And standing here—wrapped in his blanket, barefoot on the edge of his life—something clicks into place that unsettles me more than it should.
This is Derek Pierce without the armor.
And for the first time, I don’t wonder how many women he’s brought home.
I wonder how many he’s actually let see this.
Chapter Twelve
DEREK
I hearher before I see her.
Not footsteps exactly—she’s too careful for that. It’s more the shift in the house, the way the quiet rearranges itself when someone moves through it. I lean back against the floor-to-ceiling windows at the edge of the kitchen, phone pressed to my ear, half listening to a logistics update I could recite from memory.
“Yes,” I murmur.
“No, that timeline still works.”
“Send it to legal.”
My attention isn’t on the call.
It’s on the hallway.
Audra moves slowly, blanket draped around her shoulders like she’s keeping herself anchored. She pauses at the mouth of the corridor, glances back once—checking, I think, not for permission but for reassurance. When she doesn’t see me watching, she continues on.
Good.
I don’t follow. I don’t hover.
I finish the call where I am, voice steady, professional, grounded.When I hang up, I don’t move right away. I let her have the space. Let the house do what it’s meant to do.
She finds my office first.
I know because I hear the faint shift of air as the door opens, then closes again almost immediately. Makes sense. Not much to see there.
The guest room room comes next. I catch the soft sound of running water, the click of the faucet turning off. She’s taking her time. Good. She needs that.
When she emerges again, I hear the pause.
Longer this time.
The library.
That one gets everyone.
I don’t step in. I don’t interrupt. I picture her there without trying—fingers skimming spines, head tilted, curiosity outweighing caution. That room is quiet by design. Thoughtful. It’s the place I go when I need to think instead of react.
By the time I push off the window and move down the hall, she’s already in the man cave.
I stop at the threshold.
She’s standing near the Pac-Man machine, barefoot, blanket slipping slightly as she leans in to study the screen. The lights cast soft color across her face, catching in her hair. She looks… settled. Not braced. Not ready to bolt.
Just present.
Something tightens low in my chest.
