I hadn’t planned it, hadn’t meant to come. But my body had made the choice, dragging me to her like a compass finding north. I needed her. Not for sex, not for the fire we’d lit in that shop—though fuck, I could still feel her, taste her.
I needed her because she’d seen me, really seen me, and hadn’t flinched. Because she’d matched me, blow for blow, and left me standing in the wreckage.
I took the back stairs, avoiding Sasha’s eagle-eyed desk. All the Danes had master keys to the Rose—Ryker’s idea. The halls were quiet, the carpet muffling my steps as I climbed to the second floor, far corner. Portia’s suite.
I stood outside her door, my fist hovering, my chest tight.
What the hell was I doing? I didn’t do this. Didn’t chase women, didn’t beg, didn’t show up like a kicked dog looking for a pat.
But I knocked. Three sharp raps, too loud in the silence.
The door opened, and there she was—Portia Lane, her curls loose now, spilling over a silk robe that clung to her curves. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, searching my face.
I didn’t give her time to speak.
“I’m sorry,” I said, the words spilling out, fast and rough. “About the pictures. You can use whatever you get. Portfolio, website, whatever. I was being stupid. Overprotective.”
The word felt heavy, like a stone in my throat.
Overprotective.
It wasn’t just about the weddings, the family. It was her. I’d pushed her away because she’d gotten under my skin, because I couldn’t afford to want her. Not with Department 77 out there, not with my mother’s ghost calling my name.
I thought of my brothers—Marcus’s grin, Atlas’s quiet strength, Charlie’s haunted eyes. My father, gone too soon. My mother, her voice in my head.
My Silas.
The past was a chain, dragging me back.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, softer this time. “I won’t bother you. Won’t get in your way. I’ve got work to do.”
I couldn’t hold her gaze. My eyes kept slipping—to the floor, the doorframe, the curve of her shoulder under that robe. I turned to leave, my chest hollow. I’d said what I needed to. She could keep her job, her legacy. I’d stay out of it. Stay focused. Find my mother, end this war.
But her hand caught mine, warm and firm, stopping me cold.
“You don’t have to go,” she said, her voice low, a quiet command.
She pulled me into the suite, the door clicking shut behind us.
7
PORTIA
Ipulled him inside before I could talk myself out of it. The door clicked shut behind us, sealing the air between us—hot, heavy, laced with something rawer than lust.
Silas didn’t move.
He just stood there, six-foot-something of tension and shadow, like he wasn’t sure if I’d slam the door in his face or climb him like a ladder.
“I didn’t come here to fight,” he said, voice low, rough at the edges.
“Then why are you here?” I crossed my arms, heart pounding like I’d just sprinted up the damn staircase.
His gaze dropped, then lifted—slow, deliberate. Like he was memorizing the way I looked in silk.
“I was wrong,” he said. “About the photos. About trying to push you out. I know how hard you’ve worked for this.”
I arched a brow. “Do you?”
