He still simmers low in my belly, in the ache I don’t want to soothe.
Because I remember.
His hands. His voice. Those golden-brown eyes burning behind the mask. The way he said my name like a brand he would wear forever.
He’s still on me. In me. Every step I take carries the memory of his mouth on my skin.
My heart flips as I remember how he came inside me and then stayed there for a while. Then he pulled me close and whispered that I’m everything he needs.
And the strangest part? I believe him.
I’ve never felt this before—not this wanted or seen, as if I could be everything someone needs.
And with him, it’s not just desire. It’s hunger. As though he’s been waiting his whole life to find me—and now that he has, he won’t ever let go.
And God help me. I don’t want him to.
Will you stay with me tonight, Bastien with the golden-brown eyes?
Yeah, I’ll stay, Babygirl.
Comfort threads through me as I remember the way his arms closed around me the instant I spoke his name—Bastien—as if that one word made me his in every way that counted.
But the spell breaks when my phone chimes. An email notification from work.
Unfortunately, duty calls, and I’m running late.
The district attorney’s office is all sunlight and sterility. Bright walls. Clean lines. A far cry from the shadows and sweat of last night.
The elevator hums on its way to the fourth floor. I step out, weaving through colleagues in suits who murmur about traffic, weather, and brunch reservations. It all blurs—background noise to the low throb still pulsing behind my ribs.
Halfway to my office, I remember the burner phone.
I unlock it. Still no message. My stomach knots, and I’m waiting on edge for what comes next.
My office greets me with its usual stillness—framed accolades on the wall, a teetering stack of case files, the bland carpet worn down by years of pacing. But one file sits front and center, daring me to look away.
State v. Evan Lemaire.
Accused rapist. Fraternity house. Underage girl unconscious.Assault caught on video. Wounds that needed stitches. A young life shattered by a golden boy who’s never heard the wordno.
Some might call it hypocritical to resent his silver spoon when I was born polishing one of my own. But here’s the truth—it’s never about the spoon. It’s how you wield it, and I’ve chosen to carry mine with purpose.
The law is my weapon, and this bastard deserves the full weight of it.
My hands hover over the file for a moment. This is where I focus. Today, I pour every ounce of fire and resolve into justice for the girl who never got a choice.
This isn’t a case I can bury. I won’t. Not even for my father.
A soft knock on the doorframe pulls me upright. Richard leans in with an easy smile, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes.
“Morning,” he says. “Didn’t expect you in so early after… well.”
I arch a brow. “After what?”
He chuckles under his breath, stepping inside. “After last night. I heard the drinks at Ember & Oak went late. Figured you’d be dragging in this morning. But here you are, already knee-deep in Evan Lemaire’s file.”
My lips curve, a polite smile that deflects questions. I told the team I wanted to get an early start on this case. Let them believe I was trading cocktails for prep work.
