Chapter 5 The Night We Almost Kissed

> "It was storming outside. But he looked at me like I was the only shelter he'd ever known."

The tension snaps.

Almost.

But not quite.

⭐⭐⭐⭐

The storm didn't stop.

By the third hour of relentless rain, the estate was soaked in silver-wind whispering through every crack, thunder humming like a warning. Alora didn't mind it. There was something soothing about the way nature let loose when everything inside her felt too quiet.

She sat in the library again-her sanctuary now-wrapped in one of Julian's spare sweaters that hung too big on her frame and smelled faintly of cedar, ink, and something unspoken.

She didn't hear him enter.

But she felt him.

"Still awake?" Julian's voice came softly behind her.

Alora turned. He wore a dark henley and soft joggers, barefoot, his hair a little messy like he'd run a frustrated hand through it too many times.

"I could ask you the same," she said, closing her notebook. "You keep lurking like a ghost."

He chuckled, a quiet, rich sound. "You make this place feel less... haunted."

He moved toward the liquor cart, pouring himself a small drink. Then, without asking, he poured a second glass and handed it to her.

Alora raised a brow. "So now I drink with billionaires?"

"You drink with men who can't stop thinking about how you make silence feel like comfort," he replied, not quite looking at her.

That stopped her.

Julian sat down across from her, eyes darker than usual-stormier. He leaned back, one arm slung over the couch, the other holding his glass loosely in his fingers.

She studied him.

"Is this how it starts?" she asked. "The part where the writer falls for the subject?"

Julian's eyes found hers. "Are you falling?"

She laughed. Nervous. "I didn't say that."

"But you didn't deny it."

The air between them tightened.

Raindrops tapped at the windows like a ticking clock, counting down to something neither of them was ready to admit.

"I don't do this," Julian said softly. "I don't let people get close."

"I figured."

"Because when they get close... they leave."

He said it so simply. So quietly. As if it wasn't the kind of pain that could drown someone.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Julian," Alora whispered.

He looked down. "Maybe that's what scares me."

Alora set her drink aside and stood. She walked to the grand piano, her fingers trailing lightly across the keys.

"Play for me?" she asked without turning around.

A long pause.

Then she heard his footsteps. Soft. Careful.

He sat beside her, brushing her knee as he reached for the keys. The melody was hesitant at first, then fuller-haunting. A lullaby made of memory.

She watched his hands. Not just strong or elegant-but vulnerable. She could feel the tension radiating off him, like he was fighting the urge to pull away... or pull her closer.

When the last note faded, silence returned.

And Alora turned to him.

They were inches apart. His face close. Too close.

Her breath hitched.

Julian looked at her mouth, then her eyes. Slowly. Deliberately.

And when he spoke, it was low-like the rain outside.

"I want to kiss you."

Alora's heart jumped.

"But?" she whispered.

His jaw clenched. "But if I do... I won't stop."

She stared at him.

She could kiss him. Right here. Right now.

Everything about this moment was fragile and aching and real.

But she didn't.

Instead, she reached up slowly... and touched his face.

"You don't have to hide with me," she said.

He closed his eyes.

And when he opened them, his hand rose-just shy of her jaw-fingers trembling with the restraint of a man who desperately wanted more.

But didn't trust himself to take it.

Then, just as quietly as he entered her life, Julian stood.

Backed away.

"I should go," he said, voice rough.

Alora nodded.

But her heart whispered, He wanted to stay.

And long after he was gone, she sat by the piano, replaying the moment they didn't kiss...

and wondering if the almost would hurt more than the actual goodbye.