[Wine Shop - Late Night]
For a single heartbeat, Fred froze under the weight of her trembling kiss.
The soft, broken way her lips moved against his - desperate, seeking, lost - cracked through every iron wall he'd built around himself.
A low, dangerous sound rumbled from deep in Fred's chest.
His restraint snapped like a frayed wire.
In a flash, his hands gripped her waist, pulling her onto his lap roughly - pinning her there, caging her between his body and the plush velvet sofa.
Harriet gasped softly, her fingers curling instinctively into his jacket.
But Fred didn't move closer.
Not yet.
Their faces hovered a breath apart - so close she could feel the heat rolling off him in dangerous waves.
Fred's voice came out low, hoarse, a growl of warning against her trembling lips:
> "Don't..."
"Don't provoke me."
"I'm not Rufei."
"I'm not the boy you dreamed of. I'm the nightmare you shouldn't wake."
His forehead dropped heavily against hers, the storm of emotions flashing through his shadowed eyes - warning, wanting, breaking.
For a breathless moment, neither of them moved.
Then Harriet whispered, tears clinging to her lashes:
> "I don't care... Just... stay with me tonight..."
Her voice shattered him.
Fred groaned low in his throat - lost - and captured her lips again, this time with a raw, searing hunger.
The kiss deepened instantly, no longer soft - it was bruising, desperate, molten.
His hands threaded into her hair, pulling her closer, while her small hands clung helplessly to him, lost in the overwhelming heat.
Their kiss was a battlefield.
Of past grief.
Of present loneliness.
Of forbidden, dangerous need.
Fred kissed her like he was trying to breathe life into her shattered soul.
And Harriet kissed him back like she was trying to escape her own broken heart.
The world outside blurred away - no rain, no streets, no past.
Only them.
Only the electric, trembling space between two people who should have never collided - and yet, somehow, fit together too perfectly.
Fred finally broke the kiss with a strangled gasp, his forehead pressing against hers, his chest heaving.
He whispered against her lips, voice trembling:
> "You're drunk."
"And if I don't stop now... you'll regret this."
His fingers lingered against her cheek - a ghostly touch - before he gently pulled away, standing up with a violent jerk, every inch of him trembling with the effort to control himself.
He scooped her up easily, like she weighed nothing, and carried her to the car without a word - the wine shop door swinging shut behind them with a heavy thud.
The rain outside poured harder now, washing the streets in a dark, endless crimson.
---
[After Fred carries Harriet into the SUV - Rainstorm Night]
Fred placed her carefully onto the backseat, tucking his jacket tighter around her shivering form.
For a long moment, he just stood there in the open rain, fists clenched at his sides, head bowed.
Lightning split the sky in jagged veins above.
He was losing control.
Because of her.
Because of everything.
Finally, with a violent sigh, he slammed the door shut and circled to the driver's seat, wiping rain from his face with the back of his hand.
Inside the car, Harriet whimpered softly in her sleep, reaching out blindly.
Her fingers found the edge of his jacket and fisted it tightly - refusing to let go.
Fred sat frozen for a moment, feeling the fragile warmth of her grip.
He exhaled slowly.
Started the engine.
And drove into the bleeding night.
---
[Shadowed Alley - Same Night]
Meanwhile - across the city - in a narrow, foul-smelling alley drowned in shadows...
A group of figures gathered under the broken streetlights.
Faces hidden under dark hoods.
Eyes glinting with vicious purpose.
One man leaned against the wall, lazily flipping a butterfly knife between his fingers.
A woman with blood-red nails lit a cigarette, smoke curling from her lips like venom.
Another man - tall, scarred - checked a photo on his cracked phone.
A picture of Harriet.
Still smiling, unaware.
The tall man spat on the ground and said in a gravelly voice:
> "Target confirmed."
"The girl is moving. With him."
The woman laughed - low and cruel.
> "Perfect."
"Let them have their little love story."
---
To be continued...
****