Page 53 of Her Ruin

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He just watched me, his eyes sharp, unreadable, filled with something that sent heat curling in my stomach.

“No,” he repeated, slow and deliberate. He slid his hands into his pockets like he had all the time in the world, leaning back against the door. “We’re not done.”

I exhaled sharply, forcing control back into my voice. “This isn’t funny, Zayn.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

The weight of his gaze pressed against me, daring me to react, to push, to step back. I refused. I wouldn’t be pushed around by him anymore. I pulled my hair over my shoulder, tilting my chin. “I’m done here.”

His eyes gleamed dangerously, and I hated how good he looked. “Are you?”

The way he said it, low, mocking, dangerous, sent that familiar tingle skittering down my spine. I clenched my fists at my sides. “Yes.”

He let out a quiet laugh, moving off the door, moving closer. “I think that’s a lie.”

My breath caught. The space between us was shrinking too fast, too effortlessly. The warmth of his body was inches from mine now, and the scent of whiskey and the hint of something unmistakablydarkerthat was him surrounded me.

My pulse betrayed me, jumping beneath my skin. “I hate you,” I whispered.

He smiled widely. “No, you don’t.”

His fingers brushed against my exposed collarbone, the lightest touch, yet my skin burned. I should have stepped back. I should have told him to move, to let me out, to avoid whatever the hell this new game was.

But I didn’t.

Because despite the fury still burning inside me, despite knowing he had played me, manipulated me, controlled me from the start…I was still aching for something I had no business wanting.

Zayn saw it.

His eyes flickered to my lips, slow and deliberate. My breath hitched.

“Say you don’t want this,” he murmured, his voice silk and sin. “Say it, and I’ll let you walk out the door.”

I parted my lips—ready to say it. Ready to lie.

But before I could speak, he moved.

Soft. Slow. Calculated.

His hand skimmed down my arm, then gently back up, his fingers curling at the base of my neck, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw as he tilted my chin upwards.

I stopped breathing.

Zayn’s lips hovered above mine—not touching, not yet—just close enough for the heat of his breath to tease, to torment, to remind me who was in control.

He didn’t kiss me.

He waited.

Waited formeto close the distance. Waited formeto break.

I hated him for it. I hated myself more.

Because I almost did.

I was in his office the night I almost gave in, and just like that night, I almost tipped forwards, almost gave in to the unbearable heat that burned between us, almost let him take what we both knew we wanted.

He knew how close I was to breaking. That slow smirk brushed his lips and told me he knewexactlyhow close I was falling.

---