The air between them had been thick for days.

A constant game of glances, veiled threats, unspoken questions. Serena wrote him into her pages, and Luciano read between her lines.

But tonight—it snapped.

It started in the hallway.

Late. Silent.

She was returning from the garden. He was coming from the study.

They collided at the corner.

Not hard. Just enough for her notebook to fall, pages fluttering like feathers at their feet.

Luciano knelt before she could react. Picked it up. Didn’t hand it back.

Just held it.

His eyes flicked to the open page.

And read aloud:

“He kissed her like a promise.
Like a warning.
Like he knew her spine was made of stories and wanted to snap every one.”

He looked up at her. “Is this me again?”

Her breath hitched. “Would it matter if it was?”

Luciano stood slowly, closing the notebook.

Then, without warning, he stepped into her space. One hand gripped the notebook—still hers. The other, her jaw.

Firm. Not hurting. But dominant.

“Tell me, Serena,” he murmured, voice low, dangerous. “What would happen if your monster kissed you for real?”

She didn’t blink. “He’d get addicted.”

He stared at her like he wanted to devour her whole.

Then—

He kissed her.

Hard. Sharp. Nothing romantic. It was a claim, a warning, just like her words.

His mouth tasted like violence and heat. Her fingers curled into his shirt—not to pull him closer, but to keep from falling.

It lasted seconds.

But it changed everything.

Luciano broke the kiss, eyes blazing. “Write that down,” he whispered. “So you don’t forget who started it.”

Serena wiped her mouth slowly, gaze calm. “Oh, I won’t forget.”

Her voice dropped as she added, “But neither will you.”

And with that, she walked away—leaving him in the hallway, breathing heavier than he wanted to admit.

In her room, Serena opened her notebook.

And wrote:

“The kiss wasn’t a mistake.
It was a weapon.
And he didn’t know…
I’d just made my first cut.”