The Forceful Kiss

Three years later.

"Sylvie, the VIP from Vantress Global called to rush the order again. Are you there yet?" Her best friend's anxious voice crackled through the phone speaker.

Sylvie adjusted her grip on the heavy takeout bags, her boots clicking softly against the pristine cobblestone. Arinthia’s most exclusive villa district was a sprawling labyrinth of manicured hedges, winding pathways, and towering iron gates. After ten minutes of navigating the confusing layout, her tired eyes finally caught the gold-plated numbers gleaming under the porch light.

"I just found it. Number 707," Sylvie breathed out, shifting the warm food containers to her other arm.

"Thank god. The guy sounded freezing over the phone. You know the people living in those mansions are filthy rich and hold some serious power. Don't offend him. Just drop the food, get the money, and leave."

"Got it. I'll be careful," Sylvie murmured.

She ended the call and slipped her phone into her pocket. A chilly evening breeze brushed past her face, but she felt a wave of relief. This was her final delivery for the night. Once she handed over this meal, she could finally go home, rest her aching feet, and check on her life. Taking a deep breath, she reached out and pressed the glowing doorbell.

A heavy mechanical click echoed in the quiet night, followed by the smooth glide of the luxurious electronic door swinging open.

Sylvie lifted her head, ready to put on her standard customer service smile. But the moment her gaze landed on the tall figure standing in the doorway, her breath hitched. Her feet rooted to the spot, trapping her in a sudden, suffocating paralysis.

The man framing the doorway possessed a breathtakingly cold, immaculate face. He had a sharp jawline, deep-set dark eyes, and an aura of overwhelming, chilling authority. It was a face carved deep into her nightmares, one she could never erase no matter how hard she tried.

Julian Sterling.

The man who had shared that fateful, disastrous night with her years ago. The young billionaire who practically owned the business world.

What was he doing here in Arinthia?

Panic clawed at her throat. Her instinct screamed at her to drop the bags and run, but her legs felt like lead. As she stood frozen, a harsh memory surfaced in her mind. It was her sister Giselle’s icy warning from years ago: *If you ever cross paths with him, feign ignorance. Do not let him know who you are.*

Sylvie forced her erratic heartbeat to slow down. She lowered her gaze, hiding the wild terror in her eyes, and pushed the plastic bags forward.

"Sir, your takeout is ninety-six dollars. Please pay for it."

Her voice trembled slightly, but she managed to keep her head bowed. She prayed he would just hand over a hundred-dollar bill, take the food, and shut the heavy door in her face.

Julian, however, did not reach out. He stood perfectly still, his towering presence casting a long, intimidating shadow over her small frame.

His dark, piercing gaze swept over her. She wore her work uniform: a knee-length black dress tailored close to her curves, paired with a delicate white lace apron tied around her waist. It was a standard cafe uniform, but on her, the contrast of dark fabric and pristine white lace hugged every line of her figure perfectly.

Having known the woman he thought she was for ten long years, Julian had never seen her dress like this. His usual sharp, guarded expression shifted. A glint of dark interest flickered in his deep eyes.

"You’ve changed your style, huh?" Julian murmured, his deep, magnetic voice vibrating in the quiet air.

Style? What style?

Sylvie’s mind blanked in sheer confusion. She had no idea what he meant. Her anxiety spiked as she extended the food containers further back and forth, waving them slightly to prompt him. "Sir, the bill..."

In her frantic, nervous movements, her pale knuckles inadvertently brushed against his solid, warm hand. The brief friction sent a sudden spark through the air.

To Julian, this hesitant reaching out, the lowered head, and the gentle brush of her fingers felt like a deliberate invitation. A current of heat shot up his arm and straight into his bloodstream. His eyes darkened instantly. He ignored the food containers. Instead, his large hand shot out, his long fingers wrapping tightly around her slender wrist.

Before Sylvie could process the movement, Julian yanked her forward.

The food bags dropped to the porch. Sylvie crashed flush against his hard, muscular chest. His solid arms locked around her waist, trapping her against his body.

"Role playing?" Julian’s voice dropped an octave, rough and thick with sudden desire. "This is a pretty good scene. I like it."

Role playing? What was he talking about?

A fierce flush burned across Sylvie’s cheeks. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. "Sir, I don’t know what you are talking about. Let… let go!"

Her small hands planted flat against his chest, pushing with all the strength she could muster. She twisted her waist, attempting to break free from his ironclad grip. But her desperate, squirming resistance only pressed her softer curves tighter against his firm, unyielding muscles.

The friction ignited a dangerous fire within him. As she struggled, the faint, sweet scent of her body drifted into his senses—a clean, intoxicating fragrance that bypassed his legendary self-control and tore down his meticulously built defenses.

Julian’s breathing grew heavy. His usually composed eyes turned pitch-black with raw hunger. "Don’t move," he warned flatly, his voice tight with immense restraint.

If she kept squirming against him like this, he would not be responsible for what happened next.

But Sylvie refused to yield. How could she stop moving? She wanted nothing to do with him. Being trapped in the arms of the man who ruined her life years ago sent waves of terror and revulsion through her.

Driven by sheer desperation, Sylvie opened her mouth, sank her teeth into his broad shoulder, and bit down hard.

To a man of Julian's stature, the bite lacked any real threat. It was nothing more than a kitten's nip. Instead of forcing him to pull away, the slight sting of pain acted as an instant catalyst, pouring gasoline over a roaring fire.

The last thread of his endurance snapped.

Julian’s large hand slid up her back and clamped firmly onto the back of her head, locking her in place. His dark eyes burned down into hers.

"Giselle, you succeeded tonight."

The name struck Sylvie like a physical blow.

Giselle!

The realization crashed over her. He had mistaken her for her sister again! He thought she was Giselle showing up at his door to seduce him.

Before she could open her mouth to scream, before she could utter a single syllable of denial, Julian’s face angled down. His lips crashed onto hers with an unstoppable, ferocious strength, taking her in without hesitation.

He invaded her senses with a punishing, overwhelming heat. His kiss was demanding and deep, swallowing her breathless gasps, leaving her no room to escape. The raw, imposing masculinity of his scent surrounded her, trapping her in a dizzying haze.

Sylvie’s eyes widened in profound shock. A suffocating wave of grievance and despair washed over her as his firm lips continued to devour hers.

It had been a living nightmare when he mistook her for Giselle that night four years ago. The pain, the forced possession, the loss of her innocence—it had all started with this exact same misunderstanding.

Were they truly about to repeat the exact same disastrous mistake?