But all he could think about was her.
The night before.
Her hand in his.
That flicker of trust, brief but real, when she let him hold on.
She hadn’t pulled away.
That moment hadn’t felt small.
It was something fragile, borrowed, or something he was never meant to keep.
And deep down, he knew she was already waiting for him to fuck it up.
Not because she was cruel.
But because she’d seen this before.
She knew what men like him chose in the end.
Power. Control. Legacy.
And if he didn’t move carefully, she’d be gone before he ever got the chance to prove her wrong.
A low breath scraped from his chest. He dragged a hand through his wet hair, eyes closing for half a second.
Control.
That was what mattered.
Not Evelyn.
Not the simmering rage locked behind his teeth.
Not the echo of Arden’s voice in his head, quiet and uncertain.
Because that’s what how it felt.
Like she’d accepted how this would end.
And it gutted him.
He shut off the water with a sharp twist, steam thick around him as he stepped onto the heated tile.
The towel passed quickly over his skin, his jaw set, his movements crisp.
Every muscle wound tight.
Control meant nothing if you didn’t know who your enemies were.
And right now?
He had too many.
By the time he rolled his sleeves, adjusted his cuffs, and stepped into the backseat of the car, the storm inside him wasn’t just heat anymore.
It was direction.
