Chapter 9 Unseen Sparks

"Do you make it a habit to harass strangers?" I snap, jerking my arm away from his tight grip. This man's audacity. He is tall, towering over me with deep ocean-blue eyes that appear to have the ability to see into my soul. Nevertheless, I am not the type of individual who can be easily daunted by a person's stare, even if they are extremely attractive.

He shows no sign of flinching. In fact, his expression remains cold, almost bored. "I didn't harass you. I asked you to apologize."

"Asked? No, you ordered. There's a difference, and I don't take orders from random men who think the world revolves around them." My heart is racing, not just from the argument but from the way he's standing there, looking at me like he's used to everyone falling in line with just one word. But I'm not everyone.

"You're obstructing the path," he remarks in a low, grumbling voice, treating me like a small inconvenience in his meticulously planned day.

I cross my arms, unwilling to move. "And? Last time I checked, You dragged me back and more so public spaces don't belong to you."

His jaw clenches, and I briefly anticipate a sharp remark, but he moves even nearer, encroaching on my personal space instead. His smell, a mixture of musk and something dangerously intoxicating, overwhelms me like a wave. I feel overwhelmed by his presence, and it annoys me how my body responds, even though I loathe the arrogance dripping from him.

"If you knew who you're conversing with, you would think twice about that attitude," he softly whispers, his voice turning into a threatening murmur that gives me chills. His hand inches closer, almost as if daring me to back down. But I hold my ground, lifting my chin, daring him to try me.

"And if you knew who you were talking to, you'd know I don't give two fucks about who you are," I say angrily, feeling my heart race. "So unless you plan on physically dragging me out of your precious space, I suggest you back off."

For a second, his eyes flash with something dark, something predatory, and I think he might actually do it. His hands clenched into fists, and I brace myself, refusing to show any fear.

He smirks, a small, dangerous smile that makes my blood boil. "You're amusing. Feisty. I like that."

I roll my eyes. Of course, a man like him would think I'm just here for his entertainment. "And I think you're insufferable. Glad we're on the same page."

I turn to leave, ready to end this pointless interaction when his hand reaches out again, grabbing my wrist-this time, not as gently as before. His touch is firm, almost possessive, and a spark of electricity shoots through me, igniting something primal that I try to shove down. His grip tightens slightly, and I spin back around, glaring at him.

"Let. Go." My voice is dangerously low, filled with the frustration bubbling inside of me. I swear, if this man doesn't remove his hand in the next two seconds, I might actually lose it.

He doesn't. Instead, his blue eyes lock onto mine, challenging, daring me to push further. "Not until you stop acting like a child."

A child? Oh, this man is seriously asking for it.

"Excuse me?" I yank my arm free, stepping closer this time, refusing to back down. "You think because you wear a fancy suit and strut around like you own the place, you can just toss insults at people? Newsflash, pal, not everyone is here to boost your inflated ego.

Even though his facial expression remains constant, there is a sudden gleam in his eyes. I've struck a nerve, and it brings me a twisted feeling of contentment.

"You don't know who you're dealing with" He says with a steady, unyielding voice.

"I couldn't care less." I poke his chest with my finger, frustrated by the firmness and strength I feel beneath my touch. Why must he be so frustrating and irresistibly attractive? It's not fair. "Could you kindly do us a favor and let go of that chip on your shoulder before I'm forced to knock it off?"

There is a moment of tense silence between us, with unspoken fury filling the space around us. His gaze pierces mine, icy yet containing a profound, primal intensity. It appears that we are caught in a conflict that neither of us wants to lose, yet we cannot figure out how to resolve it.

He edges a bit nearer, his soft breath caressing my cheek. "You're failing at making me feel scared of you."

"Good," I whisper, refusing to back down. "You don't scare me either."

The tension is overwhelming, dense, and stifling. I can sense the warmth emanating from him, his body in such proximity to mine that I can almost detect the movement of his chest with every deliberate breath he inhales. Just for a moment, I believe he will kiss me. Just the idea alone causes a rush of adrenaline in my bloodstream, blending with the anger already clouding my thoughts.

However, he retreats, keeping his gaze on me the entire time. "You should really learn to control that sharp tongue of yours. It's going to get you into trouble one day."

"And you should learn to keep your hands to yourself," I snap back, even though part of me hates how much I actually miss the warmth of his touch now that he's stepped away.

Without saying anything else, he pivots on his heel and strides off, leaving me seething, with my heart pounding and feeling utterly agitated. Who does he think he is, damn it?

I observe his tall and authoritative silhouette moving away, vanishing into the crowd. The weirdest part is, despite how much I want to hate him, I can't get rid of the sense that I will encounter him once more. And that makes me even angrier.

I don't even know his name. Not that I care. However, there was something unsettling about the way he gazed at me, his lingering presence after he left.

And yet, I hate how I'm still thinking about him. His arrogance. His stupidly perfect face. His infuriatingly attractive blue eyes that appear to pierce straight into my soul.

I inhale deeply, shaking my head to rid myself of the thoughts. This is absurd. I have more important things to think about than an arrogant stranger who believes everything should go his way. My life doesn't revolve around entitled men with control issues.

As I walk back to my studio, I can't shake the feeling of my heart still racing and my skin tingling from his touch. It's stupid. I'm not someone who easily gets flustered by a random guy. Especially not someone as unbearable as that person.

Still, as I push open the door to my studio, the argument replays in my mind. The way his voice rumbled with authority, the way his eyes never left mine, challenging me. And worse, the way I felt a pull toward him, even though I wanted to bash his head into the nearest wall.

"Pull yourself together, Eva," I whisper to myself, dispelling the remaining stress. He is simply a man. A frustrating, conceited man whom I likely won't encounter again.

At least, I hope so.