Distraction
Aiah sat at the head of the long conference table, her hands folded neatly in front of her. The meeting had just started, yet she already felt a headache coming on. Not because of the business discussion—she could handle that easily—but because of the person sitting across from her.
Denise.
The woman was poised, confident, and undeniably charming. Her presence had an ease to it, making conversations flow naturally, making people gravitate toward her. Aiah might’ve ignored it on any other occasion, but it was the way Mikha reacted that made her stomach twist.
Mikha was actually smiling. Engaged. Laughing at something Denise had said.
Aiah’s grip on her pen tightened.
“We believe this partnership will be beneficial for both of our companies,” Denise continued, her voice smooth, professional. “And, of course, I’m looking forward to working closely with everyone again—especially you, Mikha.”
Aiah nearly scoffed. Was that necessary?
She turned her gaze to Mikha, waiting for some kind of reaction. Maybe Mikha would brush it off, downplay it. But no—Mikha just gave a slight nod, her lips curving into an amused smirk. “Looking forward to it as well.”
Aiah felt something hot rise in her chest.
She forced herself to focus on the meeting, but every time Denise spoke, her eyes involuntarily flickered to Mikha—who seemed perfectly fine, completely unfazed.
Finally, the meeting ended, and everyone began packing up their things. Denise approached Mikha first, engaging her in easy conversation.
“You haven’t changed at all, Mikha,” Denise said playfully. “Still sharp, still intimidating.”
Mikha chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Aiah stood up, fixing her blazer as she grabbed her files. She had no reason to stay, no reason to listen—except she couldn’t help it.
Denise tilted her head slightly. “We should catch up soon. Dinner?”
Aiah’s stomach dropped.
Mikha hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
Aiah clenched her jaw.
She didn’t wait for any more of their exchange. Instead, she strode out of the room, her heels clicking against the marble floor with purpose.
She wasn’t upset. She wasn’t.
But then why did it feel like her entire mood had just soured?
///
Aiah walked briskly toward the exit of the building, keeping her expression neutral, her strides purposeful. She had no reason to be irritated—none at all.
Denise was just a business partner. Nothing more.
But that didn’t stop the irritation bubbling under her skin.
“Aiah,” Mikha’s voice rang out behind her, firm and unwavering.
She ignored it, keeping her pace steady.
“Aiah.” This time, Mikha was right behind her.
Letting out a slow breath, Aiah finally stopped and turned around, arms crossed. “What?”
Mikha studied her for a moment, a knowing smirk playing at her lips. “You left pretty fast back there.”
“I have things to do.” Aiah’s voice was cool, indifferent. She wasn’t about to give Mikha the satisfaction.
Mikha raised an eyebrow. “Right after Denise invited me to dinner?”
Aiah scoffed, shaking her head. “I don’t care who you have dinner with, Mikha.”
“Really?” Mikha stepped closer, her gaze sharp. “Because you looked like you wanted to throw something when she asked.”
Aiah’s fingers twitched at her side, but she forced herself to stay composed. “You’re imagining things.”
Mikha tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just really bad at hiding it.”
Aiah rolled her eyes, but the warmth creeping up her neck betrayed her. “I don’t have time for this.” She turned to leave.
Mikha chuckled to herself as she watched Aiah walk away, her shoulders tense, her steps a little too quick. It was almost too easy to get under her skin.
Almost.
She pulled out her phone and checked the time. Denise was probably waiting at the restaurant by now.
With one last glance in the direction Aiah had gone, Mikha exhaled and walked toward the parking lot, her smirk never fading.
Aiah slammed the car door shut, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary.
Why was she even thinking about this?
Mikha could do whatever she wanted. She could have dinner with Denise, talk business, laugh over wine—none of it mattered.
Aiah scoffed under her breath.
Of all people, why did it have to be Denise?
She started the engine, but she didn’t drive off immediately. Instead, she sat there, fingers tapping restlessly against the wheel.
Her mind replayed the way Mikha had smirked at her, the challenge in her eyes.
Damn it.
Aiah exhaled sharply, shaking her head. No way was she letting Mikha get to her like this.
She had better things to do.
///
Aiah tried to distract herself with work, drowning in reports and emails, but her mind kept drifting back to one thing—Mikha and Denise.
She cursed under her breath, tossing her pen onto the desk. This was ridiculous.
Just then, her phone buzzed.
Mikha: Dinner with Denise went well. She might be staying longer for the project.
Aiah’s grip tightened around her phone. Was that supposed to mean something? Why was Mikha even telling her this?
Her heart pounded as she stared at the message. Before she could stop herself, she clicked on Denise’s Instagram story.
And there it was.
A picture of Mikha and Denise, seated closely at a restaurant, wine glasses in hand. Denise’s caption?
"Great catching up. Just like old times. 🥂"
Aiah clenched her jaw.
Old times?
Her stomach twisted at the thought of what that even meant.
Mikha looked so at ease in the photo, her smile relaxed, her eyes bright.
And Denise—she looked comfortable. Too comfortable.
Aiah locked her phone and tossed it onto the desk, running a hand through her hair.
What the hell was this feeling?
Jealousy?
No. She refused to admit it.
But the burning in her chest told her otherwise.
///
Aiah couldn't focus. She had a meeting in ten minutes, yet here she was, scrolling through Denise’s social media, looking for something—anything—that would confirm her suspicions.
She wasn’t the type to stalk, but damn it, she needed to know.
Another photo.
This time, Denise had posted a close-up shot of her wine glass, and just in the background, slightly blurred, was Mikha—smirking.
"A toast to new beginnings. 🍷"
Aiah scoffed, gripping her phone tighter.
New beginnings?
She felt her jaw tighten. Her blood boiled at the thought of Denise being back in Mikha’s orbit like she never left.
Just then, her office door opened.
“Aiah?” It was one of her assistants, holding a folder. “The meeting’s about to start.”
Aiah took a deep breath, forcing a neutral expression. “I’ll be right there.”
The assistant nodded and left, but Aiah stayed frozen in her seat, her fingers tapping against her desk.
She hated this.
She hated how easily Mikha could make her feel this way.
And worst of all—Mikha probably had no idea.
Aiah walked into the meeting room with her usual confidence, but inside, she was seething. She took her seat at the head of the table, her gaze immediately landing on Mikha—who, of course, was sitting next to Denise.
And to make things worse, Denise was leaning in, whispering something to Mikha, who let out a chuckle.
Aiah gritted her teeth. What the hell is so funny?
She forced herself to look away, flipping through the meeting agenda as if she wasn’t completely distracted. But the more she tried to focus, the more her eyes betrayed her, flickering back to Mikha and Denise.
Then, Denise did something that made Aiah’s blood pressure spike—she placed a hand on Mikha’s arm.
Aiah’s grip on her pen tightened.
“So, Ms. Rivera?” one of the business partners called her attention.
Aiah snapped out of her thoughts, realizing she had completely missed the last few minutes of the discussion. She cleared her throat, masking her irritation.
“Yes?” she said coolly, refusing to let anyone see how rattled she actually was.
“We were just asking for your input on the proposed terms,” the man clarified.
Aiah straightened her posture, pushing aside her emotions. Focus, damn it.
She glanced at Mikha one last time—only to find Mikha already looking at her.
And the worst part? Mikha smirked.
Aiah clenched her jaw, eyes narrowing.
Oh, so she was enjoying this?
Aiah refused to look rattled. She turned back to the discussion, her tone sharp and professional. “The proposed terms are reasonable, but I have a few concerns about the revenue split. I’d like to go over those in detail.”
The room nodded in agreement, and for a moment, she felt in control again. Until Denise spoke up.
“I actually reviewed that part,” Denise said, her voice smooth and confident. “And I discussed it with Mikha earlier. We both believe the current structure is beneficial for all parties.”
We both believe?
Aiah’s grip on her pen tightened so hard she thought it might snap.
“Oh?” Aiah forced a polite smile, but there was a sharp edge to her tone. “You discussed it with Mikha?”
Denise nodded. “Yes. Over dinner last night.”
Aiah felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. She turned to Mikha, expecting some kind of denial, some reassurance that Denise was exaggerating.
But Mikha?
Mikha just leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, watching her with a knowing expression.
Aiah clenched her jaw. This little—
“I see,” she said, keeping her voice neutral. “Well, since I wasn’t part of that discussion, I’d still like to go over the details now. If that’s alright with everyone?”
Denise nodded, but Aiah barely saw it. Her focus was on Mikha—who was still smirking, completely unbothered, as if she wasn’t driving Aiah insane.
Aiah flipped through the documents, pretending to focus, but her mind was stuck on one thing—Mikha and Denise had dinner.
“So, Aiah?” Denise’s voice pulled her back. “Do you still have concerns about the revenue split?”
Aiah lifted her chin, keeping her expression composed. “I do.” She glanced at Mikha, her gaze cold. “But if you and Mikha already decided everything over dinner, then maybe I’m wasting my time.”
Mikha’s smirk deepened, and something in her eyes glinted with amusement. “Oh, come on, Aiah. Don’t be so dramatic.”
Dramatic? Dramatic?
Aiah gritted her teeth. “I’m not. I just think it’s interesting that our companies are supposed to be partners, yet discussions are happening without me.”
Denise smiled, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in Aiah’s chest. “It was just a casual dinner. Nothing serious.”
Aiah wanted to wipe that smile off her face.
Mikha, however, was watching her closely. Studying her reaction. Enjoying her reaction.
Aiah exhaled sharply. “Fine. Let’s continue.”
She turned to the next page, pretending the conversation hadn’t affected her at all. But deep inside, jealousy burned through her veins. And from the way Mikha was watching her, she knew.
Mikha leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. “You’re really upset about this, huh?”
Aiah didn’t even look up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Mikha chuckled. “Right. You’re totally fine. That’s why you’ve been gripping that pen like you want to snap it in half.”
Aiah loosened her grip immediately, cursing inwardly.
She refused to give Mikha the satisfaction. “I just think it’s unprofessional to exclude key people from discussions.”
Denise, still oblivious, nodded in agreement. “Of course! Next time, you should join us, Aiah.”
Aiah’s jaw clenched. Oh, she would love that, wouldn’t she? Sitting there while Denise and Mikha reminisced, laughed, exchanged glances—no, thank you.
As the meeting wrapped up, Denise turned to Mikha with a bright smile. “Since we’re done early, wanna grab dinner again?”
Mikha hummed, glancing briefly at Aiah before answering. “Yeah, why not?”
Aiah stiffened. Seriously? Right in front of her?
Denise beamed. “Great! I know this amazing place near my hotel. Let’s go?”
Aiah tapped her pen against the table, forcing herself to stay calm. “Well, enjoy your dinner,” she said, her tone perfectly neutral.
Mikha raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for more—some reaction, some protest—but Aiah just stood up, gathering her things.
“See you at the next meeting,” Aiah added smoothly before walking out.
Mikha watched her go, smirk faltering slightly.
Denise nudged her. “She seems... tense.”
Mikha chuckled, though her eyes were still on the door. “Yeah... she does.”
///
Later on, Aiah's thoughts got interrupted when her phone notified.
Aiah stared at her phone, Jeremy’s message glowing on the screen.
Jeremy: Dinner? I know a great place.
She sighed, tapping her nails against the table. Saying yes felt… wrong. But why? Mikha had Denise, didn’t she? What was stopping Aiah from entertaining someone else?
Before she could overthink, her fingers moved.
Aiah: Sure. What time?
Fast forward to dinner, Aiah sat across from Jeremy in a high-end restaurant, swirling the wine in her glass.
“This place is nice,” she said, offering a polite smile.
Jeremy smirked. “Only the best for you.”
Before Aiah could respond, a familiar voice cut through the ambiance.
“Oh? Aiah?”
Her stomach dropped.
Denise.
And next to her—Mikha.
Denise’s eyes gleamed with amusement as she glanced between Aiah and Jeremy. “Small world. Why don’t we sit together? Unless…” She looked at Mikha with a teasing smile. “You mind, Mikha?”
Mikha leaned against the chair, her jaw tense. “Why would I?” she said coolly.
Aiah wanted to say no. She really did. But Jeremy was already nodding, pulling out a chair.
Now, they were all stuck at the same table.
And the air was suffocating.
Aiah regretted saying yes to dinner. Now, she was sitting across from Jeremy with Mikha right in her line of sight, her presence heavy, suffocating.
Denise, of course, looked completely unbothered, sipping her wine with a knowing smile. “So, Jeremy, how do you know Aiah?” she asked, her tone light, but her eyes sharp.
Jeremy grinned. “We met through mutual business partners. I’ve been meaning to work with her for a while now, but she’s a hard one to catch.”
Aiah chuckled, trying to ignore the way Mikha’s fingers were tapping against the table—a subtle sign of irritation. “I just like to be careful with my deals.”
Jeremy leaned in slightly. “And with the right persuasion, do you think I could change your mind?”
Mikha’s jaw visibly clenched.
Aiah didn’t dare look at her, but she could feel the tension radiating from her seat.
Denise, clearly enjoying the situation, turned to Mikha. “Mikha, don’t you think Aiah and Jeremy make a good pair?”
Aiah almost choked on her drink.
Mikha’s lips curled into a smirk, but her eyes were anything but amused. “I don’t really care,” she said smoothly, swirling her own wine. “Aiah can entertain whoever she wants.”
Aiah stiffened at the choice of words. Entertain?
Denise giggled. “Well, Jeremy is charming. And successful.”
Mikha let out a short, humorless laugh. “If that’s Aiah’s type.”
Aiah finally looked at her, her eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mikha met her gaze, her expression unreadable. “Nothing. Just making an observation.”
Denise, clearly having too much fun, decided to add fuel to the fire. “Well, I’d say Mikha’s more of the possessive type. Right, Mikha?”
Mikha scoffed. “Possessive? Not really. I just know what’s worth my time.”
Aiah gritted her teeth, feeling an unexpected sting from those words. “Right. Well, thanks for your insight, Mikha, but I don’t think my dinner choices are any of your business.”
Jeremy, sensing the tension, chuckled awkwardly. “Wow, didn’t realize dinner came with a side of drama.”
Mikha leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Trust me, Jeremy, you have no idea.”
Aiah gripped her wine glass a little too tightly, forcing herself to keep a calm expression. But inside, she was fuming.
Mikha’s dismissive attitude, her cold smirk—it was infuriating. And yet, the slight tension in Mikha’s jaw, the way her fingers gripped the stem of her glass a little too firmly, betrayed her.
Denise, still enjoying the show, sighed dramatically. “Tsk. Tsk. It’s almost like there’s some unresolved tension here.”
Jeremy laughed, attempting to lighten the mood. “Well, if that’s the case, I hope I’m not in the middle of something.”
Aiah smirked, turning to him with deliberate ease. “Of course not. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Mikha let out a slow breath, her knuckles going white against her glass. “Good for you.”
Denise hummed, feigning thoughtfulness. “You know, Mikha, since Aiah’s entertaining Jeremy, maybe you and I should go out sometime.”
Mikha arched a brow, her expression unreadable. “And why would we do that?”
Aiah felt something sharp twist in her chest.
Denise leaned in slightly, her voice smooth. “Oh, just to catch up. Reminisce about old times.”
Aiah almost snapped her fork in half.
Mikha, however, only chuckled, taking a slow sip of her wine. “Is that your way of asking me out?”
Denise grinned. “Depends. Are you saying yes?”
Aiah slammed her glass down a little harder than intended. “Wow, what a great idea,” she said, her voice sickly sweet. “That way, we all have someone to entertain us.”
Jeremy blinked, glancing between them. “I feel like I just walked into something I shouldn’t have.”
Mikha finally turned to Aiah, her smirk returning but her eyes dark. “Oh, don’t worry. This is just how Aiah is.”
Aiah met her gaze, fire flashing in her own. “And how exactly am I?”
Mikha tilted her head, her voice slow and deliberate. “The type to play games when things don’t go her way.”
Aiah’s breath caught in her throat.
Denise, clearly pleased, leaned back with a knowing smile.
Jeremy, sensing the increasing tension, cleared his throat. “Well, this has been… interesting.” He turned to Aiah, trying to salvage the mood. “How about dessert?”
Aiah barely heard him. Her eyes were locked with Mikha’s, and neither of them was backing down.
It wasn’t just jealousy anymore.
This was war.
She turned to Jeremy with a sultry smile. “Dessert sounds great. Something sweet to end the night.”
Mikha scoffed under her breath, but Aiah caught it. She smirked. Good.
Jeremy, oblivious to the brewing storm, chuckled. “Any preferences?”
Aiah tilted her head, her gaze flicking to Mikha before she answered. “Something… satisfying.”
Mikha’s fingers curled around her wine glass, her smirk tight. “Hopefully, you don’t end up disappointed.”
Aiah arched a brow, her own smirk sharpening. “I usually don’t.”
Denise, thoroughly entertained, let out a soft hum. “Hmm. Well, Mikha and I were actually about to leave.”
Aiah’s stomach twisted.
Mikha shrugged, standing up and adjusting her blazer with ease. “Yeah. No point in sticking around.”
Aiah forced a laugh, swirling her wine. “Leaving so soon? I thought you were having fun.”
Mikha leaned down slightly, voice low. “Oh, I am.” Her eyes flicked toward Jeremy. “But I don’t need to entertain myself with just anyone.”
Aiah’s smirk faltered.
Mikha turned to Denise. “Shall we?”
Denise shot Aiah one last teasing smile before slipping her arm through Mikha’s.
Aiah’s blood boiled.
Mikha didn’t even look back.
And that pissed Aiah off more than anything.
///
Aiah barely heard whatever Jeremy was saying. Her fingers tightened around her wine glass as she watched Mikha and Denise walk away—together.
She felt like a damn fool.
She thought she had the upper hand, making Mikha jealous. But now, she was the one left sitting at this stupid table, her blood boiling, her chest tight.
Jeremy laughed at something, and Aiah snapped back to reality, forcing a smile. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I was just saying we should do this again,” he said smoothly.
Aiah nearly rolled her eyes. As if that’s happening.
Instead, she forced a polite nod. “Yeah, we’ll see.”
Her mind was already somewhere else. Or with someone else.
—
The second Aiah stepped out of the restaurant, she pulled out her phone.
Her fingers hovered over Mikha’s contact.
Don’t. Don’t text her.
She gritted her teeth.
Fuck it.
Aiah: Where are you?
Mikha didn’t reply.
Aiah: Mikha.
Still nothing.
Aiah: If you don’t answer me in five minutes, I’m coming to find you.
She was already walking toward her car when her phone buzzed.
Mikha: Busy.
Aiah clenched her jaw. Oh, hell no.
She didn’t care if she looked crazy. She didn’t care if Mikha thought she was overreacting.
She needed to see her. Now.
///
It didn’t take long to find them.
A lounge bar. Aiah spotted them immediately—Mikha and Denise, sitting way too damn close in a private booth.
Her blood boiled.
Mikha’s arm was draped over the back of the couch, dangerously close to Denise’s shoulder.
Denise was laughing at something Mikha said, her hand lightly touching Mikha’s knee.
No. Fucking. Way.
Aiah stormed through the crowd, stopping right in front of them.
Mikha looked up, her expression unreadable. “What are you doing here?”
Aiah ignored her. Instead, she grabbed Mikha’s wrist, her grip firm. “We’re leaving.”
Mikha raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
Denise smirked, swirling her drink. “Aiah, are you jealous?”
Aiah’s eyes darkened. She turned to Mikha, voice low, dangerous.
“I said. We’re. Leaving.”
Mikha’s lips twitched, amused. “And if I don’t?”
Aiah leaned down, so close their noses nearly touched. “Try me, Mikha.”
Mikha held her gaze for a moment, tension thick between them. Then, she smirked.
“Fine.”
She stood, brushing past Aiah, her voice a teasing whisper.
“I like it when you get possessive.”
Aiah’s jaw tightened.
Denise chuckled. “You two are so obvious.”
But Aiah didn’t care.
She had Mikha. That’s all that mattered.
Mikha barely took two steps before Aiah grabbed her wrist again—tighter this time, pulling her back until they were face-to-face, their breaths mingling in the dimly lit lounge.
Mikha smirked. “What’s with the aggression, Rivera?”
Aiah’s jaw clenched. “You’re really pushing it, aren’t you?”
Mikha tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Pushing what?”
Aiah stepped closer, her grip unwavering. “You know exactly what.” Her voice was low, rough, laced with something dangerous.
Denise, still sitting in the booth, raised a brow, swirling her drink. “Well, this is entertaining.”
Aiah shot her a glare. “Stay out of it, Denise.”
Denise chuckled. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare. This is way too much fun.”
Mikha laughed softly, as if Aiah wasn’t burning with jealousy, as if she wasn’t seconds away from losing all self-control.
“You’re overreacting,” Mikha mused, amusement twinkling in her eyes.
Aiah’s fingers twitched against Mikha’s wrist. Overreacting?
She yanked Mikha closer, their bodies nearly touching. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” she whispered, her voice sharp. “Sitting here with her, letting her touch you, looking so damn comfortable?”
Mikha’s smirk widened. “And? What if I am?”
Aiah’s nails dug into her palm. Mikha was enjoying this. She was enjoying watching Aiah lose control.
Fine. Let’s see how far she can take it.
Aiah leaned in, their noses brushing, her voice dropping lower. “Then I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to.”
For the first time, Mikha’s smirk faltered, her breath hitching just slightly.
Aiah took advantage of it, her fingers trailing up Mikha’s arm, slow, deliberate, possessive. “You think I’ll just sit back and watch you play games with her?” Her fingers reached Mikha’s jaw, tilting it up.
“You must’ve forgotten who you’re dealing with.”
Mikha’s pulse spiked. She masked it well, but Aiah felt it under her fingertips.
Denise exhaled dramatically. “Okay, wow. I should really leave you two alone before things escalate.”
She grabbed her drink and slid out of the booth. “Try not to break anything.”
The second Denise walked off, Aiah tightened her grip on Mikha’s jaw. “Are you done?”
Mikha arched a brow. “Done with what?”
Aiah’s patience snapped.
She backed Mikha against the wall, trapping her in place. “With this bullshit.” Her voice was sharp, cutting. “You think I don’t see the way you react when I’m with someone else? You think I don’t notice how you look at me?”
Mikha exhaled slowly, her smirk back in place. “And how do I look at you?”
Aiah scoffed, dragging her fingers down Mikha’s throat, stopping just above her collarbone. “Like you want me, but you’re too damn proud to admit it.”
Mikha’s breathing deepened. “And what about you?”
Aiah didn’t hesitate. “I don’t share.”
Her thumb traced Mikha’s jaw. “Not with Denise. Not with anyone.”
Mikha swallowed hard, her pulse betraying her even as she kept her face unreadable. Aiah was too close, her grip too firm, her presence suffocating in the most intoxicating way.
"You don’t share?" Mikha echoed, voice low.
Aiah’s jaw clenched. "I don’t." Her fingers pressed just a little harder against Mikha’s jawline, holding her in place. "And I sure as hell won’t start now."
Mikha let out a breathy chuckle, but it lacked its usual confidence. "You’re acting like you have a claim on me, Rivera."
Aiah leaned in, her lips ghosting just beside Mikha’s ear. "Maybe I do."
Mikha’s breath hitched, and Aiah felt it—felt the way her body reacted despite the sharp words she was trying to push back with.
Aiah smirked, tilting her head slightly so their lips were barely apart. "Tell me to back off." Her fingers slid down, pressing against Mikha’s collarbone. "Tell me to let you go."
Mikha’s fingers twitched at her sides, but she didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.
Aiah let out a low chuckle. "That’s what I thought."
Her free hand traced along Mikha’s arm, slow and possessive, before gripping her wrist just like she had earlier—tight, unrelenting. "So stop playing with me." Her voice was almost a growl now. "Stop acting like this doesn’t affect you."
Mikha inhaled sharply, her gaze darkening. "And if I don’t?"
Aiah’s lips curled into something dangerously smug. "Then you’ll just have to deal with me ruining every single moment you spend with her."
Mikha exhaled through her nose, her hands finally moving—to grip Aiah’s waist, her fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress. "You really don’t like Denise, do you?"
Aiah laughed softly, but there was nothing amused about it. "I don’t give a damn about Denise." Her eyes locked onto Mikha’s. "I care about you."
For the first time tonight, Mikha was the one caught off guard. The mask slipped—just for a second. But Aiah caught it.
And she wasn’t letting it go.