I blink at her. “Cinderella?”
She shrugs, her hand brushing her ribs as she shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah, except with fewer glass slippers and more…surprises.”
My brow creases. “What do you mean by Cinderella?”
“I mean, I didn’t even know who you were back then. How was I supposed to tell you about…?”
Her words trail off. I brush hair from her face, fingers grazing her cheek. “I'm not Cinderella. I'm your Prince Nightmare. The one you can't escape.”
Her eyes find mine. Half-smirk. “Right. The big bad wolf in a fancy suit.”
“Exactly.” My hand slides to her jaw. “Big house. Deadly charm. And instead of a glass slipper...” The playfulness dies in my throat. “… I’ll promise to burn everything they built. Make sure they know who sent them to hell."
The first tear falls before she can stop it, streaking down her cheek. She flinches, reaching up to swipe it away, but I catch her wrist, holding her hand still.
"Don't." My lips find her tear before it falls. She goes still under my touch. I kiss the corner of each eye, taking my time, letting her feel how gentle I can be.
When I pull back, her lips part.
She wants to speak… but I do not let her.
My mouth finds hers again. This time I don't claim—I ask. My lips brush hers, light as a whisper. She stills, breath catching.When her fingers drift up to my hair, they don't grab or pull. They explore, threading through, learning the texture.
I trace her bottom lip with my tongue, memorizing her taste. Her pulse jumps under my thumbs as I cup her neck. She sighs into my mouth, and I swallow the sound, wanting to keep it. Her body melts into me. No space left for secrets.
Her tongue meets mine, and we forget about revenge. About dead brothers and family empires. About all the reasons this can't work. Right now, there's just the way she trembles when I stroke her spine. The soft sound she makes when the kiss deepens, her tongue brushing against mine in a slow, deliberate motion that stokes the fire already burning in my veins.
Our lips move in sync, soft and eager, but there’s an edge of desperation in the way she grips my hair, the way she tilts her head to give me more access. My hand slides up her back, steadying her as I shift the angle, claiming her deeper, tasting her fully.
The chair creaks beneath us, the leather warm against my ass as I hold her closer, deeper.
Her breath hitches as I nip at her bottom lip, just enough to make her gasp before soothing it with another kiss. Her fingers tighten in my hair, pulling me closer like she can’t get enough, and I know I can’t either.
When I finally pull back, just enough to let us breathe, her eyes flutter open, dazed and half-lidded, her lips swollen and glistening. I press my forehead against hers, catching my breath as my thumb brushes the curve of her waist.
“We’ll make them pay,” I murmur against her lips, my voice steady, my hand sliding lower to rest on the small of her back. “You and I.”
I can see the strain in her eyes, the exhaustion she’s trying to hide, but also something else—acceptance.
“You’re done sitting here,” I say, wrapping one arm around her back and sliding the other under her legs. She winces as I move her, her body stiffening for a moment, but she doesn’t protest when I lift her from the chair. Her arms loop around my neck instinctively, her head resting briefly against my shoulder as I carry her across the room.
The skyline glimmers through the floor-to-ceiling window, casting soft light onto the wide bed with its rumpled black sheets. The city is alive beyond the glass, the faint hum of traffic below barely audible against the stillness of the room.
I lower her to the bed, mindful of her ribs. Her hair spreads across the pillows. She glances at the window before finding my eyes again. Silent understanding passes between us.
I settle beside her, pull her close. Her head tucks against my shoulder.
Then a small voice breaks the quiet.
“Mommy?”
Clara's head snaps to the doorway. I follow her gaze.
Elijah stands there, clutching his Pokémon toy in one hand, his blanket draped over his arm. His free hand rubs sleep from his eyes. His hair sticks up wild, small frame swallowed by the doorway.
"Baby, go back to bed," Clara whispers.
Elijah shuffles forward, the blanket dragging on the floor behind him. Sleep-heavy steps bring him to the bed. His eyes find mine before he curls in the space between us, one soft, sleepy sigh.
