Serena.

I pull back the second our mouths get touched once more. The contact is more brief, electric, and feels completely wrong. I scramble to my feet at the same time he does, both of us speaking over each other.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean t—"

"You don't have to—"

We stop. Our eyes refuse to meet. The air between us feels thick, charged, almost unbearable. He returns to his chair without another word. I pick up the chessboard with trembling hands and carry it back to the side cabinet, setting it down carefully even though my pulse is racing.

The silence that follows is pure awkwardness. Every second stretches.

I am biting my lips in nervousness, thinking of anything but nothing at all.

The front door opens.

Mara and Ethan's voices spill into the house, and relief hits me so hard I nearly sway while trying to rise to my feet. I rush toward them, quickly taking the bags from Mara's hands and helping her pull off her jacket.

At least these are the things to keep me moving from dwelling on the past.

"How did it go? Did everything go smoothly? Who did you meet? Was the appointment tiring and boring?" The questions tumble out of me too fast for me to think.

Mara answers each one of them while already heading toward the living room to check on Kara.

"It did go well. We met with a certain specialist, and everything was clear. There was no traffic. The journey was a free one." She glances at her sleeping daughter, then her gaze slides between Roman and me.

Something shifts in her expression.

"Is everything okay here? You two look tense and are avoiding each other's eyes since we got in. Did something happen?"

"No," I respond quickly.

"Not at all," Roman answers at the same time, just as hurried.

Mara studies us for half a second longer, then nods and starts toward the bedroom. I follow her, leaving Ethan and Roman downstairs. Inside the room, she begins undressing, changing out of her clothes with an ease as though she has all the time in the world. She continues undressing without speaking for a while.

On the other hand, I stand near the door, heart still hammering from the sudden kiss whilst also fighting the urge to tell her about the new job at Chestfield.

The words sit on the tip of my tongue, and in the end, I decide against saying anything at all, for reasons unknown to me.

Mara glances over her shoulder. "Did you feed baby Kara while we were away?"

"Yes. She ate and went straight to sleep."

We return downstairs a few minutes later. Ethan is already now in deep conversation with his younger brother. They stand in front of the couch, a bit far from where baby Kara lies, speaking in hushed tones.

Seeing that I have nothing else left and I cannot stay anymore, I force a small smile and announce, "I'm going to head home now."

However, Mara tilts her head as though I have said the most ridiculous thing ever. "You are in such a rush. Like you have other things to do at home. Tell me I am wrong."

"No, nothing. I'm just tired. Need some rest." The denial comes out awkward and unbelievable again.

Ethan then looks at his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder in brotherly confidence. "Roman can take you back home."

"No, I can manage just fine." I decline rather too quickly, the rejection sounding a bit clumsy on my tongue.

The words seem to mean nothing when Roman nods his head in agreement, his feet already moving to the door.

"It's fine, Serena. I'll take you." Then he looks over at the others. "I'll take her, guys. Have a wonderful day." He heads toward the door without waiting for my opinion or any sort of argument from me.

By the time I wave back at Mara and Ethan, she asks me to call whenever I get home, which I promise to do.

Outside, Roman's luxurious car closes behind me with a soft and final sound. And suddenly, when I'm inside, the space feels too small. The tension is thick enough to be cut with a knife.

I can barely find my voice. By the time I reach for the seatbelt, my fingers brush his, not excluding when I shift my bag on my lap, causing our hands to graze again for unexplainable reasons.

I cannot explain every accidental touch from him. Heat starts to crawl up my neck shamelessly.

Unable to bear it anymore, I decide to force the words out before I die in silence.

"I think we should forget that we kissed. Forget about the kiss. We should think of it as an accident. We are all adults." I am clearly quivering as I say this.

He glances at me with that annoying smirk that curves his mouth in a taunting manner.

"Was it really an accident, or something you long orchestrated?" he asks lowly, like he's teasing and mocking me at the same time.

Annoyance flares hot in my chest. "Your thoughts don't matter. I don't care whether you believe me or not."

He laughs, the sound filling the entire car as he tilts back his head. "Stay calm. I'm only joking."

The laugh doesn't die down after that, and it stings my pride badly. I feel exposed. I stare out the window, jaw tight, a deep frown across my face because there is an atom of truth in what he said. I have wanted to kiss him for years, ever since I had known him.

And now that it has happened, even by accident, the wanting feels sharper and more dangerous. But I know suppressing it is the best for me.

He pulls up in front of my residence but doesn't speed away the way he did the other time. As soon as the engine dies, he turns slightly toward me.

"I'll come up for a minute."

"Never will I allow that. I don't want you inside my apartment." I turn to him with every strength I can muster, feeling every fright in me.

He chuckles cockily, clearly savoring the expression on my face.

"See you tomorrow, then."

I step out. The door closes. I stand on the outside, appearing pale, staring after the car longer than I should and wondering why my pulse still hasn't settled after what occurred over an hour ago.

Inside the flat, I drop my bag and immediately press the palms of my hands against my forehead, hitting rapidly and continuously as if I can knock the memory out.

Why did I let that happen? Why hadn't I seen my way well and avoided the couch so I wouldn't fall? Why did it have to be him I fell on, of all people in the whole wide world? Why did I stay longer, savoring the taste of his lips during the accidental kiss?

Now everything is awkward and contaminated.

How was I supposed to look at him tomorrow across the training pitch, in the corridor, or in my office during psychoanalysis assessment without replaying the exact second our mouths touched?

I strip off my clothes and step into the shower, letting the water run for a very long time. Afterward, I change into soft, breathable clothes and go downstairs to the kitchen. I decide to cook something simple, forcing myself to eat even though my appetite is thin, then pick up my phone.

Instead of calling Mara the way she asked, I decide on sending a short text about my safe arrival at my residence.

Once done eating, I realize I need a distraction, something to clear my mind. I put on a C-drama and try to lose myself in it by giving it my uttermost attention. For a while, it works.

An hour later, I climb the stairs to my room and fall into bed, extremely fatigued from the day.

Serena.

Morning arrives quickly. I wake up in the most energetic and high-spirited mood. I move through my routine in the usual orderly way: shower, dress, eat breakfast, and hum under my breath while I pack my bag for the club.

In a matter of time, I am done and step outside, ready to face the day.

And there, waiting far from my front door, is Roman's car.

Roman is leaning against the side of his car with one hand buried in his pocket, his body relaxed in that confident way.

His ever-glowing eyes are already on me, unblinking. Confusion floods me as I examine the shocking scenario before me with a raised brow.

I try not to raise my voice, but to keep it low and controlled, but I fail.

"What are you doing in front of my house?"

He doesn't move an inch from the car. "I came to pick you up."

The casual claim makes my brows furrow even deeper.

"You don't have to do that. I'm sorry. People will start thinking otherwise if we're seen together, boarding the same vehicle and showing up at a very early hour at my residence."

An undeniable low smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Look at your neighborhood, silent, barely a single soul walking. There's nobody around to see and think otherwise."

I glance down at the bereft street, even though I know he wasn't lying.

"It's not silent. It's a busy environment. People just haven't come out in multitudes. They'll notice things."

"Come on," he urges, patient but with firmness. "Get in. Stop arguing."

Every thought tells me to decline, to turn around and walk to the nearest bus stop like a normal person who only has not kissed her patient on her sister's couch.

But the alternative, standing here under his lingering gaze, feels worse. In the end, I walk to the passenger side and climb in, shutting the door with finality.

The moment the engine starts, he commences a conversation, fully focusing on the road.

"You behave strangely. You are the team's psychologist, yet you're running away from me like I'm a stranger."

My lips go sealed, clueless about what to say. "I don't actually want personal stuff mixing up with work-related issues. That would be fatal."

He goes quiet for a beat, then his voice comes up lower as he's done thinking it through.

"What happened yesterday was nothing. It was more than work. Far above it."

I feel my hands tighten in my thighs. "It was an accidental mistake. Something that should never have happened."

I sense the shift in him, the way his shoulders stiffen, the brief flicker of something that looks almost like hurt before he keeps his face back to normal again.

The silence that follows is full of everything we are not saying.

"I don't want to talk about the kiss anymore," I say softly, but in the tiniest voice ever.

"Fine."

I swallow and add the truth that sits heaviest. Perhaps it might spark some sense into him.

"Aside from the fact that I'm Mara's sister, your brother's wife, I can't betray her."

He throws me a quick look in mockery. "Is that really so? You seem to be very family-committed."

"I do."

Another stretch of silence between us, then, almost lightly, "How about we grab something on the way? Morning meal."

"I don't want to." The refusal is rushed and final. I don't want to sit across from him in some restaurant and pretend all is well.

We reach the club grounds in a quick time. He parks in the lot in front of the grandstand building and turns off the engine. In a twinkle of an eye, he leans across the center console, his body coming so close that the scent of his cologne fills my nostrils.

My breath locks. My muscles tense. For a dizzy second, I am certain he is going to close the remaining distance and kiss me again, right here, where anyone could see. My heart slams against my ribs.

Against my naughty thoughts, his hand moves to the seatbelt clasp. The soft click of it releasing is the most relieving thing ever.

I frantically dash out of the car the moment the belt is off me, nearly stumbling in my haste. My breath comes in short and uneven as I widen the distance between us, never looking back.

Inside my office, I shut the door harder than necessary and press both palms to my cheeks, slapping them lightly more than twice as if to transfer some sense back into myself.

I cannot keep reacting this way whenever I am around him, having silly thoughts and thinking negatively.

I make myself breathe gradually until everything is back to normal. Only then do I leave the office and walk toward the training field.

The head coach already has the full squad gathered under the morning sun. Players stretch and jog while he calls out instructions.

Roman stands near the front, carrying out his exercises diligently. My eyes drop to his mouth, and I'm shamelessly craving just to have one more taste.

A light tap drops on my shoulder that makes me jump so hard I nearly drop the tablet in my hand.

I turn. A middle-aged man in a white scrub gown and thin-rimmed glasses stands beside me, his expression giving the impression that he's mildly amused and disturbed.

"Dr. Cole," he introduces himself. "I'm the club doctor."

I manage a polite smile even though my pulse is still racing from the scare.

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Cole, although I've never seen you before. This is my first time meeting you both in real time and on screen."

He chuckles softly. "Yes, it is for you. But it isn't the same for me. Your pictures have been circulating all over the football community for the last forty-eight hours."