The room is quiet, save for the soft buzz of the ceiling fan and her slow, more relaxed breathing. I can feel the faint tremor in her muscles beginning to ease, the tension uncoiling after everything she unloaded yesterday—fear, guilt, trauma, the stalker, her past, her mother, the persona she was forced to become.
She gave me all of it.
And she gave me herself.
My hand keeps moving—down her back, up her arm, into her hair again—rhythmic, calming. She needs touch after fear. Needs anchors that don’t hurt. Needs someone who won’t disappear.
“Sleep,” I murmur against her temple. “You’re safe with me.”
Her breathing deepens, the last of the tremors fading, and before long her full weight settles onto me—her body trusting mine completely.
That’s when it hits me.
I’m not just holding her.
I’m holding something I can’t lose.
I exhale slowly, staring at the ceiling, letting the truth settle in the quiet dark.
I’m in deep. Too deep to walk away. Too deep to pretend I don’t feel it.
Lucky Vale—this chaotic, brave, trembling woman—is asleep on my chest like she’s finally allowed to rest.
And I’m not letting anything get near her.
Not Scheifer.
Not the industry.
Not her fears.
Not her past.
Not even my own.
I press one more kiss to her forehead, softer this time, almost reverent.
“Sleep, sweetheart,” I whisper. “I’ll keep watch.”
And I do.
I stay awake, listening to every small breath she takes, guarding her like she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever been trusted with.
Because she is.
Chapter 28
Lucky
Iwaketowarmth.
A heavy arm around my waist, a slow, even breath against the back of my neck. Ethan sleeps like someone finally allowed to. Limp, unguarded, warm all along my spine. The sheet is barely hanging onto him — draped low across his hips, leaving his chest bare against my back.
I turn slowly to face him.
God, his chest.
All hard muscle and quiet strength, the kind you don’t get from the gym but from actual life — from years of carrying gear and carrying grief. The black ink over his heart is half-covered by the angle, the Latin script curving toward his shoulder, the chain worked into the design disappearing underneath his side. I trace the letters in my mind even though I can’t read them; I’ve learned the shape of them by now.
