Girlfriend. I have never, in my whole life, been a girlfriend. It feels pretty damn good.
He gestures toward the front row of seats. “Sit. Watch. I’ve got something new for you to see.”
And my heart is still thundering as I do, adrenaline from earlier burning under my skin, bleeding into something hotter as I prepare to watch him work.
I sink into the padded seat, but within thirty seconds, my legs are bouncing like they’ve got caffeine jitters. But it isn’t coffee humming through me. Just an hour ago, a man had his hands around my throat. Death threats were promised. This is leftover adrenaline burning through me. My heart hasn’t stopped racing since the garage.
And now there’s Lucky. The object of my favorite obsession. The man who makes my blood surge. The one who sets me on fire.
He climbs back onto the silks like it’s nothing, like gravity is a rumor someone made up. He flips, twists, catches himself by one ankle, and hangs upside down, body a perfect line of control and power. The lights cut sharp across his shoulders, sweat slicking every muscle, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.
The crew calls corrections, shouts encouragement. One woman, Juno, I hear someone say, heckles him to “go higher, you coward,” and he grins mid-spin, like chaos is his favorite flavor. The guy with the flammables, Toby, I learn, fiddles with some contraption by the stage and mutters calculations. The boss, Marco, shouts about timing.
Lucky feeds on it. Every note, every shout, it fuels him. He doesn’t just perform; hecommands.And I realize—this is who he is when he isn’t hiding or isn’t with me.
Saint Shade isn’t just Lucky’s mask. It’s him being the person he could be when he got to choose his own life.
And I can’t look away.
I didn’t understand him when I came and watched the full Saint Shade show. But now I do. Now I know who he is, now I know why he is who he is.
And it’s fucking inspiring.
The wild burn inside me sharpens, shifts.
Phoenix could’ve killed me this morning. That thought alone should terrify me, but instead, it lights a fire so strong it feels like it might break my ribs.
Life is short. Too short to hold back.
And the truth hits me. Hard, clean, inescapable.
I love him.
Not just the body, though damn, that’s unfair enough. Not just the obsession, or the way he looks at me like I’m a miracleand a car crash in one. But the whole damn man. The danger, the complicated, unrealistic past, the unhinged devotion, the softness he tries to bury with humor.
It feels reckless to admit it, even in my own head, but I can’t stop the certainty from settling in my chest like steel.
I love Lucky.
And I’m all in.
He lands with a thud, sticks the move like he’s the hottest Avenger on the squad. His eyes flick to me, and that grin—the one that unravels me every time—blooms wide, like I’m the only thing that matters in this room full of people shouting at him.
I don’t think he has any idea what just happened inside me.
The fire doesn’t dim as the rehearsal rolls on. If anything, it builds. Watching him climb, flip, risk, command—watching himbe himself—it’s like watching someone set my whole life on fire and daring me to walk through the flames.
And I already know I’ll walk. Hell, I’ll run.
The dramatic music cuts, and it’s as clear as if someone had shouted it: the rehearsal is over. The crew starts winding down, voices overlapping as they pack up gear and bicker about timing. Lucky unravels from the silks, drops to the mat, and stalks straight toward me with that cocky stride that should be illegal.
“You didn’t blink the whole time,” he says, grin crooked, sweat dripping down his jaw.
I push up from the chair and walk to the edge of the stage. Lucky extends a hand down to me and hauls me right up onto it with him. “That’s because I was exercising tremendous restraint the entire time,” I admit with a smirk. “Saint Shade live, without the mask, all that skin…”
He cuts me off by grabbing me by the waist with a growl and pulling me in for a kiss.
It’s hot, messy, and tastes like salt and adrenaline, and I lose myself in it until Marco clears his throat.
