Sasha's heart skipped. His reply came so quickly, so smoothly, it was as if he had been waiting. Like he knew she'd eventually crack.
They began messaging. Light at first. Casual. But then came the call, and after that, another meeting.
Then another. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, they fell into a pattern. It wasn't a relationship. It wasn't anything official.
But there was something magnetic between them—an unspoken pull.
He never reached out first. It was always her who initiated.
But Ross never hesitated to respond. When she called, he came.
When she asked, he said yes. And every time they met, it felt more dangerous than the last.
He never tried to sleep with her again—not yet—but his touches lingered.
His voice was low and rich when he spoke to her, as if every word was laced with hidden meaning.
And his eyes—God, his eyes—made her feel naked every time they landed on her.
She told herself she had the upper hand. That she was in control.
But it was a lie.
