The room is silent except for the click of keys and the soft hum of machines. When the map lights up with a blinking reddot—coordinates out past the city’s industrial district—I turn to Leon, unable to hide the rush of victory.
“Here,” I say, voice rough, breathless from more than just the effort. “That’s his newest hideout. Unlisted. Buried behind three shell companies. You wanted Vadim? There he is.”
For a moment, Leon just stares at me. There’s something fierce in his gaze—pride, yes, but a darker hunger, a kind of awe I’ve never seen him direct at anyone. He crosses the space between us in two strides, hands closing around my waist, his mouth at my ear.
“You keep surprising me,” he murmurs. “You know what that does to me?”
I barely manage to shake my head before his lips are on mine—hard, claiming, desperate. He sweeps everything from the desk with a careless arm, pulling me up to sit atop it. His hands slide under my shirt, fingers rough on my skin, mouth trailing heat along my jaw.
My back arches, need winding through me sharp and sweet. The room disappears—just the slick slide of his palms, the scrape of his stubble at my throat, the pressure of his body between my thighs.
He moves with purpose, with hunger, but there’s something different now—a tenderness beneath the possession, a reverence in the way his hands slow to memorize me. I cling to his shoulders, gasping as he pushes inside me, the world narrowing to the rhythm of his hips, the force of his need.
The edge between us is gone—no more roles to play, just the headlong rush of being wanted for everything I am.
I lose myself in it, in him, in the wild certainty that this is as real as anything I’ve ever known. His hand finds mine, fingerslaced tight. When I come apart, I do it in his arms, his mouth at my ear, promising things I never dared to ask for.
Afterward, we stay tangled on the desk, my cheek pressed to his chest, his heartbeat pounding against my palm. I try to catch my breath, try to fix this moment in memory—the salt of his skin, the warmth of his body, the way he holds me so close I almost believe we’re unbreakable.
Reality is always waiting. Leon lifts his head, brushing hair from my forehead, expression shifting—hardening.
“I have to go,” he says, voice raw. “This ends now. I’m not letting Vadim get another chance.”
Panic needles through the haze of pleasure. “I’m coming with you.”
He shakes his head, resolve cold as steel. “No. It’s too dangerous. I need you safe. Here.”
I push up, angry and afraid. “You can’t lock me out. Not now. Not after everything.”
His eyes soften, but he’s immovable. “You’re part of this, Suzy. You always will be, but I won’t risk you. Not for him.”
The words sting—worse because I know they’re meant as love, as protection, as trust. But I also know the world he’s going back into, the knives and old wounds and debts that never stay buried. I want to fight, want to demand he take me, want to promise that we’re stronger together.
The look in his eyes silences me. There’s no changing his mind.
He lingers in the doorway, gaze burning into me as if he could memorize every inch. I know he’s afraid too—of losing me, of not coming back, of what’s waiting at the end of this war. The door closes behind him with a finality that makes my heart twist.
The silence that follows is unbearable. The office still smells of us, the ghosts of laughter and argument and heat clinging to the air. I stare at the screen, the red dot on the map blinking in the gloom. My hands are steady, but inside, I’m unraveling.
I thought being left behind was something I’d gotten used to.
As the minutes stretch, as every creak in the house feels like a threat, I realize that waiting is its own kind of hell. I hate how much I need him safe, how much I want him to come back—not just as the man who claimed me, but as the partner I fought beside, the one who saw me, trusted me, let me in.
Whatever history we have—whatever lies, whatever betrayals, whatever danger—we are bound now by something fiercer than fear. I watch the door, heart racing, praying for the sound of his return.
The dread won’t leave. Not as long as he’s out there. Not as long as I know how easily everything can be lost.
***
Hours bleed together, slow and aching, as I pace the length of the Sharov house’s silent halls. Every creak in the floorboards, every echo off the marble, makes my nerves fray further. The house is too quiet—too big for one person’s restless fear.
I try to read, to distract myself with busywork, but my eyes skip over the words, my hands tremble, my mind loops again and again to the door Leon walked out of.
The seconds stretch into hours, the dread sharpening until it’s a blade pressed beneath my ribs.
I can’t remember the last time I cared so much whether a man came home alive. I spent years convincing myself love was weakness, that needing anyone was dangerous.
I thought I was immune—too smart, too scarred, too careful to let myself hope for someone like Ardaleon Sharov.
