“Ahh! None of that around the wife, she’s a lady.”
Sera’s trying so hard not to laugh, she bites her lip, eyes darting between us. Phil looks between her and me like he’s waiting for a punchline that never comes.
“Tell me this is a PR stunt. Please tell me you didn’t legally bind yourself to someone you met on a road trip.”
“Oh, it’s real,” I say, patting Sera’s hand. “Signed, sealed, sanctified... and not to mention, beautifully consummated.” I say, flashing my award-winning smile.
Sera’s cheeks begin to glow.
Phil stares at me for a long beat, the vein in his temple pulsing. “You haveoneweek,” he says finally, voice tight.
“One week to convince me this isn’t another one of your impulsive—” his gaze flicks to Sera again, softening just a hair “—insane ideas.”
“Convince you?” I echo, feigning offense. “Phil, buddy, I don’t need to convince you of love. That’s between me, my wife, and whatever higher power blessed my—
“Don’t finish that sentence,” he warns, hand shooting up.
I grin.
“—heart. I was gonna sayheart.”
He sighs—long, tortured—and trudges back toward his SUV like a man walking into his own execution.
“I swear to God,Phil,” he mutters to himself, already defeated. “You can’t take ontheseboys. They’ve not got their shit together…should’ve taken that Korean girl rock group instead… fucking idi—”
“Love you too, Phil!” I shout after him.
He doesn’t even flinch. Just keeps grumbling as he yanks the door open and slams it hard enough the whole vehicle shudders.
“I can’t believe you just—”
“Dazzled my bands manager, with wit and charisma?” I grin, sliding my hand to the small of her back. “A higher power really did bless my—”
“Heart.” she shakes her head, laughing under her breath as we start toward the house.
“Maybe,” I say, nudging her hip with mine. “But if you want to bless my cock, I wouldn’t be opposed.”
Chapter thirty
Seraphina
X Gon’ Give It To Ya – DMX
Freedom still feels foreign. Like stepping into a new skin and not quite knowing if it fits. The door clicks shut behind us, sealing the world outside—the questions, the chaos, and for the first time in days, it’s quiet. My heart races anyway. Maybe it’s the adrenaline still in my veins, or maybe it’s justhim.
Everything is one long fever dream, and I am not ready to wake up.
Trey drops his keys into a small stone dish by the door. The sound of metal and guitar picks clinking together echoes through the open space—a sound that feels strangely intimate, like a life already in motion.
The house is all clean lines and soft shadows, a mix of glass and marble. Light spills through the tall windows, brushing over leather, steel, and framed photos that tell pieces of a life I’ve only just started to understand. It smells faintly of cedar, smoke, and him.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m not being watched. Not being told what’s right or what’s wrong. I didn’t whisper an apology before walking through the door, didn’t ask forgiveness for wanting something—someone—that makes me feel alive. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe this is what free will feels like—terrifying and beautiful all at once.
When I look up, Trey’s watching me with that quiet kind of intensity that always makes my breath catch. His expression softens, lips quirking into the smallest smile before his hands find my waist.
Without a word, he lifts me—his grip firm, and my legs wrap around him as if they were always meant to. A laugh slips from my throat, but it dies quickly, replaced by the sound of his low exhale against my neck. He carries me deeper into the house, through a wash of sunlight and silence, until we reach the living room. The sofa sinks beneath us as he sits, pulling me down with him until I’m sprawled across his chest. His skin is warm under my palms, his heartbeat steady.
“I just need a minute,” he murmurs, voice rough, almost vulnerable. “A minute to breathe.”
