"That’s not good. That’s the problem." She pressed herself flatter against the wall. "You do this. You get close and everything in my head just...stops."

"Sounds like chemistry."

"Sounds like manipulation."

"If I was manipulating you, would I have stopped when you ran the first time?"

She blinked. "What?"

"In the conference room. After I drained you. You ran. I could’ve followed. Could’ve pushed. But I let you go." I put one hand on the wall beside her head. "So yeah, there’s something between us. Yeah, your body responds to mine. But that’s choice. Not control."

"I don’t have time for this." She tried to duck under my arm. "The match—"

I caught her waist. My hand settled naturally on the curve where her back met that ridiculous ass.

She gasped.

"Rome—"

"You’re scared," I said quietly. "Not of me. Of yourself. Of what happens when you stop fighting this."

"I’m not—"

I pulled her flush against me. The movement was smooth, deliberate. No hesitation.

Noel’s eyes went wide. I felt every curve of her body pressed to mine—soft where I was hard, warm where I was burning. My other hand came up to cup the back of her head, fingers sliding into that perfect violet bob.

"I hate you," she whispered.

"No you don’t."

"I do."

"Then prove it." I tilted her face up. "Push me away. Right now. Show me that all those speeches about wanting nothing to do with me are real."

Her hands came up. Pressed against my chest.

But she didn’t push.

"See?" I said.

"This doesn’t—"

I kissed her.

Noel went rigid for exactly two seconds. Then she melted.

Her mouth opened under mine like she’d been waiting for this since the storage room. Since the conference table. Since childhood, maybe. I kissed her the way you kiss someone you’ve been wanting for years—deep, possessive, claiming. My tongue found hers and she made a sound that went straight to my dick. Her fingers twisted in my shirt, pulling me closer instead of pushing away.

The drain opened.

Not slowly. Not carefully. It ripped open like a dam breaking.

Noel’s Essentia flooded into me—vanilla and frost and something sharper underneath, like metal scraped across ice. But beneath all that cold ran heat. Actual fire. The kind she’d been burying under layers of control and perfect posture and color-coded portfolios.

I pulled her closer, my hand sliding lower to grip her ass properly. The skirt’s high slit gave me access. Her body was soft and firm in equal measure, curves that fit my hands like they’d been designed for exactly this purpose.

She moaned into my mouth.

That sound. Christ. The perfect class president, the Stark Industries heiress, the girl who’d spent years planning my humiliation—reduced to moaning because I finally kissed her properly.

I squeezed harder. She broke the kiss with a gasp, her head falling back against the wall. "Rome—"

"Yeah?"

"We can’t—" She couldn’t finish. My mouth found her throat. "The match—"

"Still ten minutes."

"Someone could—"

"Door’s locked."

"You didn’t—"

"I did." I’d locked it the second Usagi left. "While you were busy being angry."

Her pulse hammered under my lips. I kissed down her throat, over her collarbone, to the exposed line of her shoulder where the trumpet sleeve began. Her skin tasted like expensive lotion and something uniquely her.

"This is insane," she breathed.

"This is chemistry."

"I’m supposed to hate you."

"You do hate me." I kissed back up to her jaw. "And you want me. Both things can be true."

"That’s not—"

I kissed her again. Harder this time. My hand on her ass pulled her hips against mine so she could feel exactly what she was doing to me. The drain between us widened, cycling faster. Her Essentia poured into me in sharp electric waves that tasted like winter storms and vanilla cream.

She whimpered.

The sound made something primal spike through me. I wanted to throw her onto the equipment bench. Rip that ridiculous hero dress off. Make her scream my name loud enough that everyone waiting in the arena would hear it.

Instead, I pulled back.

Noel’s eyes were unfocused, her lips swollen and red. She looked thoroughly kissed and completely undone.

"What—" She tried to catch her breath. "Why did you stop?"

"Because we have a match in eight minutes."

"You—" Anger flickered in those grey eyes. "You can’t just kiss me like that and then—"

"Like what?"

"Like you own me."

"Don’t I?"

Her hand connected with my face. The slap wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but the intent was clear.

"Never," she said.

"Then why are you still here? Why didn’t you leave when I locked the door? Why didn’t you push me away when I grabbed you?" I touched my jaw where she’d hit me. "You want this. You just hate that you want it."

"I want to win today."

"We will."

"You’re that confident?"

"I’m that good."

She laughed. Actually laughed. It was bitter and sharp but genuine. "You’re impossible."

"I’m honest."

"That’s worse."

A knock on the door interrupted us. "Five minutes," Solana called from outside.

Noel’s face shifted through several emotions before settling on composed fury. She straightened her uniform, smoothed her hair, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"This conversation isn’t over," she said.

"Wasn’t trying to end it."

"After we win—"

"When we win."

"—we’re discussing boundaries."

"Looking forward to it."

She grabbed her portfolio from where it had fallen during our kiss. Papers had scattered across the floor. She gathered them with shaking hands.

"Noel."

She paused at the door. Didn’t turn around.

"We’re going to destroy them," I said.

"I know."

"Then why are you scared?"

She looked back. Her expression was raw and unguarded for exactly three seconds before the mask came back.

"Because I’m starting to think you might actually be good for me," she whispered. "And I’ve spent five years knowing exactly what I want. This wasn’t it."