Line between us
855 Words
Harper
Sleep refused to come.
I lay there for hours, watching faint headlights sweep across the ceiling, tracing lines that vanished before I could follow them. My mind wouldn’t quiet — it was full of him. The way Alexander had looked at me earlier, the tension in his voice, the distance that felt both safe and unbearable.
It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. I was supposed to play my part, keep my heart out of it, take the money, and move on. But somewhere between the lies and the late nights, the line between pretending and feeling had started to blur.
By midnight, I gave up trying to sleep. I slipped out of bed, wrapping myself in a robe, and padded down the long hallway of the penthouse. The city glowed beyond the windows — restless, alive, indifferent to my chaos.
Light spilled faintly from the terrace doors. He was out there. I could feel it.
Alexander stood with his hands braced against the glass railing, his shirt sleeves rolled, his hair slightly tousled as though he’d been running a hand through it for hours. The sight of him stole my breath — not because he looked perfect, but because he looked human. Tired, conflicted, alone.
I hesitated in the doorway, the cool air brushing over me. “You don’t sleep either?”
He didn’t turn immediately. “Sometimes I forget how.”
I stepped outside, the marble cold beneath my bare feet. “Is it the company you keep or the ghosts that won’t leave you alone?”
That earned a quiet, humorless huff of laughter. “You make it sound like I’m haunted.”
“Maybe you are.” I leaned against the railing beside him. “You built this whole empire, Alexander, but you still look like a man waiting for something to go wrong.”
He looked at me then, the city lights reflected in his eyes. “And what about you? What keeps you awake, Harper?”
I swallowed, fingers tightening around the railing. “The feeling that I don’t belong here. That I’m standing in someone else’s story, waiting to be written out.”
His gaze softened, just slightly. “You think I don’t see you?”
“I think you see what you want to see,” I said. “And I let you.”
Silence settled between us — heavy, charged. The wind tugged at my hair, carrying the faint scent of rain.
“You don’t make it easy to forget you,” he said finally, voice low.
I turned toward him. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither is this,” he said, stepping closer.
The air changed — shifted. My heartbeat stumbled, my breath caught somewhere between fear and want. He was close enough that I could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way his pulse moved beneath his skin.
“This isn’t part of the deal,” I whispered.
“No,” he said quietly. “It isn’t.”
He reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. His fingers lingered, warm against my skin. Every inch of me felt alive, suspended between logic and something reckless.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice barely a breath.
I didn’t. I couldn’t.
Instead, I rose onto my toes and kissed him.
The world fell away — the noise, the city, the rules we’d built. His hands framed my face, steady and sure, as if he’d been waiting for this too long to question it. The kiss wasn’t soft. It was hungry, desperate, full of everything we’d both been holding back.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing hard.
“This changes everything,” I murmured.
“I know,” he said, his voice rough. “And I don’t care.”
But I did. God, I did.
Because I knew what came next — feelings, complications, consequences. I wasn’t built for this kind of heartbreak, and yet I couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through my chest.
I stepped back, needing space. “We can’t…”
“Harper—”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “We can’t pretend it didn’t happen, and we can’t act like it means something it doesn’t.”
His jaw clenched. “It meant something.”
“Maybe to you,” I said softly. “But to me, it’s a mistake waiting to destroy us both.”
The words hurt even as I said them.
He took another step forward, but I backed away, wrapping my arms around myself. “Good night, Alexander.”
He didn’t try to stop me this time.
Back in my room, I leaned against the closed door, fingers touching my lips as if I could erase the memory — the heat, the way he’d said my name like it meant something.
Sleep didn’t come that night either. Only the echo of a kiss that had rewritten every unspoken rule between us.
And somewhere deep down, I knew — we’d crossed a line we could never uncross.
- Writer
