I’ve been in the office since then, combing through reports, interrogating updates, pushing my men harder than usual. Now it’s past midnight.
I’m not going to sleep until I find something. I only came upstairs to make sure she’s alright. Once I see that she’s resting, I’ll go back to the office.
I open the bedroom door expecting silence.
Instead, I find Ellie restless in sleep.
She shifts beneath the sheets, her body turning slightly as if she’s trying to escape something inside her dreams. A soft sound leaves her lips—uneven, distressed. I step closer, my attention sharpening immediately.
Her brow is furrowed. Her fingers twist the blanket.
She murmurs something I can’t quite understand.
I move to the side of the bed, watching her more carefully now. Her breathing is uneven, her head turning faintly on the pillow. Then I hear it.
My name.
Not clearly. Just a whisper formed between breaths.
“Mike….”
The sound stops me completely.
For a moment, I just stand there, looking down at her. Something in my chest tightens unexpectedly. I’m used to hearing fear in people’s voices when they say my name. Respect. Sometimes hatred.
But this is different.
She says it like she’s reaching for something.
Slowly, I sit on the edge of the bed.
“Ellie,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t wake. Her body shifts again, the blanket rustling softly as she turns onto her side. The movement exposes the smooth line of her shoulder where the fabric of her nightdress has slipped. Pale skin catches the dim light of the room.
The sound of my name on her lips affects me more profoundly than any confrontation ever has.
I remain still, watching her in the fragile quiet of the room, studying the vulnerability of someone who has no defenses raised. In sleep, she looks younger. Softer. Nothing like the fierce woman who storms into my office and argues with me without fear.
My gaze lingers longer than it should.
Her hand moves slightly on the sheets, and the shift pulls the fabric further down her shoulder. The delicate curve of her collarbone becomes visible, the creamy skin stark against the dark sheets. My body reacts instantly, instinctively, and irritation flickers through me at my own lack of control.
I force myself to stand.
Distance. That’s what I need.
But the moment I start to rise, her eyes fly open.
She looks straight at me.
For a brief second, confusion crosses her face. Then awareness floods in—and with it, a soft bloom of pink spreading across her cheeks.
She’s embarrassed.
The sight of it does something dangerous to my composure.
She’s exquisite like this. Barefaced, flushed from sleep, her hair slightly tangled against the pillow.
