes. Zayne wasn’t watching it either. His attention drifted—again and again—back to you. Longer each time. Heavier. The space between you seemed to shrink, charged with something thick and unsaid. Something waiting.

Then—without a word—Zayne’s thumb pressed the power button.

The act was unhurried, almost reverent. The screen dimmed to black, casting the room into shadows and flickering amber light. The candle threw dancing shapes on Zayne’s face, turning him into something half-real, half-mythic.

The remote hit the table with a soft thud. Final.

You blinked, breath caught in your throat.

“...Wasn’t this supposed to be movie night?”

The words came out quieter than you intended. Less playful. More uncertain.

Zayne didn’t answer. Not right away. He leaned back, hand draped across the couch’s armrest, his posture easy but his eyes locked, intense.

“I know,” he said eventually, voice dropped an octave. “But I changed my mind.”

The shift in the room was palpable. Everything stilled—except for the wild rhythm of your pulse.

Zayne moved closer, heat radiating off him. His hand found your chest, fingers splayed. Firm. Sure. He pressed you back against the cushions—no violence, just intent. Power, barely leashed.

“Zayne—”

The name was barely a breath before Zayne caught your wrists and pinned them above your head in one seamless, fluid motion.

You didn’t struggle. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

The grip was steady, controlled. Possessive.

Zayne’s body hovered over you, his face just inches away, every inch of him coiled energy. Those eyes—now molten—held you completely. Like nothing else existed.

“I want to do something else,” Zayne murmured near your ear, his breath warm, voice like velvet dragged across raw nerves. “Is that okay?”