“Then stop me.”
I don’t. Instead, I pull him closer.
The kiss turns molten, messy, unrestrained. The kind that tastes like everything we can’t say and everything we shouldn’t want. But the moment burns too hot, too fast.
Because when he kisses me like a promise… all I taste is the secret he won’t share.
I push him away, panting. He steps back, chest heaving. “Aria.”
“No.” My voice breaks. “I can’t do this with half-truths.”
I want him. God, do I want him. But wanting him has never been what saves us.
I slide off the bench. Avoiding his eyes, while I grab my coat.
He calls after me, voice raw. “Don’t walk away.”
But for the second time in my life, I do.
As I reach my Jeep, the night presses too close. The drive home is a blur of headlights and tears I refuse to examine. When I pull into my driveway, a shadow darts across the edge of my yard, gone before I can focus.
My lawyer's brain kicks in before fear can take the wheel. This isn’t a random blur in the dark; it’s an escalation. First, the office, public territory, and humiliation. Now my yard, private territory, and intimidation. This is patterned behavior, a stalker’s blueprint. Testing proximity. Testing my reaction. Seeing what boundary can be crossed before the next one falls.Whoever this is, they’re not improvising. They’re working on a strategy. One designed to corner me and reach him.
I yank my door open, triple-check the deadbolt the moment I step inside and clutch the ring beneath my shirt like it might steady the shaking in my ribs. Only then do I breathe again. My house feels too quiet. Too empty. Too small for the storm inside my chest.
I sit on the couch with the ring at my chest and whisper to the dark. “I’m tired of surviving.” The silence doesn’t answer.
The shock hits all at once, late and brutal. My hands won’t stop shaking. My breath won’t stay steady. I keep seeing the shredded papers, the drawers gutted, my diploma shattered across the floor. The lingering smell of sweat and adrenaline, proof they hadn’t just broken in… they’d lingered. Watched. Waited. Violation crawls under my skin like something alive.
Panic rises next, sharp, and breath-stealing, the kind that squeezes your ribs from the inside. Then anger crashes in, hot and humiliating. How dare they do this? How dare they walk through my life like it was theirs to ruin? And beneath it all, the worst truth settles like lead. This wasn’t about me. It was about him. Fear for Steel hits harder than fear for myself. And guilt settles heavier than both.
My phone buzzes once. Then again. And again.
I don’t check it. I don’t have the strength.
I fall asleep curled up on the couch when a knock rattles the door.
It’s soft at first. Then harder.
My heart stutters. I cross the room slowly and place my hand on the deadbolt.
“Aria,” Isaiah says through the wood.
My breath shatters. I open the door an inch. He looks ruined. His hair is wet from snow, eyes red like he hasn’t blinked in hours, chest rising too fast under his cut.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he says.
“Then why are you?” I snap.
“Because every time I close my eyes, all I see is you running. And I… I can’t.” His voice fractures. “I can’t let that be the last thing between us.”
The cold drags in behind him, but I don’t step back. He does it for me, stepping inside, closing the door with one hand, the other lifting to cup my jaw.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I can’t give you everything. I’m sorry, I don’t know how. But I’m not sorry for wanting you.” His forehead presses to mine.
“I’m scared,” I breathe.
“So am I.”
