The silence between them stretched again.
This time, it felt heavier.
More suffocating.
His gaze remained fixed on her, calm yet unreadable, as if he could see through every wall she had built around herself. It made her uneasy in a way she couldn't explain.
So she broke it.
"You… come here often?" she asked suddenly, her voice soft as she looked away, unable to hold his eyes any longer.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then a low chuckle slipped past his lips.
It was quiet.
But there was something dark in it.
Amusing.
Almost dangerous.
He leaned back slightly, lighting another cigarette with practiced ease. The flame flickered briefly before fading, leaving behind a thin trail of smoke curling into the air.
"It's about release," he said calmly. "Stress doesn't disappear on its own."
His eyes returned to her, steady and sharp.
"I don't go looking for women," he continued.
His tone was casual.
Too casual.
"They come to me."
Her fingers tightened unconsciously against the fabric beneath her.
There was no arrogance in his voice.
Only certainty.
"It's simple," he added. "They give what they want. I give what they expect."
A pause.
"No complications. No attachments."
The words settled in the room like something cold.
Detached.
Empty.
As if none of it had ever meant anything to him.
Then why…
Why was he still here?
Why wasn't he acting like the others?
"Then why are you different now?" she asked quietly, unable to stop herself.
That made him pause.
Only for a second.
But she noticed.
"Who said I am?" he replied.
She looked at him again, this time holding his gaze.
"You haven't touched me," she said.
The words were soft.
But they carried weight.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Then—
"Do you want me to?" he asked.
Her breath caught instantly.
The question was simple.
But his tone was not.
There was no rush in it.
No need.
Only control.
Complete, effortless control.
She couldn't answer.
Because for the first time, the fear inside her wasn't about him.
It was about herself.
About the way her heart reacted.
About the way she didn't want to look away.
A faint smirk appeared on his lips before fading just as quickly.
"Exactly," he murmured.
He took another slow drag, his gaze darkening slightly.
"You're not like them."
His voice was quieter now.
More certain.
"And I don't deal with lies."
Her chest tightened.
"You don't know me," she said, but her voice had lost its strength.
He leaned forward slightly.
Not enough to touch.
But enough to make his presence overwhelming again.
"I know enough," he said.
His voice dropped lower.
"Enough to see that you don't belong here."
Her breathing became uneven.
Because a part of her—
A part she had buried deep—
Wanted to believe him.
But she couldn't.
She shouldn't.
Men like him didn't save people.
They claimed them.
And yet—
The way he looked at her…
It didn't feel like possession.
It felt like something else.
Something darker.
Something far more dangerous.
Something that didn't ask.
Something that chose.
And once it chose—
It never let go.