Chapter 5 THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US

The days after the gala passed like a slow, suffocating fog.

Xander was distant.

More than usual.

He left early in the morning, returned late at night, barely said a word to Ariella. And when they crossed paths-by the stairs, in the dining hall, outside the library-his gaze slid past her like she was invisible.

Gone was the man who had defended her, stood by her at the gala, whispered possessive words under the moonlight.

Now he was a shadow.

And Ariella felt the chill of it in her bones.

She didn't know what changed. Had she overstepped? Had Clarissa gotten to him after all? Or was it something deeper-something even he didn't understand?

She didn't ask.

But it gnawed at her.

And on the third evening, as she sat alone in the massive drawing room, staring into the cold fireplace, she made a decision.

She wasn't going to be ignored.

Not in this house. Not in this arrangement. Not by him.

---

She found him in his private study-back rigid, suit jacket tossed over the chair, shirt sleeves rolled up. His fingers flew across the keyboard, barely registering her presence.

"Xander," she said, quietly but firmly.

He didn't look up.

"Xander," she repeated, stepping closer. "We need to talk."

"Now's not a good time."

"I don't care."

That got his attention.

His fingers stilled.

He looked up, eyes cool and unreadable. "Excuse me?"

Ariella stood her ground. "You've been avoiding me for three days. I deserve to know why."

"There's nothing to say."

"Then look me in the eye and say it."

Silence.

Xander's jaw tightened.

Finally, he stood. Slowly. Like a panther unraveling from stillness.

"You want honesty?" he asked, voice low.

"Yes."

He took a step toward her.

"I haven't been avoiding you," he said, his gaze heavy. "I've been avoiding this."

She blinked. "This?"

"You. Us. Whatever this thing is becoming."

She felt like the breath had been knocked out of her.

"Then stop pretending," she said quietly. "Stop standing beside me in public and vanishing in private."

"I didn't ask to feel anything," he snapped.

Her eyes widened. "Feel what?"

He turned away, dragging a hand through his hair.

"You were supposed to be a name. A signature on paper. A pawn in a family contract. But every time I look at you, you're not just Sabrina. You're something else. Something I can't figure out."

Ariella stepped forward, her heart pounding. "Maybe because I'm not Sabrina."

His eyes whipped to hers.

The air shifted.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them breathed.

"I mean," she said quickly, "maybe I've changed. You said it yourself."

Xander stared at her for a long time.

Then, in one swift motion, he closed the distance between them.

His hand cupped her jaw.

Ariella's breath caught.

"You drive me insane," he muttered.

And then he kissed her.

It wasn't gentle.

It was raw, hot, possessive-the kind of kiss that made her knees go weak, that told a story of tension, denial, and fire finally unleashed.

Her fingers fisted his shirt.

His lips moved against hers like he was starving.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard.

"This changes everything," she whispered.

Xander's eyes were darker than she had ever seen them. "Then let it."

---

They didn't make it to the bedroom.

It happened right there-on the velvet couch in his study, beneath the flickering light of his desk lamp. No more walls. No more pretense.

Just two people tangled in secrets and need.

When it was over, Ariella lay curled against him, the weight of what had happened settling between them like a second skin.

He didn't speak.

She didn't either.

But in the quiet of the night, with his hand on her waist and his breath steady against her neck, Ariella allowed herself one dangerous thought:

Maybe this could work.