Chapter 5: Crossing the Line

Sera's POV

Three days. That's how long I'd dodged Léo.

I sat on my bed, eyeing Étienne's silk scarf slung over the chair. Guilt gnawed at me like a bad hangover.

'I can't see him again. I'm married, for fuck's sake. This is how affairs start, and that's not me.'

But my body had other ideas. Every flashback to Léo's hands cupping my face, kissing me like I was his last breath, sent my heart pounding like I'd sprinted a mile.

'Get a grip, Seraphina. He's just a worker. You're Mrs. Dubois now, like it or not.'

I paced to the window, steering clear of the vineyard patch where Léo usually hung out. The irony hit hard—hiding in my own damn home because I didn't trust myself around a guy who wasn't my husband.

'But why?' The question I'd buried finally surfaced. 'Why haven't I ever felt this way about Étienne?'

'Fuck.'

A sharp knock jolted me. My pulse raced as I crept to the door, praying it wasn't—

I yanked it open, and there he stood. Léo, lounging against the frame like he owned the joint, those piercing blue eyes locked on mine.

"Three days, Sera," he said, cutting right to it. "Wanna tell me what the hell we're doing here?"

"I'm not doing anything." My voice came out squeaky, way too defensive.

He stepped in closer; I backed up on instinct. "Oh yeah? Then why're you sneaking around like you robbed a bank? Why switch up your morning walk to dodge the south vineyard?"

My face burned. "I haven't—"

"Bullshit." He was inside now, shutting the door behind him. "You've been ghosting me, and we both know why."

My back hit the wall—no escape. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Léo planted his hands on either side of my head, trapping me. "Don't bullshit me, Sera. You felt it too. That kiss wasn't just a thank-you, was it?"

'God, he smells incredible—like sunshine and something all his own.'

"I'm married," I whispered, but it rang hollow.

"To a guy who ditched you here to fend for yourself." His voice turned rough, edged with anger. "A guy who doesn't even see you're drowning."

"Étienne's a good man—"

"Maybe. But he's not here, is he? I am." His thumb grazed my cheek. "And you want me here."

The truth stung like a slap. God help me, it was spot on.

But I couldn't go there. I wouldn't be that woman.

"Please leave," I choked out.

Something flashed in his eyes—hurt, maybe disappointment. Then he flashed that dangerous smile, nothing like his usual easy grin.

"Fine, Sera. I'll bounce." He dropped his hands and stepped back. "But this ain't over."

And it wasn't.

Over the next month, Léo hit me with a full-on charm blitz. He didn't push or corner me again. Instead, he was everywhere and nowhere, popping up when my guard was down.

Steaming coffee showed up on my steps every dawn. Wildflowers appeared in spots I'd notice—tucked under my car's wiper, perched on the stone wall where I read.

"Didja know there's a meteor shower tonight?" he'd toss out casually while passing me hanging laundry. "Prime spot's the hill behind the south vineyard. Hate for you to miss it."

Like a fool, I'd end up there at midnight, sprawled on a blanket someone "forgot," watching stars blaze while Léo rolled up with hot chocolate and stories that had me cracking up till my sides hurt.

"You're trouble, you know that?" I said one afternoon after he'd "accidentally" bumped into me at the village market.

"Me?" He clutched his chest, all mock innocence. "I'm just a simple vineyard guy who digs beautiful women."

The dam broke on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. A worker cornered me in the tasting room, where I was pacing and trying not to freak.

"Madame, seen Léo? He hasn't shown for three days, and Henri's asking."

My stomach plummeted. "Three days?"

"Yeah. Word is he's real sick, maybe a fever. His cottage..." The guy shrugged.

I bolted before thinking, sprinting through the downpour to the workers' quarters. My heart hammered as I banged on his door.

"Léo? It's Sera. You okay?"

The door swung open, and my breath hitched. Léo stood there shirtless, hair tousled, looking anything but sick—eyes sharp, not feverish.

"Well, well," he said, that dangerous smile back. "Wondered if you'd show."

"They said you were sick." I felt like an idiot, drenched in the rain, but I couldn't bail.

"I was." He stepped aside to let me in. "Sick of waiting for you to own up to what we both know."

"I was worried," I said, hovering in the doorway.

"I've been thinking about you," he shut the door, shrinking the space. "Three days straight, lying in that bed obsessing till it made me sick. Your laugh, the way you bite your lip when you're nervous, how you looked when I kissed you."

My pulse thundered. "We can't."

"Why not?" Another step. "Because you're hitched to a stranger? Because his family would flip? Or 'cause you're scared of feeling this?"

He was right there now, heat rolling off his bare chest.

"I'm scared," I whispered, the truth slipping out.

His hands framed my face, just like before. "Sera, look at me."

I met his gaze, the tenderness there unraveling me.

"I love you," he said, plain and simple.

The words struck like lightning. Not "I want you" or some line—but "I love you." Like it was obvious.

Then he kissed me, and I was gone.

This wasn't desperate like the first time. It was slow, deliberate, loaded with promise. His tongue teased my lower lip, and I parted for him, no holding back.

I was drowning, and I didn't want rescue.

We stumbled to the bed, clothes shedding in a frenzy. His fingers hooked into my panties, sliding them down as he kissed a trail along my neck, nipping at my collarbone. "God, Sera, you're so wet for me," he rasped, his hand dipping between my legs, fingers circling my clit before plunging inside, stretching me with expert strokes.

I arched, gasping as he worked me open, his thick cock pressing hard against my thigh—hot, rigid, and bigger than I remembered. "Léo, please," I begged, wrapping my hand around his length, stroking the velvety shaft until he hissed.

He positioned himself, the head of his dick nudging my entrance, then thrust in deep, filling me completely. "Fuck, you feel amazing," he growled, one hand pinching my nipple while the other gripped my hip, driving us both to the edge.

When we shattered, it was explosive—my pussy clenching around him as he spilled inside me, our bodies slick and trembling.

I woke the next morning tangled in Léo's arms, head on his chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear. For one perfect beat, I savored it—the warmth of his skin, his fingers sketching lazy trails on my shoulder, the sense of being cherished.

Then reality slammed in like a freight train.

'Oh God. What the hell have I done?'

I'd cheated. Crossed a line with no take-backs. Guilt hit like nausea.

"Hey," Léo murmured, concerned. "You good?"

I bolted upright, clutching the sheet. "I gotta go."

"Sera—"

"This was a mistake." I scrambled for my clothes, desperate to bolt before I crumbled. "It never should've happened."

"Don't say that." He sat up, reaching, but I dodged. "Last night was—"

"A mistake," I snapped, yanking on my dress with shaky hands. "I'm married, Léo. I just... became that person."

'Slept with another man. Turned into the adulteress I swore I'd never be.'

"Sera, talk to me."

But I couldn't. Couldn't face how gentle he'd been, how he'd whispered my name like a vow. Thinking about it would shatter me.

I ran.

Back at my cottage, I stripped and cranked the shower scalding hot, scrubbing till my skin screamed. But I couldn't erase it—the feel of Léo's hands, his cock buried deep, the way he'd made me come undone like never before.

I was staring at my foggy reflection in the bathroom mirror when Henri knocked.

"Madame? Message from Monsieur Étienne."

My blood froze. "What?"

"He's coming back from Paris tonight."

Tonight. Étienne was coming home.