Jiselle's POV:

Last night had to be the worst thing I had ever experienced with a guy.

The next morning, I called out of work and collapsed onto my couch, wrapped in pajamas, a movie playing that I wasn't really watching. Every time my mind drifted back to the night before, my stomach twisted. The embarrassment still clung to me, sharp and nauseating, like it refused to let go.

Then the doorbell rang.

I ignored it.

A moment later, it rang again.

With a groan, I forced myself off the couch and dragged my feet to the door. When I opened it, Liam stood there, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes uncertain.

"Hi," he said quietly. "Can I come in for a second?"

I hesitated, then stepped aside. "Sure."

He followed me into the open space of my penthouse, closing the door behind him. The silence felt heavy, uncomfortable.

"Jiselle," he began, his voice strained, "I am so sorry about last night. I never meant for that to happen. I can't even explain how bad I feel."

Something snapped inside me.

"It's my fault for agreeing to go out with you again," I shot back. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

I turned away, my chest tight, anger rising fast and unexpectedly. I didn't even understand where it was coming from.

"I don't like you!" I shouted. "You have a baby mama who's ten years older than you, your ex is nineteen, and somehow you and Cheryl still managed to come up with the perfect name for your son." My voice dripped with sarcasm. "It's ridiculous."

When I turned back around, Liam was staring at the floor. The fight drained out of me just as quickly as it had appeared. The room fell silent.

"You're right," he said finally. "I've dated a lot of women. None of it works out. But when I met you, I thought—maybe this time would be different." He looked up, his expression open and resigned. "I like you, Jiselle. But if you want nothing to do with me, I'll respect that."

I didn't answer.

He nodded slowly. "I guess that's my answer."

He turned and headed for the door.

Panic hit before I could think. I followed him into the hallway and grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn around. Before either of us could say another word, I kissed him.

Hard.

My hand slid to the back of his neck as I pushed him gently against the wall. He froze at first, clearly stunned, but then he responded—slowly, like he was afraid this might disappear if he moved too fast. Our lips found a rhythm, urgent and messy, breaking only when we needed air.

When I finally pulled away, my heart was racing. Liam looked at me like he didn't quite believe what had just happened.

Without a word, I backed into my penthouse and closed the door.

"What the hell just happened?" I whispered to myself.

I lifted my fingers to my lips. I could still taste him. The memory sent a shiver down my spine—confusing, electric, impossible to ignore.

And for the first time that morning, the movie playing in the background was completely forgotten.

***

Liam stood frozen in the hallway long after the door closed.

The soft click of the lock echoed louder than it should have, snapping him back into his body. His heart was still racing, his breath uneven, lips tingling where Jiselle had kissed him. He lifted a hand to the wall, steadying himself, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

One moment, he had been ready to walk away—to accept her silence as rejection and disappear like he promised.

The next, she was there.

Her hand on his arm. Her body pressed against his. The kiss—unexpected, fierce, real.

Did that actually happen? he wondered.

He exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair, a shaky laugh escaping him. The anger in her voice earlier replayed in his head, every word sharp and deserved. He hadn't argued. He hadn't defended himself. He'd meant every word when he said he would leave her alone.

But that kiss hadn't felt like anger.

It had felt like conflict. Like fear. Like wanting something she didn't know how to ask for.

Liam pushed off the wall and walked down the hallway, his steps slow and deliberate. He didn't turn back—not because he didn't want to, but because he respected the boundary she'd just drawn by closing that door. Still, his chest ached with the urge to knock, to ask what it meant, to tell her how badly it had shaken him.

Outside, the city felt too loud, too alive for how quiet he felt inside.

He replayed the moment again—the way she'd kissed him like she was afraid he'd disappear if she didn't. The way she pulled away first.

She's scared, he thought. And so am I.

As he got into his car, Liam rested his forehead against the steering wheel, letting out a breath he felt like he'd been holding since the carnival. He wasn't angry. He wasn't embarrassed anymore.

He was hopeful—and that scared him more than rejection ever had.

"I meant it," he murmured to himself. "If she wants space... I'll give it."

But as he drove away, one truth settled quietly in his chest:

Walking away didn't mean forgetting.

And that kiss wasn't something either of them would be able to pretend didn't happen.