“I expect quarterly reports to remain impeccable,” she says to me.
“They will,” I assure her.
When the room finally empties, Wilder steps closer.
“We did it,” he says softly.
I nod.
“We fought.”
“And we won,” he adds.
Not because we broke rules.
Not because we demanded special treatment.
But because we stood up.
Together.
He brushes his knuckles lightly against mine.
No secrecy.
No shame.
Just us.
And for the first time since this began, loving him doesn’t feel like a risk or a curveball.
It feels like a choice.
One we’re both strong enough to stand behind.
The doorto Wilder’s apartment barely closes before he has me against it.
It isn’t frantic.
It isn’t desperate.
It’s earned.
His mouth finds mine like he’s been holding back for days because he has. Because we both have. The kiss is deep and claiming, but not reckless. His hands slide to my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I feel everything.
Relief.
Desire.
Love.
“You were so damn strong today,” he murmurs against my lips.
“So were you,” I breathe.
He laughs softly, the sound vibrating through me, and then he kisses me again. Slower this time. Intentional. His fingers tangle in my hair as mine slip beneath the hem of his shirt, feeling the warm, solid planes of him beneath my palms.
This isn’t about hiding.
