The front door slammed behind her.
Ana didn't bother with a coat or an umbrella.
She just… walked.
The sky above New York cracked open, thunder rolling like a warning.
The kind you don't listen to until it's too late.
The heels hurt.
The cold bit.
But none of it compared to the noise in her head.
This isn't love.
But it could be...
And that was the most dangerous line of all.
🌧️ Five Minutes Later
Rain poured from the sky in sheets.
Her dress clung to her skin. Mascara ran in silent streaks.
Still, she didn't stop.
Until a familiar voice broke through the storm.
"Ana!"
She turned.
He was running. Soaked. Breathless. No jacket. No plan.
Just him.
Christian Blake, undone.
"Are you insane?" he shouted. "You could get sick!"
"I needed air!"
He stopped two feet from her, blinking against the downpour.
"You left in a storm."
"You let me."
He flinched.
Then stepped forward.
And she didn't move.
⚡ The Moment
His hands cupped her face before either of them realized they'd closed the space.
Her heart was beating out of her ribs.
"You're ruining your suit," she whispered.
"I don't care."
"You're drenched."
"So are you."
Their foreheads touched.
He was warm. Wet. Furious.
And still somehow the calmest place she'd ever stood.
"I didn't want to feel this," he breathed. "But every time you run, I want to follow. Every time you speak, I listen. And every time I look at you—"
He didn't finish.
Because that's when he kissed her.
It wasn't soft.
It was four chapters worth of repressed heat, broken trust, tension and truth—
crashing down in the middle of a goddamn storm.
Her fingers gripped the back of his neck.
His hand slid to her waist, pulling her impossibly close.
It wasn't fake.
Wasn't part of the contract.
Wasn't for the press.
It was real. And that made it terrifying.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and soaked, neither of them spoke.
They just stared.
Because what could they possibly say…
when everything had just changed?
đź““ Ana's Journal Entry #6
He kissed me in the rain tonight.
Not for the cameras.
Not because the contract said so.
Not to calm me down, or to win a scene, or to manipulate a headline.
He kissed me because he couldn't not.
And I hate that I felt it everywhere.
In the way his hands held my face like I might disappear.
In the silence before it happened—
Like the storm outside paused just long enough to let it be real.
He tasted like regret.
And hope.
And something I want to believe in… but can't.
Because if I believe him now,
It means every wall I built wasn't strong enough.
I don't know what this kiss means.
If it was a breaking point…
Or the beginning of something that could still destroy me.
But I know one thing:
He didn't kiss me like I was part of a deal.
He kissed me like he finally saw me—
And didn't want to let me go.
She didn't reread the entry this time.
She didn't need to.
Because the memory wasn't fading.
And the feeling?
It was still on her lips.
To be continued…