“No no no no no.” I’m on my feet, pacing the length of the chain, every step fueled by raw, violent denial. “Stop. Stop it.”
“Look at her.”
I freeze.
And she’s there.
Sophia.
In the middle of the gray hell, gold hair catching impossible light, green eyes finding mine with that look—the one that saysI see you, I love you, you’re perfect. She’s sofucking beautiful it physically hurts. Clean and warm and real in a room that has been none of those things.
“What are you doing here?” I want to run to her, but I keep my distance, painfully aware of how filthy and broken I am. Aware of Valeria’s touch still on my skin. “You shouldn’t be here. You should be safe. With Ian.”
“You need me,” she says softly, stepping closer.
That smile. Fuck me, that smile is enough to ruin me, shatter me, and to put me all back together.
“I do need you.” I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, not knowing what to do with the ache that’s cracking my chest wide open. “You have no idea.”
She's wearing the white shirt, the one from Paris, the one I know by heart, and her hair is catching what little light exists in this gray place and turning it gold the way she turns everything, the way she always has, like warmth is just what she is and she can't help it.
"Sophia." Her name in my mouth. Barely a sound. “I love you. I should have said it more. And I miss you. Fuck, I miss you so goddamn much.”
She looks at me, and she doesn't flinch. She never flinched. Not once. She looked at everything I am and she didn't flinch, and I loved her for that more than I've ever loved anything.
She takes a step toward me, and I jolt back.
"Don't." The word tears out. "Don't come closer. Don't—you shouldn't be here, you should be in Japan, be with Ian."
She keeps walking.
She always kept walking toward me when every survival instinct should have sent her the other direction. That wasalways the thing about her. That was always the thing that undid me completely.
“Please, Sophia,” I beg softly, aching for her to touch me, needing her to leave.
She reaches for my face.
Her hand is soft, warm,real. Her thumb traces the scar on my cheek the way she used to, slow and reverent, like she’s memorizing every broken piece of me.
I close my eyes because if I close my eyes maybe it stays. Maybe if I don’t look directly at it, it doesn’t disappear.
“Nazareth.”
My name in her mouth. Like she’s glad it exists. Like it’s something precious.
“Even monsters deserve love sometimes.”
She leans in and kisses me.
Not soft. Not gentle. Hungry. Her mouth crashes into mine like she’s been starving for months, tongue sliding against mine with that perfect, filthy sweetness I’d kill to taste again.
I groan into her, hands fisting in her hair, pulling her closer, desperate. She presses her body flush against mine, soft curves molding to hard muscle, and I lose myself in the kiss—deep, messy, devouring.
Her hands slide down my chest, nails dragging, and I growl against her mouth.
I cup her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples through her shirt until they tighten under my touch. She moans into the kiss, arching into my palms, and I squeeze harder, rolling her nipples between my fingers the way she likes.
“Reth,” she breathes, breaking the kiss just enough to nip at my bottom lip. “Touch me.”
