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How do you walk away from the strongest, most beautiful woman you’ve ever known?

But the reality is still there, lurking in the shadows of this house. I haven’t spilled my own secrets. I’m fucked up beyond repair. And this woman, more than anyone, deserves a good man. Not someone whose head is a storm of secrets and whose work puts a potential target on her back.

I’m terrified of what I’ll do to her heart given the state of my own.

30

MAX

Moonlight has faded into the soft, pre-dawn shadows of the room. I stay perfectly still, watching the soft rise and fall of Cassidy’s shoulders, the pink of her hair fanned out across my pillows like a defiant splash of color against my monochrome life.

I spot a few new scars. Not the ones I kissed last night, but jagged, angry reminders on her torso that I hadn’t noticed in the dark. I keep her tucked under my chin, hoping the warmth comforts and protects her. That she can sleep without the threat of nightmares invading her thoughts.

And, if I’m honest, having her this close is grounding me.

Waking up with Cassidy feels like a glitch in my own programming. It’s a moment of unexpected, terrifying peace. I watch her dark lashes as they fan against the soft, pale skin of her cheek, and for a fleeting second, I consider burning my schedule and staying right here.

Yet the weight of the day is already pressing in on me, churning an impending doom I’m trying hard to ignore.

“You’re staring,” she mumbles, her voice thick with sleep. She doesn’t open her eyes, but a small, sleepy smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

“Who could blame me? Look at you.” I pepper kisses down the slope of her neck. I’m certain she can tell the rigid effect she’s having on me, but after the way our evening ended, it doesn’t feel right to push for more access to her body. Hell, especially after I was so rough with her the first time.

Cass finally cracks one blue eye open, squinting at the brightness. “Please tell me that industrial-strength coffee machine I saw in your kitchen last night isn’t just for show.”

“One coffee, coming right up.” I spring from the bed, trying to act lighter than I feel. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, actually.” She giggles. “I’m starving.”

I let out a low huff of a laugh, the sound vibrating in the quiet room. “I think I can manage to find something in the kitchen that doesn’t involve a microwave or a delivery app. Don’t move.”

I make my way to the kitchen, the scent of fresh coffee soon fills the space as I watch the Potomac River churn hundreds of feet below the cliffs. By the time Cassidy wanders out, wrapped in one of my oversized shirts, I have two mugs waiting on the granite counter.

“Come here,” I growl, pulling her into me. “I was going to bring you your coffee, but the sight of you in my shirt is a gift that will probably keep on giving.” She looks up at me, and I waggle my brows at her. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

She shakes her head, her blonde and pink locks tumbling around her shoulders. I carefully hand her a mug, and she leans against the counter and takes a long, appreciative sip. “Who actually takes care of this massive place when you aren’t here?”

“I have a housekeeper who looks after the place, a personal chef, and a landscaping crew to manage the outdoors. Plus, a few security guys who make sure everyone on the grounds is safe.”

I try to make idle small talk as we finish our coffees, yet as the sun climbs higher, the weight of the real world begins to press in. I think about the dark web chatter rooms I’ve been scouring, and the house in Alpine waiting for me.

“I have to head to New Jersey once I get you back home,” I tell her, my voice dropping an octave. “So, I might be... off the grid for a bit.” I finish the last of my coffee and place my mug in the sink.

“For work?”

“No. Need to visit my parents. I’m way overdue. Kept putting it off because I was so busy at work.” I don’t tell her that crossing the threshold into Alpine turns me into a version of myself I don’t want her to see. I just watch her finish her coffee, trying to memorize this version of us before the shadows return.

Alpine is the kind of town where the zip code is a status symbol. It’s a collection of sprawling estates perched on the Palisades, overlooking the Hudson River with a quiet, expensive dignity.

My father worked himself to the bone to ensure we lived this version of the American Dream. I grew up on these manicured lawns, playing soccer and baseball, my path to Princeton paved with the certainty of a golden future.

I had an idyllic life. Until the music stopped.

I pull the SUV into the circular drive of the large, white, three-story Colonial. It’s a masterpiece of traditional architecture with clapboard siding, dark shutters, and a wrap-around porch that once held the echoes of late-night chats and firefly chases. Now, it just holds an uninvited silence that will never leave.

Wreaths hang from every window, an oversized one on the front door, demonstrating how this house feels frozen in time. The air here feels stale, as if filtered through a decade of stagnant grief.

I step inside, the soles of my shoes muffled by thick Persian rugs over warm oak floors. The familiar smell of time lost hits me instantly.