BITTERSWEET PART 3: ARMATA AND CALISTA

Armata / Levi

Standing there, in the wake of her departure, I’m gripped by a fierce internal storm. Fucking hell. I was so close, too damn close, to crossing a line I’d drawn in the sand from day one. I lean heavily against the balustrade, the cool metal pressing into my palms, trying to ground the chaos inside me.

I watch Calista meld back into the sea of her high-society friends, her laughter reaching me even from here, and it’s like a sucker punch to the gut. She’s a siren in a room full of sharks, unaware of the power she holds, even over me.

It’s as if that moment between us—charged, close, a hair’s breadth from a kiss—was just a figment of my imagination.

But it wasn’t. It was real, and it’s eating me up inside.

I rub a hand over my face, the stubble scratching against my palm, and it pulls a self-deprecating laugh from deep within me.

What the hell was I thinking? I’m supposed to be her damn protector, her trainer, not some lovesick asshole who can’t keep his shit—or his hands