**Gaia’s POV**

He released my chin, his hand trailing down my neck, over the collar's cold metal, and lower still. His fingers skimmed the edge of my training top, appreciating the curve of my collarbone with a touch that was almost reverent—slow, deliberate, as if he were memorizing every line for some future conquest. I froze, the violation of it sending ice through my veins. This wasn't passion; it was possession, a crisis wrapped in velvet.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his ...