“He was harassed at work yesterday.”
A slow, cold rage seeps into my blood. I grip the phone.
“By who?”
“A coworker. He’s been bothering Lucas for a while now. I don’t have the full story, but from what Megan, his other coworker, told me, it’s been going on for months.”
“Did the bastard touch him?” My mind flashes back to earlier—my mouth on Lucas’s skin, my hands on him. He hadn’t flinched, hadn’t seemed hurt. Not in that way.
“No,” Ashley answers, steady as ever. “Not physically. But allegedly, he broke Lucas’s phone.”
My brow furrows. I scan the living room and spot his bag slouched near the couch. Moving quickly, I unzip it and dig through until my fingers close around the device.
The screen is shattered. Completely useless.
Ashley continues, her voice low.
“Megan said it’s not about physical harm. This Jeremy… he talks shit. About how robotic and deaf Lucas is. He mocks his mutism.”
I close my eyes. For a moment, I let the silence weigh heavily, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. That kind of harassment doesn’t leave bruises. It doesn’t bleed. But it cuts deeper, eating away at someone piece by piece until there’s nothing left.
And Lucas—sweet, stubborn Lucas—never said a word.
“Give me everything you have on this man, Ashley. I need his full details within the hour. If you can’t track him, send his name to Maksim.”
“Yes, sir.”
NINETEEN
LUCAS
I wake up to warmth, wrapped in the lingering scent of musk, and something distinctly Alex. It’s everywhere—on the sheets, the pillow, clinging to my skin. It makes my heart flutter, and for a sleepy, blissful moment, I smile into the fabric beneath me, burrowing deeper into its comfort.
And then, everything comes crashing down.
I jolt upright, chest rising and falling rapidly as the memories flood in, remembering Alex’s hands on me, his lips tracing fire down my skin. The way I had moaned his name, the way I had come apart in his lap inside my briefs—untouched.
“Oh my god.”
Heat floods my face, and before I can think better of it, I fly out of bed, my feet hitting the cold floor as I start pacing, fanning myself like that’ll somehow help. Why is the room so hot all of a sudden?
I glance back at the bed, and something twists inside me. Did Alex sleep here with me? Or did he leave the moment I passed out? I remember cuddling into him, his warmth, and his fingers in my hair.
A glance at the small clock on the nightstand tells me it’s 4:30 AM. My body is thrumming with something restless—shame, embarrassment, something dangerously close tolonging. I press a hand over my face and groan quietly. Get it together, Lucas.
And then, as if on cue, my stomach growls.
I freeze.Seriously?
Another grumble, louder this time. I rub my face, sighing. Fine. Food. I can focus on that. I tiptoe downstairs, careful not to make a sound. I don’t even know why I’m tiptoeing, but the absurdity of it almost makes me laugh. I shake my head, stepping into the open space of the living room.
And then I hear the soft chime of the elevator doors sliding open. I turn just as Alex steps inside.
Where did he go?
He looks like something out of a dream—or a nightmare I wouldn’t mind getting lost in. A black compression shirt clings to his broad shoulders and chest, every line of muscle outlined in the dim light. His abs are visible even beneath the fabric, shifting with every slow breath. His dark hair is tied up in a messy bun, stray strands falling over his forehead, damp with sweat. Gloves cover his hands, and a helmet dangles from one arm. In the other, a takeout bag swings casually, like this is the most normal thing in the world.
And he looks like he’s been out riding. I didn’t even know he owned a bike.
