Chapter 3 Uninvited Tension

It had been two weeks since everything happened.

Two weeks since that tense, humiliating encounter at the mall. Two weeks since the arrogant CEO with a face carved out of a billionaire's daydream had turned my world upside down. And I had tried-really tried-to put it behind me.

The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the TV. I was curled up on the couch, a fluffy blanket wrapped around my legs, the scent of banana bread still lingering in the air. A thick slice sat on my plate, smeared with Nutella and comforting warmth. It was one of those evenings where the world outside didn't matter-just me, my comfort food, and an old rom-com on screen that I'd seen too many times to count.

Then came the knock.

Sharp. Measured. Like someone knew I was home and was patiently waiting for me to open the door.

I frowned.

No one ever knocked. My friends texted. My neighbors barely spoke to me. My landlord certainly wasn't the polite knocking type.

Curiosity tugged at me, and a little sliver of unease curled in my stomach. I slid off the couch and padded to the door, cautiously peeking through the peephole.

My breath caught.

Damian Wolfe.

Standing there like he had every right to. Dressed in a tailored charcoal coat over a black turtleneck, hands casually tucked in his pockets, that unreadable expression carved into his impossibly handsome face.

For a second, I couldn't breathe.

A flood of memories washed over me-the sharp glint in his eyes, the low, commanding voice, the way he'd looked at me like I was both a puzzle and a problem. I blinked it away, forcing my heartbeat to calm down before opening the door just enough to peer out.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice clipped.

He met my gaze, cool and steady. "At least let me in."

I raised a brow. "You're joking, right?"

There was a pause. "By the way," he said, as if we hadn't already shared an explosive encounter,"I'm Damian Wolfe. I think it's time we sort out... whatever this thing is between us."

I stared at him, stunned by the arrogance. A small, traitorous part of me almost smiled.Almost. I buried it quickly beneath a firm scowl.

"I don't let strangers into my house," I said, arms crossed over my chest.

"I understand," he replied calmly, not missing a beat. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I just want to talk. Amicably."

His voice was steady, but not cold. There was something else there-something raw and restrained. That tone did something strange to my nerves. Despite every instinct screaming at me to send him away, I hesitated.

Then, against my better judgment, I stepped aside.

He walked in like he'd been there a dozen times before, slowly surveying the room with the eyes of a man used to owning spaces. My safe little apartment suddenly felt smaller with him in it.

"Nice apartment you've got here... Arielle Stone," he said casually, his gaze finally returning to mine.

My chest tightened.

I hadn't told him my name.

"How do you know that?" I demanded, voice sharpening.

He didn't even flinch. "I looked you up. I had to know who you were."

I took a slow step back, my mind racing. "So now you're stalking me?"

"No," he said simply, sitting on the edge of my couch like he belonged there. "I was... intrigued.

You caught me off guard. That doesn't happen often."

There was something maddeningly calm about the way he said it. Like / was the one being unreasonable for questioning it.

"You're arrogant," I muttered.

"You're not the first to say that."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "And yet, you keep showing up where you're not wanted."

"Is that what this is?" he asked, his head tilting.

"Me, being unwanted?"

I hated the way he said it. Like he already knew the answer.

I sighed, walked into the kitchen, and grabbed two glasses of water-because offering him wine felt too personal, and kicking him out felt too easy.

When I returned, he took the glass from me with a thank-you nod and watched me sit on the opposite end of the couch, our legs barely inches apart.

We sat there, the silence between us heavy with unspoken things. I focused on the movie still playing in the background, anything to avoid the pull of his eyes.

Then he spoke again. "You're not like most people I meet."

"Because I don't throw myself at you?" I snapped, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

To my surprise, he smiled. Not a smirk-an actual smile.

"Exactly," he said, amused. "You're fierce, bold.

You say what you mean. That sharp tongue of yours... I haven't stopped thinking about it."

My cheeks flushed, and I hated that he noticed.

"I don't care what you think about me,

" I said, defensive. "You don't get to barge into my life because you're curious."

"I know. And I'm not trying to control anything," he said softly. "I just wanted to see you again. Talk to you. No games."

There it was again-that unexpected softness beneath the hardened CEO mask. And for a few quiet moments, we actually talked. He asked me about my work, my family, my dreams. I answered cautiously at first, but somewhere in between my sarcasm and his unshakable calm, something shifted.

We argued. We laughed. He challenged me, and I pushed back. And as we spoke, I noticed the way his eyes would linger when I smiled, or the way he leaned in when I said something that mattered.

It was infuriating.

It was also... kind of wonderful.

Then, it happened.

He reached for his glass, and his hand brushed my thigh-just a brief touch, warm and unintentional.But it sent a jolt straight through me. I froze.

He didn't apologize.

Instead, he looked up, his gaze dipping lower for a moment before meeting mine again. There was something unreadable in his eyes-intention, maybe. Or restraint.

"We'll talk some more. Next time," he said, standing.

I blinked, surprised that he was already leaving.

"Oh. Okay."

"It was nice, talking to you," he added, with the faintest smile.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "It was."

He walked to the door, and I followed. He paused before stepping out, turned slightly, like he was about to say something more... but then thought better of it. And just like that, he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him.

I stood there for a long time, heart pounding, mouth slightly open, and mind spinning with every unspoken thought.

Why did I wish he'd stayed longer?