CHAPTER 24: UNDER MY SKIN.

Charles’ POV

I spent eight hours at his office — eight long hours in Alistair’s world.

Not exactly with him, but close enough. I helped the secretary with a few tasks here and there, pretending I belonged, pretending I wasn’t watching him.

Every chance I got, I passed by his desk.

A glance. A tilt of my head.

Just enough to make him doubt what he saw — to wonder if I meant it or if it was all in his imagination.

My body language said maybe.

Not yes, not no — just maybe.

When we finally got in the car, I could feel the tension radiating off him like heat.

It was thick, almost electric.

And me? I couldn’t help smiling.

Because I knew exactly what I was doing.

I was smiling at his confusion, at his struggle to keep calm — smiling because my little plan was working.

"You’re pretty," I said softly. "Hardworking. I like that about you."

He didn’t answer right away.

I reached out — brushed my fingers against his hand on the steering wheel, then let them trail lightly across his back before buckling my seatbelt.

He smiled faintly, eyes heavy from exhaustion, and murmured, almost half asleep,

"I know."

I froze for a moment.

That "I know" wasn’t the kind of answer I expected. It wasn’t teasing or cold — it was... soft. Drowsy. Like he didn’t mean to say it, but it slipped out anyway.

For a second, I didn’t know whether to laugh or feel something else entirely. I just stared at him — his hand still on the wheel, the late evening light brushing against his jaw, his lashes half-lowered. He looked calm, but there was something beneath it. Something I’d stirred up.

And that made me smile again.

I leaned back against the seat, my gaze still on him. I could play innocent if I wanted to — I could pretend it was all in his head. But the truth was, I liked this game. The quiet kind, where every breath felt like it might say something we didn’t dare to.

"You should rest when we get home," I said, my voice lower than before. "You look tired."

He nodded faintly, not looking at me this time.

"Yeah," he said. "You wore me out."

I laughed under my breath. He didn’t mean it the way it sounded — but oh, it sounded perfect.

I turned to the window, hiding my grin, the city lights flickering against the glass.

It felt good, this silent victory.

Even if it was small.

Even if I didn’t know what I was really playing at anymore.

"I wore you out, huh?" I said, crossing my legs, elbows resting on my knees, chin in my palm. I tilted my head just enough to catch his expression — the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

He didn’t answer right away, just kept his eyes on the road like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. The muscles in his jaw tensed, though — subtle, but I noticed. I always noticed.

"Don’t look so tense," I added lightly, letting my tone drip with amusement. "You said it yourself."

He exhaled, a sharp little sound that could’ve been a laugh or a sigh.

"Charles," he said finally, quiet but firm.

Just my name — but the way he said it made my smirk deepen.

I leaned closer, lowering my voice. "What? You don’t like hearing the truth?"

His hand tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "You really don’t know when to stop, do you?"

"Oh, I know," I murmured, eyes lingering on him. "I just choose not to."

For a moment, neither of us said anything. The silence stretched — not awkward, not empty — but charged. Like the air right before lightning strikes.

And then, just to twist the knife a little deeper, I whispered,

"Relax, Alistair. I’m only teasing..."

But we both knew I wasn’t.

"Why are you acting like this?" he said.

His voice was barely audible, thin and trembling like it had been scraped raw.

He sounded... broken.

But that couldn’t be right.

He looked fine — his posture straight, his hands steady on the wheel. Everything about him screamed control. But that voice... it cracked.

"Stop looking at me like that," he went on, not even glancing my way. "You might just be twenty-one — early adult stage doesn’t mean you can use me to feel better. Stop acting weird and shit."

For a second, I didn’t answer. The words hit harder than I thought they would. Maybe because he said them like he actually cared — not like an insult, but like a plea.

I smiled anyway. Soft, almost innocent. "Use you?" I repeated, feigning curiosity. "Is that what you think I’m doing?"

He didn’t answer. His jaw just tightened again, eyes fixed on the empty road ahead.

I leaned back in my seat, letting out a slow exhale. The tension in the car was thick enough to touch.

"Maybe you’re right," I said finally, my tone gentle but my words sharp. "Maybe I am acting weird. But I’m not the only one, Alistair."

That got him. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, and for a moment, I thought he’d actually stop the car.

But he didn’t.

He just drove — silent, rigid — while I watched him with the same smile, pretending I wasn’t trembling inside.

---

Alistair’s POV

I hated the way Charles acted — that stupid smirk, that exaggerated strut. He was horrible at whatever he was trying to do, but somehow... it was both amusing and exhausting.

I meant it when I said he wore me out today. The glances, the little seductive gestures — they weren’t subtle, not even close. It was like watching a kid try to play a grown man’s game.

He was years younger than me, and it showed. Every look, every word — all childish bravado wrapped in confidence he hadn’t earned yet. And yet...

God help me, it worked.

Not in the way he probably wanted, but enough to make me feel something — irritation, maybe. Or something worse I didn’t want to name.

His mood swings looked... cute, actually.

At first, I swore they irritated me — the way he ignored me this morning like I didn’t exist, only to suddenly start acting all attentive at work. It was infuriating. Or at least, it should’ve been.

But watching him move between cold and warm, distant and teasing — it did something strange to me. One second he was all sharp edges, the next, he was soft smiles and lazy eyes that followed me a little too long.

And I hated that I noticed.

I hated that it felt almost... deliberate.

A part of me preferred this to Louis’ constant indifference. He could be more than I could ever ask for — generous, sometimes even tender — but the distance between us was a weight. His emotional unavailability pressed down on me, and his nonchalance felt more like a charade than anything real.

Maybe that’s why Charles got under my skin so easily.

He was everything Louis wasn’t — loud, impulsive, unpredictable. He didn’t hide what he felt. He wore it, flaunted it, even weaponized it. And somehow, that honesty, that raw, reckless energy, made the air around him impossible to ignore.

When he looked at me, it wasn’t detached or polite — it was deliberate. There was intent behind those eyes, like he was trying to crawl under my skin just to see what I’d do.

And I hated that it worked.

He was exhausting, yes — childish even — but there was something dangerously refreshing about him. Like a storm you didn’t want to stand in, yet couldn’t quite bring yourself to step away from.

Maybe I was just tired.

Maybe I was lonely.

Or maybe, deep down, I wanted to feel something real again — even if it came from all the wrong places.

"Alistair," he said, and my attention shifted instantly toward him.

"I’m hungry."

I blinked, caught off guard.

"Don’t look at me like that," he muttered, yawning as he stretched his arms lazily. "I barely have any energy left, and there’s a restaurant close by."

I almost laughed — not out of amusement, but disbelief. He sounded like a spoiled child, like someone who’d never lifted a finger in his life.

And yet... here I was.

Entertaining the thought of actually taking him there.

How could I be harboring any thoughts toward him, with that ridiculous, childish attitude?

I sighed, trying not to let my irritation show.

"You’re impossible," I muttered, starting the car.

He grinned — that smug little grin — like he’d just won something. "That’s a yes, right?"

I didn’t answer. The engine roared to life, and the air between us settled into something strange — quiet, but heavy.

The restaurant wasn’t far. A small place by the corner, warm lights spilling through the glass. Charles leaned back in his seat, humming to some tune in his head. His voice was soft, almost sweet — if I ignored the fact that he was deliberately driving me insane.

We parked. I got out first, half-expecting him to drag his feet, but he was already ahead of me, walking with that irritatingly confident stride.

Inside, the place smelled of butter and smoke — grilled fish, roasted chicken, all that. He picked a booth by the window and slid in with a satisfied sigh, stretching like a cat.

When I sat across from him, he smiled again — that same dangerous smile from earlier.

"See? Not so bad, is it?"

I raised a brow. "You’re acting like I agreed to your demands because I care."

He tilted his head, that teasing glint flashing in his eyes. "Didn’t you?"

I exhaled slowly, leaning back in my seat.

"This is dinner, Charles. Nothing more."

"Hmm," he hummed, playing with the edge of his napkin. "You keep saying that, but your face tells a different story."

I looked away — a little irritated.