The drive to the theater barely lasted ten minutes, but to Victoria it felt longer, her mind already bracing itself for what was to come. When they finally pulled up, Nathaniel didn’t waste time—he led her straight toward the entrance of the VIP wing, his hand brushing hers as though it belonged there.

Inside the gleaming lobby, he glanced at her. “So, what do you want to watch?”

“You choose,” Victoria replied coldly, not in the mood to fuss over movies.

Nathaniel’s lips curved into a smirk. “How about this, then?” He pointed at a horror film poster, his tone far too pleased with himself.

Her eyes widened. “I don’t like horror movies.”

“But you said I choose,” he countered, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “And this is what I want.”

Victoria frowned, exhaling sharply through her nose. “Wait, let me choose.” She moved to the other posters, her gaze quickly landing on something safe—an epic history film with a respectable title.

“This one.”

Nathaniel only shrugged, amused, and bought the tickets without complaint. At the snack counter, however, Victoria noticed something odd—he walked back carrying only one soda and one bucket of popcorn.

“You only bought for one person,” she pointed out.

“No,” he said, utterly unbothered, “it’s for us.”

Her brow creased. “But that’s one bucket of popcorn and one drink.”

“It’s common for couples to share.”

She scoffed in disbelief. “Unbelievable. I don’t like sharing my soda.”

Nathaniel leaned down just enough for his words to sting. “Why not? We’ve kissed before. Sharing soda is hardly scandalous.”

Victoria closed her eyes briefly, too drained to argue. “Fine. Let’s just go inside.”

The moment they entered, Victoria nearly stopped in her tracks. The VIP theater wasn’t like the usual rows of stiff-backed chairs. Instead, the space opened into a kaleidoscope of plush, colorful leather couches, each carved into semi-private cocoons. Neon light rippled along the walls like a slow wave, and the air smelled faintly of butter and fabric softener.

Nathaniel didn’t pause—he guided her straight to one of the double couches at the back. Victoria sat down stiffly, acutely aware of how close the space forced them to be. Too intimate, she muttered to herself.

In one smooth motion, he slipped off his blazer and draped it over her lap, shielding her bare pale thighs. The fabric still carried his warmth, seeping into her skin, unsettling in its tenderness.

He, of course, slid in beside her without hesitation, closing the space between them until the air itself seemed to thin. The heat of his arm pressed against hers, not accidental but steady, deliberate, as if testing how long she could endure it. Victoria’s shoulders tightened, her body going rigid. He was too close, far too close—and the faint curl of amusement at the corner of his lips told her he knew it.

“Well,” Nathaniel murmured, leaning just close enough for her to hear over the soft background hum of the screen. His grin was sly, wicked. “This feels more like a date now, doesn’t it?”

Victoria didn’t reply but sank back against the recliner, forcing herself to relax, even as her pulse refused to slow.

The lights dimmed, plunging the theater into near darkness. Only the glow of the screen lit the space, washing everything in fleeting shades of silver and shadow.

While the movie played, Nathaniel offered the popcorn to Victoria. She shook her head lightly, polite but stiff, her appetite gone. Even just sitting this close to him made her uneasy; the warmth radiating from his body felt familiar and impossible to ignore.

A piece of popcorn slipped from Nathaniel’s fingers, tumbling to her side. He bent to retrieve it, and instinctively, Victoria turned her head to see. Their noses hovered impossibly close, and for a heartbeat, neither moved. The quiet pull between them was sharp and insistent, a current neither wanted to acknowledge aloud. Nathaniel’s gaze flicked to her lips, almost involuntarily. He leaned in slightly, deliberate but measured, and for a moment, it felt as if the world had contracted to the space between them.

Victoria’s heart thumped, a heat rising unbidden, and instinctively, she turned her head, forcing her eyes back to the screen. The tension lingered, electric and unspoken, as if the almost-touch of lips had left a mark neither could ignore.

Nathaniel smirked, forcing his gaze back to the screen, but his mind stayed tethered to her lips. The thought of closing the distance, of pressing closer, lingered—sharp, insistent. For a heartbeat, he almost gave in to it.

Halfway through the film, Victoria realized her mistake. The historical epic she’d chosen—safe, respectable—wasn’t just dusty battles and lavish costumes. It was threaded with romance. Each time the leads leaned into a kiss, the camera lingering on lips about to touch, she stiffened. Her gaze darted away, anywhere but the screen, as if the flicker of intimacy were a spotlight on her own.

She cursed herself silently. Of all the titles, she had to choose this.

Nathaniel’s eyes kept drifting from the screen to Victoria. The movie barely held his attention—her every small movement captivated him far more. He noticed her glance away at the kissing scene, a faint blush warming her cheeks, and a quiet amusement flickered in his chest. Leaning just enough that his breath brushed her ear, he murmured, “You’re going to miss the best part.”

Victoria stiffened, her voice cool and measured. “I’m not interested.”

“Funny,” he said, letting a teasing edge linger in his tone. “You picked this movie. You must have been curious.”

She said nothing, her silence deliberate yet impossible to ignore. Nathaniel smirked, the corners of his mouth tilting with satisfaction.

The credits weren’t even close, but Victoria excused herself, slipping out with a polite murmur about the bathroom. In truth, she just needed space. A breath away from him. The popcorn sat half-eaten on the tray, the soda untouched by her lips. Nathaniel had claimed both without hesitation, as if even those small things belonged to him now.

Inside the restroom, Victoria pressed her palms against the cool sink, trying to steady herself. Her cheeks burned, her heart pounding stubbornly in her chest. She drew in a slow, deliberate breath, willing her racing nerves into submission, but it was no use. Why did his presence affect her so—why did a simple glance, a near touch, stir something she had carefully kept locked away? It irritated her, this helpless pull she couldn’t name. Every fleeting memory of him, every near touch, pressing insistently against the careful boundaries she had built.

Just endure the movie, she told herself. After this, I’ll leave. I need an exit. 

A small smirk tugged her lips at the thought. Yes, she would find a way.