My heart stumbles.
I exhale.
The bakery hums around me.
The envelope is despair under the register.
Juliet’s text is hope in my palm.
Like the tiniest crack of sun through winter clouds.
I don’t know which one will destroy me first.
I type before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: Coffee sounds good. But I’d like dinner even more.
My hand shakes when I hit send.
Noah grins. “Attaboy.”
Despite the envelope, despite Oksana, despite the bruise on my wrist and the shadows still following me, I let myself believe him.
Maybe things aren’t like I think.
Maybe some things can still rise.
Reid: Juliet Notes
Juliet’s tucked behind her desk. Safe.
For now.
Probably wearing something pink again.
Sweet in color, sharp in cut.
I’d put money on it.
Pencil skirt.
Shirt low enough to hint she likes her pleasure with a little damage.
Teeth. Bruises. Obedience.
Hair in those curls that beg to be pulled.
Noah Carter’s less safe.
Vitaly Volkov remains clean.
No trail. No pattern. No slip.
But he’s too good. No one stays that clean if they’re tied to the man who just strolled into the bakery.
Dmitry Krestov.
I know that name.
