Nico

I messed up. I knew it the moment I closed the bathroom door behind me. I should not have walked out on him like that, leaving Alaric lying there, spent and vulnerable after everything we had just shared.

But deep down, I also knew the truth: Alaric was not ready.

As much as I wanted to take him completely, to claim every inch of his body and make him mine in every possible way, he was not ready for me. He was not ready for the full force of my obsession once I finally got a real hold on him.

I stood in the bathroom, not even bothering to step under the running shower. The water cascaded loudly into the tub, filling the space with white noise, but I remained frozen in front of the vanity mirror.

My reflection stared back at me—my hair still dark and messy, my eyes dark with a mixture of lingering desire and heavy guilt.

I loved being in control. That was the problem.

Once I let myself go fully with someone, especially someone like Alaric de Villier, I knew I would not be able to stop. My obsession would take over.

The enigma side of me—the possessive, unrelenting, almost dangerous part that I rarely showed anyone—would surface completely. I would want to own him. I would want to mark him, to break down every wall he had built, to make him crave me the way I already craved him.

And that terrified me.

Because we were not even supposed to be together. We were rivals. Enemies on the track, and everything I was doing was meant to make sure he did not return to the grid.

Any kind of intimacy between us was forbidden territory, a complication that could destroy both our careers if it ever got out.

Yet I had let it happen anyway. I had let my desire override everything.

The way he had looked at me when I stripped, the way his hand had traced my tattoos, the sounds he made when I took him into my mouth—it had all been too much.

I had wanted to push further. I had wanted to flip him over, to take him completely, to lose myself in him until there was nothing left but us.

But I stopped. I stopped because I was scared. Scared that if I showed him even a glimpse of my true self—the obsessive and controlling side I kept locked away—he would pull back completely. Or worse, he would look at me with disgust or fear.

Alaric was already struggling with his own feelings. He was not ready for the full weight of what I could become once I let the chains slip.

Guilt twisted sharply in my chest as I gripped the edge of the sink. I had left him there on the bed, confused and probably hurt by my sudden withdrawal.

I had seen the flash of rejection in his eyes when I pulled away and headed to the bathroom. "You are not ready, Alaric," I had said, but the words had been more for myself than for him.

I was the one who was scared of losing control. I was the one who knew how deep my obsession could run. I had walked out because staying would have meant crossing a line I was not sure either of us could come back from.

I finally forced myself under the shower, letting the hot water beat down on my shoulders and back. It did little to wash away the guilt or the lingering taste of him on my tongue.

My mind kept replaying every moment—the way his body had arched when I sucked his nipples, the broken sounds he made when I took him deep into my throat, the way he had looked when he came so hard he seemed to see heaven.

It had been perfect. Too perfect. And that perfection only made the guilt heavier. We were supposed to hate each other. We were supposed to be rivals fighting for every position on the grid. Instead, I had crossed a line that could ruin everything we had both worked for.

I stayed in the shower longer than necessary, trying to gather my thoughts and calm the storm inside me.

When I finally turned the water off and dried myself, I wrapped a fresh towel around my waist and took a deep breath. I could not avoid him forever.

Because I needed to sleep—it had been a long day.

When I returned to the bedroom, the storm outside was still raging, rain lashing against the windows.

Alaric was already lying on the bed, but instead of taking the left side as I had suggested, he had claimed the right side.

He was turned away from me, his back facing the center of the bed, clearly putting as much distance between us as possible.

The sight sent another sharp pang of guilt through me.

He was still mad. I could tell.

And there was nothing I could say right now that would fix what I had done. I simply walked to the left side of the bed, dropped the towel, and slipped under the covers, completely naked.

I lay there in silence, staring up at the ceiling as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled outside. My heart raced, refusing to slow down. Every beat reminded me of what had happened earlier—the heat of his skin, the taste of him, the way he had moaned my name.

Sleep felt impossible.

My mind was too loud, filled with guilt, desire, fear, and the constant awareness that Alaric was lying just inches away from me, probably angry or confused or both.

I turned my head slightly to look at his back, noting the tense line of his shoulders.

He was still awake too, pretending he was sleeping. I reached out to touch him but dropped my hand at the center of the bed, then turned toward the window and closed my eyes.

Eventually, exhaustion won.

My eyes grew heavy, and I fell into a restless sleep filled with fragmented dreams of everything that had happened with Alaric.

The next morning, I woke up to a cold bed. I yawned and stretched my hands, preparing to get up, when a firm knock pulled me fully awake.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes, my body still aching in both the best and worst ways from the night before. I used the covers to wrap myself as I headed toward the door. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

One of the male attendants stood outside when I opened it. "Good morning, sir. Please get ready. Mr. Richard has arrived for you. He is waiting in the lobby."

"Thank you," I muttered, shutting the door and turning back to the bed. Then my eyes widened when I realized I had missed something.

Alaric. He wasn’t on the bed.

Where had he gone?