“What are you doing here?" I demand.
Grayson’s gaze slides to me, his grin slow and deliberate.
The air between us feels charged, like the split second before a puck drops—except this time, it’s personal.
Grayson straightens, pushing off the car with casual arrogance, like I just interrupted his warm-up instead of something far darker. The smirk never fades. “Didn’t realize Sage had company these days,” he says, voice smooth and cold. “She always did have a soft spot for broken things.”
Sage steps forward, her voice tight. “Grayson, stop.”
He doesn’t. His eyes flick to her and then back to me, like this is a game and I just joined in. “Guess you’re the reason she won’t pick up the phone. I was starting to think she forgot her manners.”
My pulse slams in my ears. “You’re the one who’s been calling her.” It’s not a question. My voice comes out rough, dangerous. “The flowers. The knife set. That was you?”
His grin widens, and I swear my vision tunnels. “Little gifts. Old habits. She used to like surprises.”
“Get out,” Sage snaps. “Now.”
The way she says it makes my chest ache—because there’s history there, and it’s written in the fear she’s trying to hide.
Grayson ignores her, eyes locked on mine. “You think you know her?” he asks. “You think you can fix her? You have no idea what she’s like when?—”
“Enough.” I take a step forward, the kind that makes him shift, even if he pretends not to. “You need to leave. Right now.”
He chuckles under his breath. “Or what? You’ll hit me? Go ahead, Voss. Add ‘assault’ to your losing streak.”
Sage moves between us fast, her hands out like she can physically hold the tension back. “Leo, please,” she whispers. “He’s not worth it.”
She’s right. She’s always right. But the part of me that’s rational is losing ground fast. My fists ache to connect with something solid.
“Listen to her,” Grayson says, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “She’s learned what happens when she doesn’t.”
Sage flinches. Just barely—but I see it. And that’s it.
I lunge before I can think.
The sound of my fist hitting flesh cracks through the garage like a gunshot. Grayson’s head snaps back, his smirk finally gone. For one satisfying heartbeat, the world goes silent.
Then chaos.
Sage screams my name as Grayson staggers, hand to his jaw, eyes gone sharp and wild. He recovers fast—too fast—and the next second, he’s shoving me back hard enough that my shoulder slams into the concrete pillar behind me.
I see red.
He’s grinning again, teeth bloody. “There it is,” he breathes. “The temper they warned me about.”
I swing again, but Sage’s voice cuts through the haze. “Stop it! Leo, stop!”
She throws herself between us, palms pressed to my chest, trembling. Her eyes find mine, wide and desperate. “He wants this. Don’t give him what he wants.”
Her words barely register. All I can see is him—smirking behind her, standing too damn close, like she’s a shield instead of a person. My jaw locks, adrenaline burning hot and wild.
“Move, Sage.” My voice comes out low, strained. “I mean it.”
She doesn’t move. “Please,” she whispers. “Just… please.”
Something in the way she says it cracks me open. I step back, fists still clenched, chest heaving. My whole body shakes with the effort of stopping.
Grayson watches us with that same smug detachment, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “She was mine first,” he says casually, like we’re talking about borrowed property. “And she’ll come back. They always do.”
