The banner is crooked, the food mismatched, and Ansel is arguing with Mac about whether soda or wine pairs better with chicken. But Elaine slips her fingers into mine under the table when no one’s looking, her thumb brushing lightly against my knuckle.
It’s quiet. It’s sure. And it feels less like a beginning and more like finally finding home.
We eat. We laugh. And every time I catch Elaine’s eyes across the room, she gives me that slight, crooked smile that feels like ours alone.
But later, when the night winds down, the peace shatters.
A pounding crash against the porch door makes all of us jump. Then comes the shouting—slurred, raw, and furious. Donovan.
“Stella!” His voice rips through the quiet. “You think you can ruin me? You think you can take everything? I’ll take it all back! I’ll take everything from you, the way you took it from me!”
My stomach plummets.
Before I can move, Mac and Bennett are already on their feet. Theo follows, his jaw tight, his voice low and sharp as they step outside. The door shuts behind them, muting the sound, but Donovan’s rage still leaks through the walls.
Elaine finds me frozen halfway to the stairs. She takes my hand without a word and pulls me up, guiding me to the bedroom before the fight outside can bleed further into the house.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, trembling in a way I hate. “He’s going to try to take everything from me in the divorce. The business. The house. Everything my family built.”
Elaine kneels in front of me, steady, unflinching. She takes my hands in hers, her voice calm but cutting through the panic like a blade. “Stella, listen to me. You will not be the woman he defines. You’re not going to be a divorcée; he leaves in ashes. You’re going to be a widow. That’s what you told me. That’s what we’re building.”
Her words are brutal. Terrifying. And yet, they’re the only thing that makes my breath slow because they’re true.
Elaine’s words still burn in my chest.Widow, not divorcée.They shouldn’t steady me, but they do—more than anything has in months. Before I can think too much about it, her hands wrap around my waist, pulling me down onto her lap like I belong there. My knees hook around her hips, the press of her body anchoring me while the rest of me feels like it’s unraveling.
Her mouth finds mine, deep and claiming, with nothing careful left in it. I fist the back of her shirt, dragging her closer, greedy for every inch of her. Her hands roam like she’s memorizing me—over my back, down my thighs, squeezing atthe curve of my hip until I gasp into her mouth. It’s messy, breathless, the kind of kiss that blurs where I end and she begins. My braid slides over my shoulder, and she tangles her fingers in it, tugging my head back just enough to trail her mouth along my jaw, my throat.
Heat coils low in my stomach, sharp and aching. I shift against her, and the sound that rips from her chest is low, dangerous. It makes me clutch tighter, nails digging through the cotton of her shirt.
“Elaine,” I whisper, not sure if it’s a plea or a warning.
Her teeth graze the edge of my collarbone, and her voice is rough against my skin. “Say it, Stella. Tell me you want this.”
“I do.” The words spill out, raw, unpolished, and shaking. “God, I want this.”
She groans into my skin, her hands sliding under the hem of my dress, palms searing against bare thigh. My breath stutters, my pulse hammering as her fingers skim higher, higher, until I can’t think of anything but her touch.
I clutch her face, drag her mouth back to mine, and kiss her hard enough to hurt. I’m finally giving in, setting fire to everything I thought I knew, and I don’t care if it burns.
Her kiss turns demanding, swallowing every sound I make. Her hands slide higher, bunching my dress at my waist until it’s nothing but fabric tangled between us. When her fingers brush along my aching center, I jolt, a shiver tearing through me.
“Please,” I gasp, forehead pressed to hers. I’ve never begged before, not like this.
Her smile is sharp, reverent. “God, Stella… you have no idea.”
Her fingers are dragging against my opening, slow at first, teasing, until I’m clinging to her shoulders, nails raking skin. My hips move before I can stop them, chasing every stroke, every dizzying touch. It’s reckless, shameless, and the most honest I’ve ever been.
“Elaine—” My voice breaks, a plea, a warning, a prayer.
“I’ve got you, Stella,” she murmurs, her mouth against my ear, her other arm locked around me like she’ll never let go. “I’ve got you.”
The world tilts, blurs. Her touch erases the space between us. She breaks me open with nothing but touch and want. My head falls back, lips parting on a cry I can’t bite back, and she swallows it with another fierce, unrelenting kiss.
When it hits me, it shatters me. White-hot, gut-deep, pulling me apart until all I can do is cling to her and ride it through.
She doesn’t let me go, not once. Her mouth stays on mine, her hand steady, coaxing me through every shudder, every gasp. When I finally sag against her, trembling, she presses her forehead to mine, her breath ragged.
“Truth,” she whispers, voice rough, raw. “No lies, remember?”
