I wander into the kitchen and pour a glass of water, my hands trembling slightly. The weight of what I’ve just learned presses against my chest, tender and sharp. I think of Sam—his laughter, his strength, his quiet empathy—and now, all the things beneath it. The scars invisible to everyone else.
He’s survived more than anyone should have to, and somehow, he’s still open. Still kind. Still capable of love.
And he lovesme.
The thought both humbles and terrifies me. Because loving Sam feels like standing on the edge of something vast and untamed. He’s the kind of man you fall for once, and if you lose him, you never really recover.
I press a hand to my heart and whisper to the empty room, “I’ll take care of him, Bas. I promise.”
Through the quiet, I swear I can almost hear Bas’s gravelly voice again, gentle and sure.
That’s all he needs, ma chérie.
And I know, without question, he’s right.
28
SAM
I’m such an idiot.
Too many damn hours wasted on Thibault, and for what? Another circular conversation filled with half promises and veiled control. I should’ve listened to Bas. Every instinct in me screamed to walk away, but I stayed, trying to convince myself I could find a middle ground with a man who doesn’t believe in them.
Bas has seen men like him before, ones who mistake power for partnership.
And now I’ve let myself get strung along.
By the time I leave, the bar is nearly empty, my patience long gone and my temper barely contained. I wanted to build something pure, something mine. Instead, I’ve spent half the night defending my vision to a man who sees only dollar signs. Yes, I want profit, but above all, I see purpose.
And worse, I missed time with Olivia.
A text from Alec comes through as I pull into my driveway.
Took her home to your place. She’s safe. Bas is in bed.
Relief washes over me, followed by a sharp ache in my chest. I picture her curled in my sheets, her dark hair splayed across my pillow, and all the tension I’ve been carrying cracks open. I don’t bother turning on the lights as I enter. The house smells faintly of her—vanilla, soap, and something soft.
She’s exactly as Alec said.
Curled on her side, my shirt barely covering her, she looks like a dream I don’t deserve. The rise and fall of her chest is slow and even, peaceful in a way I haven’t been all night.
I strip down quietly and slide under the sheets, fitting myself against her back, careful not to wake her. She stirs, a small sound escaping her lips as I pull her closer, my arm draping around her waist. Her warmth seeps into me, melting the frustration, the anger, the noise.
I press my face into her hair and breathe her in. I may have screwed up tonight, but right now—holding her—it feels like the world has stilled.
And somehow, for the first time all evening, I can breathe.
The morning finds me before she wakes. Olivia’s still tangled in the sheets, pressed against me, one leg thrown over mine like she’s claiming me in her sleep. I smile, unable to help it.
I slip out of bed quietly and head to the bathroom, splashing cool water on my face, trying to shake off the remnants of last night. But when I return, my steps falter.
The sight of her stops me cold.
My Vedder T-shirt—the one she stole and swears smells better than hers—has ridden up, revealing the perfect curve of her hips, the soft lines of her body laid out across my bed. The scrap of lace she calls underwear leaves nothing to imagination.Her legs are slightly parted, a silent, sensual invitation that hits me like a punch to the gut.
My pulse kicks up. Every rational thought evaporates.
All I can think about is her.
