Chapter 8 Kiss "that'll will help you shut up"
The clock read 11:46 p.m.
The Whitmore mansion was too quiet. The kind of silence that didn’t feel peaceful, it felt like it was listening.
Daphne slipped off her shoes at the door, holding them by their thin straps as she crossed the marble floor. The chandelier above threw soft light across her messy hair and the smudge of lipstick still clinging to her smile. Her head buzzed, leftover laughter, cheap champagne, and adrenaline that hadn’t burned out yet.
Her friends’ voices echoed faintly in her mind: Lila daring her to dance on the table, Marcus cheering, the thud of bass so loud she could feel it in her ribs. She’d been reckless. It felt good, too good.
She reached for the stairs when,
Click.
The lights snapped on.
Daphne froze mid-step.
Michael stood near the switch.
His sleeves were rolled up, his hair damp like he’d just showered, and his jaw tight enough to cut glass. He didn’t speak. Just looked at her, that calm, unreadable look that somehow made her heart trip.
“Seriously?” she said after a beat. “You’re just standing there in the dark like a horror movie extra?”
“Waiting for you,” he said.
Her smile tilted. “That’s creepier than the horror movie.”
She tried to brush past him, but he didn’t move. His presence filled the space, steady, quiet, and annoyingly controlled.
“Why do you keep sneaking around like this?” he asked. “Your grandfather doesn’t care where you go. You’re not a kid.”
Daphne turned slightly, her expression light but sharp. “Wow. Lecture time again?”
“No,” he said simply. “Just trying to understand you.”
Her smile flickered, a small crack she fixed almost immediately. “Good luck with that.”
She started up the stairs, her bare feet silent against the marble. When she reached the middle landing, she leaned against the railing, looking down at him.
“My grandma’s coming back next week,” she said suddenly.
Michael frowned. “And?”
“And she’s terrifying.” Daphne’s voice softened. “She doesn’t smile. Ever. If she catches me sneaking out again, she’ll probably exile me to some convent in the mountains.”
He crossed his arms. “Then maybe don’t give her a reason.”
Daphne smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Michael didn’t smile. He just stared at her with that same stillness that made her feel like he saw too much.
The silence between them stretched, heavy and charged.
Finally, she turned and kept walking. “Goodnight, soldier boy.”
She was almost at the top when she heard his voice again, lower this time.
“Daphne.”
She didn’t stop.
“You left me in the street today.” His footsteps echoed behind her. “Like an idiot.”
Her shoulders tensed.
“Why?” he asked. “Because of last night?”
No answer.
He caught up to her, stopping a few feet away. His tone softened. “If it was… I wanted to apologize.”
She reached her bedroom door and paused, her hand resting on the handle.
“I shouldn’t have snapped,” he said. “You didn’t deserve that. I just…”
“Michael,” she interrupted.
He stopped.
Slowly, she turned around. The hallway light framed her in pink, hair loose, makeup smudged, eyes unreadable.
She took a few steps toward him. The air between them shifted.
Michael didn’t move. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears.
Then her hand came up, soft, quick, brushing against his collar. The touch was light, but it hit like a jolt.
Before he could speak, she kissed him.
It wasn’t long. It wasn’t slow. Just a brief, startling press of lips that left him absolutely still.
The world fell away, her perfume, the warmth of her breath, the faint tremble in her fingers.
Then it was gone.
She pulled back, voice barely above a whisper. “There. Maybe now you’ll stop talking.”
Her words sounded sharp, but her eyes betrayed her. They wavered, something like panic behind the defiance.
Michael didn’t speak. Couldn’t. His hand twitched at his side, like he wasn’t sure whether to pull her back or push her away.
She turned first, opened her door, and slipped inside. The soft click of it closing echoed through the hall.
For a long moment, he stood frozen. Then he exhaled, slow and shaky, dragging a hand down his face.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered.
He turned away, but every step down that hallway felt heavier.
~~~
Inside her room, Daphne pressed her back against the door, heart racing so hard it hurt.
“What the hell did I just do…” she whispered.
She touched her lips, still warm. His taste lingered faintly, mint, vanilla, and something she couldn’t name.
Sliding down to the floor, she wrapped her arms around her knees.
“He didn’t even move,” she said to the empty room, half laughing, half mortified. “Maybe I broke him.”
The laugh died quickly. She stared at the window, the glow of garden lights, the stillness outside.
She shouldn’t have kissed him.
He was her bodyguard. Her grandfather trusted him.
And she… she didn’t trust herself anymore.
He’d looked at her tonight like he cared, not like a man flirting, not like anyone else did, and something in her wanted to ruin that calm. To make him feel the chaos she lived with.
Her hand tightened around her pillow.
What scared her most wasn’t that she’d kissed him. It was that she wanted to do it again.
~~~
Down the hall, Michael sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands.
He’d seen a lot in his life. War zones. Betrayal. Pain. But nothing as disarming as that one reckless girl.
Daphne Whitmore was chaos in high heels. She didn’t even have to try, she just existed, and everything around her shifted.
He rubbed his face hard, trying to erase the memory of her lips. But it stuck, stubborn and dangerous.
He’d only meant to apologize. Simple, clear, professional.
Then she’d kissed him and rewired his entire night.
Now everything between them was blurred, lines he wasn’t supposed to cross, feelings he couldn’t admit, thoughts he didn’t want to have.
He stood and paced the room. The floorboards creaked softly under his steps.
He thought of her laugh, her bare feet on marble, that stubborn tilt of her chin when she refused to be tamed.
This job was supposed to be simple, protect her, keep her safe, stay invisible. But how was he supposed to protect someone who made him forget how to breathe?
He sat back down, rubbing his temples.
Midnight blinked red on the clock.
Somewhere through the walls, faint and muffled, he heard her laugh again.
His jaw tightened.
“Get a grip,” he muttered.
But his chest wouldn’t calm down.
Because now, every time
he closed his eyes, he didn’t see the reckless girl he was supposed to guard. He saw the one who kissed him just to prove she could, and made him want to kiss her back.
