For a long moment, neither of us moves, our bodies still tangled and slick with sweat and pleasure.
Then, slowly, Zane pulls back, his lips brushing over my temple.
“This is a bad idea,” he mutters, but he doesn’t sound like he regrets it.
I don’t, either.
I stare at the ceiling, my body still humming in the aftermath of what we just did. My mind, though, is a mess.
Zane’s fingers move lazily over my skin, tracing patterns on my shoulder, down my arm, across my ribs. He’s quiet, but I can tell something is going through his head.
Then, his voice—low, rough, almost hesitant. “I want more than this,” he murmurs against my skin. “More than stolen moments.”
I freeze.
Zane isn’t asking. He’s telling me.
I swallow hard, shifting slightly so I can look at him. There’s no teasing in his expression, no cocky smirk or playful remark. Just honesty.
“Zane…” I don’t know what to say. I don’t knowhowto say it.
He cups my face, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “I’m not Damon. I’m not Asher. I don’t dance around what I want, Mia. And I want you.”
His words send a sharp pang of guilt through me, twisting beneath the warmth of his touch. I reach for his wrist, gripping it lightly.
“You don’t even know if I can give you that,” I whisper. “You don’t know if I can be that.”
Zane exhales slowly, like he expected that answer. His fingers tighten slightly, like he wants to convince me.
“You don’t have to say anything now,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Just don’t shut me out before you even try.”
“But first, I need to tell you something,” I say softly. “Zane, Damon and I… we had a fling. When Jason wasn’t around.”
Zane doesn’t move.
“It wasn’t a mistake,” I continue, needing him to understand. “I don’t regret it. Not then, not now.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “And when exactly was this?”
I hesitate, my throat tightening. “Six years ago.”
The silence that follows is suffocating.
Zane sits up abruptly, dragging a hand through his hair. “Wait.” His voice is flat, but there’s an edge beneath it, like a blade scraping against a stone. “That’s how old the twins are.”
I don’t say anything.
I don’t have to.
I see it dawn on him, the pieces clicking together in real time.
Zane exhales sharply, looking at me like he’s never really seen me before.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, rubbing his face. “Does he know?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. But…” I pause, the words heavy in my mouth. “I think he suspects.”
Zane lets out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Youthink?”
