By the time Ronan reached his apartment, it had gotten quite late. And unfortunately for him, or maybe he would say fortunately some time later, the shop of the old man from whom he usually got his fried chicken rice was closed.

He could have taken a detour down a couple of streets and looked for something else, but he was not willing to. Maybe he would cook something, or just sleep hungry.

Using his spare key, Ronan unlocked the main door of the house and was about to climb the stairs when his eyes settled on the closed door of his landlady’s apartment. Illyia Wailey’s image flashed in his mind, and he could not help but remember the close physical proximity he had shared with her when she had invited him for dinner. He remembered how he had comforted her in her moment of weakness.

Just like almost every other man, Ronan too had desires and needs. He had lust and cravings. But given his status and economic condition, he had always remained underconfident and uncertain about making a move on any woman.

But now things had changed. He had already taken his baby steps on a dangerous path. He was going to join a gang. He was about to walk down a dangerous path.

Then after all this, how could he remain a coward even in matters of his own desires? Not that it was an easy task but he surely had to try. Unless he tried, how would he know if he would be successful and failure?

He did not know exactly how Illyia Wailey would react, but he surely had to make his move. And given the chemistry they had shared a couple of nights ago, coupled with the fact that she had been a widow for five years, he could hope for some success.

Taking a deep breath and gathering a bit of extra courage, Ronan approached her door and knocked on it.

A few seconds later, the door was unbolted and she came into view. She was dressed in a thin, loose fitting dress, and the moment he saw her, a lump formed in his throat.

"Ronan," Illyia called out, her tone carrying a hint of surprise.

"What happened? This late in the night? Is everything all right?" She questioned.

"Yeah," he answered. "Everything is fine. I was wondering if you could do a favor for me."

"Tell me," she responded. "What do you need?"

"You see," he explained, "I got caught up with some work, and the shop where I generally get my dinner was closed."

"And I am feeling a bit too tired to cook something on my own," he continued. "I was wondering if you had something to eat that you could spare."

"Oh!" Realization hit Illyia, and a warm smile broke across her face. "Come on in. I will get you something to eat."

Ronan smiled and followed her inside her apartment.

"Take a seat," she said. "I surely have a few things for you to eat. You wait a moment while I heat up the food."

She walked toward the kitchen. Ronan did not listen to her instruction and followed close behind her instead.

"Why are you here?" she asked, seeing him enter the kitchen. "You are tired. You should rest."

"I was wondering if I could help you with something," Ronan replied, stepping forward and standing just a bit close to her.

"I am feeling a bit guilty making you do this extra work," he added.

"You should not worry," she smiled. "It is fine. It is the first time you have asked me to help you with dinner. It’s not a big deal."

Ronan nodded while Illyia began the process of heating the food.

"How is your case going?" he asked. "Is there any update?"

"No," she sighed. "Not really. Everything is the same as before. Let us see what happens."

"Mhmm," Ronan said, not saying much else.

He could not be completely confident yet, but he hoped that in a few days, he would have enough wealth, power, and influence to finally help her in some meaningful way.

Ronan took a step closer to her. His face was mere inches away from hers. They could feel their warm breaths brushing against each other’s faces.

Illyia’s heartbeat spiked upon finding Ronan getting this close to her. The last time Ronan had been this close, when he had held her hands, it had all been unintentional and a result of the circumstances.

But this time she could tell he was being deliberate. And this was causing a sudden rush of blood throughout her body. It had been years since a man had touched her, and now finding Ronan this close to her was making her heart pound in anticipation and excitement. She knew that it was not the right thing. That Ronan was too young for her. But her body was not ready to listen to sanity.

It was not that she was unaware of her situation. She knew how the majority of men saw her. How they gazed at her with lust. To them, she was a prize to win. A goal to score. They considered her vulnerable after her husband’s death. An easy target to acquire.

Ronan was probably no different. He thought that he was able to mask his intentions, but the lady’s intuition was strong.

Illyia had picked up on it whenever his gaze tilted slightly toward her ass whenever she crossed his path. She had picked up on it whenever his eyes settled on her boobs for an extra second.

But unlike other men, Illyia was not disgusted by Ronan. Why? Because he was not outright lecherous like them. He did not make her uncomfortable. He had never crossed boundaries until now.

And no matter how hard she had tried to control herself, those subtle gazes had produced a sense of thrill inside her. There had been moments she had secretly wished for him to cross those boundaries, despite knowing it was not the right thing. And right now, he seemed to be doing exactly that.

"Everything will be fine, Miss Wailey," Ronan mumbled.

His voice was deep and husky, and Illyia felt her spine shiver. Ronan took another step closer, and Illyia moved back. She was now pressed against the kitchen slab with his lips looming over hers.

"What are you doing, Ronan?" She mumbled, her voice shaky and barely leaving her throat.

Ronan placed both his hands on the counter on either side of her, trapping her.

"Can you not tell?" He asked.

Illyia was breathing heavily, and despite her mind screaming at her to push him away, she was not doing so. Her heart and body were in no mood to respond to her rationale and logical thoughts.

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