CH 1-10

Summary

Emma Green entered the contest chasing more than victory. But nothing prepared her for Jason Ballard, the decorated Major turned judge, and the boy who once held her heart. Their reunion sparks a dangerous chemistry neither can ignore, even as the cameras roll and the stakes rise higher than the prize. When Emma’s cover is blown and the competition turns deadly, survival means risking everything. In a world built on rules and eliminations, Emma and Jason must fight not just for the truth, but for each other. Because the real prize was never the trophy—it was a second chance at forever.

Chapter 1

POV: Emma

The heat pressed against my skin the moment I stepped off the transport truck. Dust rose around my boots, dry and golden under the late afternoon sun.

And just like that, reality slammed into me.

What the hell am I doing here?

A reality show. A survival reality show.

It felt insane to even think it, but there I was—standing in the middle of nowhere, cameras already pointing at me, their black lenses sharp and hungry. They weren’t officially recording yet, but part of the “experience” was this very trick: throw us into the chaos before we had time to prepare, catch us off guard, raw and unpolished, and then roll tape.

What I knew—what all of us knew—was simple: we would arrive, meet our fellow contestants, and the games would begin. One grueling test after another. The last person standing would take the crown. Endurance, skill, strategy… survival.

Three judges would decide part of our fate. Their identities were a mystery, whispered about in forums online, hyped up in every promo video. None of us knew who they were yet.

Breathe, Emma. Just breathe.

To them, I was a police officer from a mid-sized city. Strong enough, trained enough, here to prove that someone like me could hold my ground against warriors, athletes, survivalists. To myself… well, I wasn’t ready to unpack that truth yet.

I’d marathoned the last few seasons, scribbling notes, replaying challenges, soaking up every detail I could. But no amount of research prepared me for the knot tightening in my stomach right now.

All around me, the other contestants looked exactly like they’d been handpicked to remind me of my own weaknesses.

A tall man stretched his arms overhead, broad shoulders pulling his t-shirt tight. His dark hair fell just enough into his forehead to soften the hard lines of his face, but the real weapon was his eyes—icy blue, sharp, and alive with confidence. He looked carved out of stone and water at the same time.

When his gaze found me, his mouth tugged into a smile like we were already on camera, like the whole world was watching. Then—just to prove it—he winked.

God.

I wasn’t used to feeling this bare, this exposed. Without my uniform, without my badge, I just felt like… me. Stripped. And I hated how vulnerable that made me.

He closed the space between us, his smile widening. “Hi. Alexander Macforth, former swimmer. And you, beautiful?”

I shifted my pack higher on my shoulder, forcing my voice steady. “Emma. Emma Greene. Police officer.”

His eyebrows flicked up, impressed or curious—I couldn’t tell which—but he nodded. “Nice. I bet you’ve got some fight in you.”

Before I could answer, another presence joined us.

A woman. Compact, sharp-eyed, her posture straight and precise. She moved like someone who had carried a rifle before, every motion economical, every step purposeful. She adjusted her pack without even a grunt, the muscles in her forearms flexing like steel cables.

“Emma, you said?” Her voice was calm, clipped, professional. “Sofia White.”

I nodded back, managing a small smile. “Nice to meet you.”

She gave one in return—barely there, but genuine.

And then there was me.

Not weak, not untrained. But standing between a former pro athlete and an ex-military? Yeah, I felt the weight of their silent assessments. Was a cop enough? Would I be enough?

That little voice tried to whisper doubts, but I shut it down hard. I’d learned a long time ago never to feed it oxygen.

We stashed our packs in the participants’ lounge, where fifteen of us gathered in one restless, buzzing knot. Too many faces to memorize at once, too many names slipping through the cracks already. But Alexander and Sofia stuck close, orbiting near me, and I let them.

Then the air cracked with sound.

A sharp blast, like a gunshot but not.

I flinched before I could stop myself, heart racing. The others stilled, heads swiveling toward the noise.

The show was about to begin.

William stepped into view—the host. I recognized him immediately, all charm and perfect teeth, his easy smile practiced enough to melt an audience of millions. His energy rolled over the group like a wave, but it didn’t soothe the frantic beating of my heart.

“Welcome,” he boomed, arms spread wide. “Fifteen brave souls, ready to face the most brutal edition yet of I Bet You Don’t Survive.”

The crowd of contestants erupted into cheers, some louder than others, all of us swept into the moment.

But me? I stood there, clapping when expected, smiling just enough for the cameras, while my pulse drummed out one truth I couldn’t escape.

This was only the beginning.

And I wasn’t here just to survive.

William’s voice carried over the restless crowd, smooth as honey and twice as slick.

“But before we start the first test,” he said, drawing out the pause for drama, “let me introduce you to our three judges.”

I straightened, heart pounding harder than it should.

“Our first: Clark Abrams! Winner of our last edition!”

The man who’d survived every brutal challenge last season stepped out from the shadows, grin wide, shaking William’s hand like he’d just come home. The audience clapped, a few contestants whistled, but my palms stayed dry at my sides.

“Next,” William went on, “our goddess of endurance, the one and only trainer Alicia Fox!”

The legend herself strode forward, muscles honed, braid whipping down her back, her reputation preceding her. The cheers were deafening this time.

And then—

“And finally,” William’s smile sharpened, “the strongest, the fiercest, the bravest. Our war hero, the youngest to ever earn a gold star in combat—Major Jason Ballard!”

Oh.

My.

Fucking.

God.

You have got to be kidding me.

My jaw nearly hit the dirt, and I swear every drop of blood drained from my face.

Jason Ballard. Major. War hero. The name plastered across military history books. The man worshipped as a symbol of valor. The legend standing right there, taking his place beside the other judges.

And once—the man who filled my entire heart.

My Jason.

No. Not mine. Not anymore.

The crowd roared, applauding, cheering. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t clap. Could barely breathe.

The world saw a savior. I saw something else.

The shadow of the boy who used to press me against the hood of his Jeep, whisper promises hot against my skin. The one who called me muffin and made me laugh until my ribs hurt. The one who kissed me like he could swallow the whole world just to get to me.

The one who left.

He broke up with me with that noble bullshit he wore like armor. Said he couldn’t keep me tied to him when he joined the military, that I deserved to be free, to live college and life fully. He called it love, but to me it had felt like abandonment.

His last words to me, seared in my memory: If God wants us to be together, we’ll find our way back.

Well, apparently God had a twisted sense of humor, because here we were. Him standing like a bronze statue on a raised platform, broad shoulders squared, dark blond hair catching the sun, and those piercing green eyes scanning the crowd with soldier’s precision.

And me—trapped in a reality show where the only thing more dangerous than the challenges was him.

Then his eyes found me.

Clear as day, I saw the recognition hit him. His pupils widened. His breath hitched. His whole body betrayed what his face tried to keep stoic.

My heart slammed against my ribs, heat flooding through me. I held his gaze, locking him in place, silently begging him: Don’t. Don’t say my name. Don’t give us away.

If anyone knew one of the judges had history with me, my game was over. Everything ruined.

So I stood there, clapping just a half-beat late, smile pasted on like a mask, while inside every memory of us clawed back to life.

And just like that, survival wasn’t the only thing on the line.

Chapter 2

POV: Emma

William tried to prepare us, but his voice was too cheerful for what he was about to say.

“And for the first test, I hope you are all ready to give the best of ourselves. It’s a three-part challenge. Each judge will pick one competitor and assign which test they’ll perform: climbing, hiking, or swimming.”

The rules rolled out like a death sentence.

Swimming. Hiking. Climbing.

Three categories. Three judges holding your fate in their hands.

William continued, smiling like it was all just harmless fun.

“The last competitor in each test will have to do all three, back-to-back. And only the best of those three will stay. The other two will be eliminated.”

The crowd roared. My chest locked.

Swimming.

My lungs turned to stone. The noise around me dimmed. I couldn’t breathe.

Water.

I hated water. No—not hate. Fear. Terror. Trauma.

I lost my cousin to drowning when I was a teenager. I’d tried to save him. I couldn’t. Since then, every time I stepped into water deeper than my knees, I felt the world swallow me whole. I had tried again years later, determined, desperate. Instead, I’d nearly drowned myself.

The memory slammed into me like a wave: my arms flailing, my throat burning, bubbles where air should be.

I was panicking.

I dug my nails into my palm, forcing myself still, praying no one noticed the tremor running through me.

William handed out files to the judges. And before anyone else even opened their mouth—

“Emma Greene. Climbing.”

Jason’s voice cut the air. Sharp. Certain. Final.

My head snapped up. His green eyes locked on me, unflinching. He hadn’t even hesitated. Out of the athletes and warriors standing here, he chose me.

He remembered.

He knew.

Heat burned up my neck, part shame, part fury, part something I couldn’t name without unraveling. Jason Ballard had just protected me. Again.

But he couldn’t. Not here. Not now. No one could know we’d ever been anything more than strangers.

I clenched my jaw, nodding like it was nothing, like I didn’t feel the curious glances flicking my way. Some were curious. Others envious. Let them think whatever they wanted.

I wasn’t fragile anymore. I wasn’t his little muffin.

I was here to prove myself.

“You’ll need to climb, beautiful,” Alexander teased lightly beside me. “And I know no one’s sending me to swim, right?”

Sofia smirked.

Their banter was easy, while my pulse hammered through my ears.

One by one, the judges assigned the rest. But since I’d been the first chosen, I was the first to climb.

When my hands gripped the rock wall, everything narrowed down to instinct.

Reach. Grip. Pull. Breathe.

My body knew this rhythm. My muscles stretched and carried me higher. Fingers curled into holds like they belonged there. My legs launched me upward with fire in every push.

I didn’t just climb. I flew.

When I hit the top, I slapped the final marker so hard the sound cracked like thunder. My chest heaved, adrenaline flooding me, not panic. When my name flashed on the screen as the fastest result, the rush nearly knocked me off balance.

Jason had picked me to spare me from drowning. But I didn’t need his protection. Not anymore. My win was mine. Mine.

And yet—God, I hated it—that victory was tangled with him.

Sofia braved the swimming. Alexander tore through the hiking. They weren’t the best, but not the worst either. Two others weren’t so lucky. They had to do all three, and I barely registered their names as the crowd swallowed them whole. I only cared about one thing: staying in this competition. Proving myself. And making damn sure Jason kept his mouth shut about knowing me.

Still, my eyes betrayed me. I caught myself glancing at him. And when I did… he was already watching me. That look in his eyes—it wasn’t the Major’s mask. It was Jason. It made my heart lurch like I was back on the hood of his Jeep, his lips brushing mine.

I tore my gaze away and lifted my chin, walking past the judges’ line with all the composure I had left.

And then it came.

“Good job, Greene.”

His voice. Low. Controlled. Professional.

My stomach twisted like I’d just taken a hit to the ribs. Greene. My last name. Cold. Formal. Wrong.

That wasn’t what he used to call me.

Not when his mouth was hot against my throat.

Not when his voice broke against my skin.

Muffin.

I kept walking, head high. But inside, every nerve screamed.

The cafeteria smelled like roasted meat and fried potatoes, the kind of heavy food meant to refill every ounce of energy we’d burned today. Long tables stretched across the room, most of them already buzzing with laughter, chatter, and the occasional clink of cutlery against metal trays.

I slid into line, grabbed a plate, and filled it halfheartedly—pasta, salad, a piece of bread. Nothing looked particularly good. Hunger was there, but nerves still sat heavier in my stomach.

I found an empty spot toward the corner, somewhere out of the spotlight, somewhere safe. Of course, Sofia and Alexander followed right behind, their trays hitting the table almost in sync with mine.

“You were insane out there,” Sofia said, her eyes bright, voice carrying enough for half the room to hear. “I swear, you didn’t even look like you were struggling.”

Alexander nodded, smirking around a mouthful of bread. “Spider-girl. That’s your new nickname.”

I forced a smile, stabbing my fork into the pasta. “Thanks. Just got lucky with my category.”

It wasn’t luck. Jason had seen to that.

Before I could drown in the thought, someone brushed past the table. Jax—the ex-military guy with sharp eyes and a grin that made him look like trouble. He slowed, leaning just enough to drop his words directly at me.

“Good job, Greene. Never seen anyone make that wall look so easy.” His tone was half-compliment, half-tease, like he was daring me to deny it.

Heat crawled up my neck. I tightened my grip on the fork. “Thanks,” I muttered, keeping it clipped, polite, nothing to invite more.

He smirked, gave a little nod, and moved on.

Sofia’s grin spread like wildfire. “See? Even the tough guys noticed. You crushed it.”

Alexander raised his cup of water in mock-toast. “To Spider-girl.”

I clinked my fork against his cup because refusing would’ve made it obvious how much I hated the attention. Inside, though, my chest twisted. That wasn’t what I was here for. I wasn’t supposed to stand out.

But all eyes weren’t on me. One pair in particular burned hotter than the others.

I felt him before I saw him. That familiar prickle at the back of my neck, the unshakable awareness that Jason Ballard’s gaze was locked on me. My hand froze mid-bite, and against my better judgment, I glanced across the cafeteria.

The judges sat at their own table, higher up, separated from the rest of us. Clark was laughing about something, Alicia was sipping water with her usual composed grace, but Jason… Jason wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t talking. He was watching.

Straight at me.

I looked away so fast I nearly dropped my fork. My heart banged against my ribs.

Sofia caught it, of course she did. “One of the judges is looking at you,” she whispered, elbow nudging my side.

“Probably because of the climbing,” I said quickly, too quickly. My voice was sharper than I meant.

Her brows rose, but she let it go, diving into her food. I kept my eyes glued to my plate until dinner ended.

****

The dorms were tucked in a quieter wing of the complex—tiny apartments, just enough space for a bed, a desk, a bathroom. Functional. Comfortable enough. A cage dressed up as freedom.

I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, exhaling hard, like I’d been holding my breath since the cafeteria.

The shower was hot, the steam thick, but it didn’t wash away the feeling of his eyes on me. It didn’t wash away the memories.

I pulled on the plain pajamas they’d given us, curled into the bed, and stared at the ceiling. Sleep refused to come. When it did, it wasn’t kind.

I was seventeen again, sitting in Jason’s Jeep under a blanket of stars. His arm was around me, his breath warm in my hair, his lips brushing mine until I was dizzy from kissing him. He whispered promises that felt like forever. He called me muffin like it was the most natural thing in the world. We laughed until our stomachs hurt, until nothing else existed but us.

In the dream, I believed him. I believed in us.

And then I woke up gasping, my heart cracking open like it remembered exactly how it felt to lose him.

The room was dark, silent, the only sound the hammer of my pulse. Sleep didn’t return after that. I lay there, eyes wide, haunted by the ghost of Jason’s smile and the weight of his eyes across a crowded cafeteria.

Chapter 3

POV: Emma

Alexander’s voice broke the morning quiet before I’d even rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

“I heard a rumor,” he muttered, hair sticking up at odd angles as he sat on the edge of his bunk, lacing his boots. “Two tests today. Morning and afternoon.”

Sofia groaned from across the room. “Great. Because one wasn’t enough.”

Two tests.

Twice the chances to slip up. Twice the chances for Jason to see me slip.

Breakfast was cafeteria-style again, trays clattering, competitors buzzing. I sat with Alexander and Sofia, and for a moment, it almost felt normal. We joked about the food—Sofia declared the eggs were probably powdered, Alexander swore the bread could double as a dumbbell—and I laughed. Really laughed. Or at least, I tried. The sound came out lighter than I felt.

Because beneath it all, my nerves were coiled tight, every muscle wired and waiting. Not because of the tests. Not entirely. No, it was him. Always him. Jason. The thought of his green eyes finding me again made my pulse race faster than any challenge could.

We were led outside after breakfast, the morning air cool and sharp. William was already waiting, that TV-ready grin plastered across his face.

“Competitors!” His voice boomed, bouncing off the metal bleachers where cameras sat perched like vultures. “Yesterday, you proved your strength and endurance. Today, you prove something else—your brain.”

Murmurs rippled through the group.

“This is about survival,” William continued, “and survival isn’t just muscle—it’s knowledge. Your task is simple: make fire. With limited resources.”

He stepped aside, and my chest locked when I saw who would lead the demonstration.

Jason.

The uniform wasn’t army green anymore, but the way he carried himself—the straight spine, the quiet command—he might as well still have been wearing it. His eyes swept the group, and when they caught mine, it was like the ground tilted beneath me. He didn’t hold the gaze long, just enough to make me feel seen, known.

He spoke, voice steady, clipped. “In the army, fire is life. Warmth. Food. Signal. Morale. Without it, you’re exposed. You’re vulnerable. We learned early that fire isn’t just survival—it’s discipline. Patience. Focus.”

And just like that, I was seventeen again.

We were in the woods behind his house, the night air cold, a pile of sticks between us. He grinned at me, soot smudging his cheek, while I huffed in frustration at my useless spark.

“Patience, muffin,” he’d teased, covering my hand with his, guiding the strike. “Fire listens to steady hands, not angry ones.”

Muffin.

The memory clamped around my chest, stealing my breath. I shoved it down, back into the dark where it belonged, and focused on the present.

Jason finished the instructions. “You’ll be judged on resource management, ignition, and sustainability. Weak fire means weakness in the field. Weakness doesn’t survive.”

The rules were clear. The lowest performance would go home today.

When it was my turn, I walked to my station. A tray sat waiting: a piece of flint, a dull knife, a bundle of half-damp twigs, and a scrap of cloth that looked ready to disintegrate. My heart sank. Not impossible, but close.

I crouched low, studying it all. The others were separated by tall barriers; I couldn’t see their progress, and they couldn’t see mine. Just me. The tools. The clock ticking down.

I closed my eyes for a second. Breathed. Listened. And then, like a ghost at my shoulder, his voice came back.

“Patience. Fire listens to steady hands.”

I steadied mine. Broke the cloth into fibers with careful, deliberate movements, shaping it into a fragile nest. Struck the flint. Once. Twice. Again. Sparks hissed and died. Sweat prickled at my neck.

Come on.

On the fifth strike, a faint ember caught. My lungs seized, then rushed. I bent close, cupping my hands, whispering air like it was prayer. The ember glowed, grew, kissed the fibers.

Flame.

It licked up, hungry, fragile. Too fragile. A gust of wind threatened to snuff it. My instincts kicked in. I grabbed a broad leaf from the pile of brush nearby, angled it like a shield, crouched low to block the draft with my own body. The fire steadied, then grew, orange and defiant.

I fed it slow. Small twigs. Then thicker ones. Not rushing, not panicking. Just breathing with it.

When the timer buzzed, my fire was steady, alive. Not the biggest—I could hear Sofia’s roaring flame somewhere to my left—but one of the strongest, most controlled.

Relief surged, but it tangled instantly with something sharper. Because when I looked up, Jason’s eyes were already on me. Not smiling. Not approving. Just watching, like he always had, like he always would.

My stomach flipped. I hated it. I needed it.

I turned away, hiding the flush in my cheeks, pretending I didn’t care that the ghost of him lived in every move I made.

Pamela. That was her name. At least, I thought it was.

She was the one who left after the fire test, but honestly, I barely remembered her face. Some athlete, someone who smiled a lot yesterday morning. Gone now. And all I could think was: better her than me.

Harsh? Maybe. But this was survival.

Lunch buzzed louder than breakfast had. The cafeteria smelled faintly of sweat and reheated food, trays clattering as competitors filled every table. I slid into my usual spot with Sofia and Alexander.

The topic at every table was the same: Sofia’s fire.

“You were incredible,” Alexander said, clapping her shoulder. “It was like watching a freaking flamethrower. Did you have jet fuel hidden somewhere?”

Sofia smirked, unimpressed. “Training. Nothing more.”

Around us, others chimed in—admiration, jokes, even mock envy. The spotlight had shifted. No one was looking at me anymore.

And I was glad for it.

Attention wasn’t what I wanted. Attention was dangerous. Better to be in the middle of the pack, unnoticed, unremarkable. I forced a polite smile, murmured something about Sofia’s skill, and kept chewing.

That’s when I saw him.

Not Jason.

Jax. The ex-military guy who’d teased me last night, calling me “Greene.” He was across the room, near the wall, talking low with one of the producers. Their heads bent close, voices too soft to catch.

But it was the way they looked around, the quick flicker of eyes scanning the room, that set my instincts humming. A whisper. A signal. Something I wasn’t meant to see.

I blinked, shifted my gaze back to my plate, heart thudding faster than it should. Maybe it was nothing. Probably nothing. Still… a seed planted.

After lunch, we had “free time.” A gift from production, though we all knew it wasn’t a gift—it was a test, too. How we used our time, what we did with it, they’d be watching. Always watching.

I headed for the gym, dragging Sofia and Alexander with me until they peeled off to their own corners. I needed the burn in my muscles, the rhythm of reps and sweat, to quiet the noise in my head. To stop replaying Jason’s voice explaining fire. To stop remembering his hands guiding mine years ago, steady and sure.

Every time my pulse slowed, his face came back. So I pushed harder, faster, until sweat stung my eyes.

But nothing burned him away.

The alarm shattered the gym’s steady hum. A sharp siren that sent every competitor scrambling.

“Second test,” Alexander muttered, wiping his face with a towel. His grin was too easy, too ready. “Told you.”

We filed outside, boots pounding against the gravel. Trucks waited, engines rumbling, dust curling into the sky.

I climbed in with the others, the metal bench biting into the back of my thighs as the vehicle jolted forward. My stomach was a knot of nerves, twisting tighter with every bump in the road.

The trees grew denser as we drove, the air damper, cooler. The sound hit me before I saw it—a low, thunderous roar.

Then we turned the corner, and it was there.

The waterfall. A white torrent crashing into a wide, raging river below. The spray rose like smoke, the current thick and fast, swallowing everything in its path.

My throat closed.

Water. Again.

My palms went slick against my thighs, heart hammering so loud it drowned out the roar of the falls.

And instinctively, without thinking, my eyes found him.

Jason stood near the judges’ platform, posture tight, arms folded. His jaw clenched as he looked at me. For a second, his eyes softened, then he squeezed them shut like he was cursing under his breath.

Shit.

I didn’t need to hear it to know that’s exactly what he said.

And my stomach plummeted, because he knew. He remembered. And I wasn’t sure if that would save me… or break me.

The roar of the waterfall thundered through my chest, so loud I could barely hear William’s voice explaining the rules.

Three teams. One rope stretched taut across a river that looked more like a raging monster than a body of water. The fastest two teams were safe. The last… elimination.

I barely registered the names. Pamela—whatever her name was—was gone after the fire test. I didn’t care. All I could think about was the water.

When they called my team, my stomach dropped. Alexander was with me, Sofia on another team. That should’ve comforted me. It didn’t.

The rope was slick, trembling with the weight of the competitor in front of me. My foot touched the water and every muscle in my body seized. Cold like knives. The current clawed at my legs immediately, pulling, tugging, hungry.

Breathe. One step at a time. One step at a time.

I gripped the rope so tight my knuckles went white. The current slapped against my waist, threatening to yank me under. My heart pounded in my ears, a drumbeat of panic.

Don’t think. Don’t look down.

But my eyes betrayed me, snapping to Jason. He stood at the bank, fists clenched at his sides, jaw locked, chest heaving like he wanted to dive in already. His gaze was a blade through me—desperate, furious, helpless.

And then it happened.

The girl in front of me—tall, wiry, runner’s body—lost her footing. One slip, one scream, and she was gone. The river swallowed her, flinging her into a jagged rock. I saw the crack of impact, saw her head loll unnaturally as her body bobbed, limp.

No producers close. No lifeguards. No one.

“Shit—” My fingers tore free from the rope before I could think. The current ripped me under instantly, choking me with icy blackness. I kicked, clawed, forced myself toward her.

The river swallowed me whole.

The instant I let go of the rope, icy fists closed around my body, yanking me under. My scream drowned in my throat as black water surged over my head, pressing into my nose, my mouth, my ears.

I kicked hard, clawing up, forcing my arms through the crushing current until I broke the surface. Gasp. Choke. The air was thin, torn away as soon as it hit my lungs. My grip found the girl’s arm, her body limp, dead weight tugging me back under.

“Come on, come on—” My voice cracked into nothing as another wave slammed me sideways. My ribs ached. My lungs screamed.

One stroke. Another. I shoved her toward the bank. My chest burned like it was splitting apart, my vision blurring at the edges. Just a little more—

Hands reached for her. Took her. Relief crashed over me, sharp and fleeting.

Then the river claimed me.

The current flipped me like a rag doll, dragging me down, deeper and deeper, water battering every inch of me. My head smashed against something—rock? log?—sparks burst behind my eyes.

I tried to swim, to push upward, but my arms were heavy, numb. My legs flailed uselessly.

I opened my mouth to scream and swallowed death. Water filled my throat, searing, acidic, pouring into my chest. I gagged, convulsed, vomit burning up and mixing with the river. Bile and water choked me until my body rebelled, spasming violently.

The world narrowed. Heartbeat hammering, slower, slower.

Thump.

Thump.

…Thump.

And in that fading rhythm, the past tore through me.

My cousin’s hands splashing, clawing at nothing. My own voice breaking as I screamed his name, the sound strangled by water. His head slipping under, again and again, until it didn’t come back up. That helplessness carved itself into me, fresh and raw, like I was fourteen again and watching him vanish.

“No—no—no—” My mind screamed, but my body betrayed me, frozen with terror. My limbs refused to answer. My chest convulsed, desperate for air that wouldn’t come.

Light fractured above me, distant, unreachable. My vision blurred into streaks of silver and black. The roar of the waterfall thundered in my skull, deafening.

This was it.

I was going to die here.

Chapter 4

POV: Emma

And then—arms.

So strong they cut through the current like it was nothing. Wrapping around me, hauling me against a body I knew even in the chaos. Jason.

The heat of him burned through the ice in my veins. His grip was iron, unyielding, his chest heaving against my back as he surged upward. My head broke the surface and air tore into my lungs, raw, painful, but alive.

I coughed, gagged, vomited again, the river pouring out of me as he carried me forward. His voice was at my ear—hoarse, frantic—but the words blurred into the pounding of blood in my skull.

Stroke after stroke, his body did what mine couldn’t. Every muscle in him was pure power, pure desperation, until finally—the bank. Hands pulling. The ground beneath me.

I collapsed, heaving, hacking, vomiting water and bile until I was empty, shaking so violently I thought my bones would shatter.

The cheers broke through the ringing in my ears.

“She saved her!”

“He saved Emma!”

“Two heroes!”

But I couldn’t look at them. Couldn’t hear them.

Jason’s face hovered above mine, dripping wet, his hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes—God, his eyes—were pure fire. Terrified and furious and something else I couldn’t name.

“You okay?” His voice was low, broken.

I swallowed hard, tears burning behind my eyes, and managed a shaky nod. I couldn’t speak. If I opened my mouth, I would sob.

Paramedics swarmed, pulling me up, checking my pulse, wrapping blankets around me. Someone muttered something about undigested food, about vomiting, about weakness.

They didn’t know. They couldn’t.

It wasn’t food. It wasn’t weakness.

It was the past dragging me under, drowning me all over again.

And Jason had pulled me back.

The paramedics swarmed us as soon as my knees hit the ground. Cold hands, latex gloves, flashlights in my eyes. “Stay still, you inhaled a lot of water—”

“I’m fine,” I rasped, voice breaking. My throat burned with every word, raw from choking. My chest felt like it had been scraped hollow.

I wasn’t fine. But if I said that, I’d be sent home.

Beside me, Amanda lay pale and motionless, her lashes clumped with river water, her forehead bleeding just above the temple. She groaned faintly when they pressed on her scalp, and my stomach twisted.

“Concussion,” one medic muttered to another. “Needs hospital care.”

A pair of polished shoes stopped near me, and then a man crouched, his expensive watch gleaming under the cloudy daylight. Black hair slicked neatly back, suit far too clean for the wilderness. He smelled faintly of cologne, sharp, foreign among the damp moss and wet earth.

“Emma Greene,” he said, his voice smooth, clipped. “I’m Silas Blackwood. One of the producers.”

I nodded, stiff. “Hi.”

“You inhaled water. Possible secondary drowning. We can get you to a hospital, but if you leave the competition grounds—” He let the words hang like a trap. “—that will be your exit.”

I forced myself to meet his eyes, steady. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

Something in his smile flickered, the polite curve sharp around the edges. “As you wish.” He rose, brushing invisible dust off his trousers. Then his voice carried louder, addressing the group: “Amanda will be taken for medical care. Due to her injury, she will be officially eliminated from the program. That means there will be no additional elimination this round. The rest of you are dismissed. Return to your dorms. Tomorrow, we continue.”

A collective breath rippled through the competitors. Some looked relieved. Others just exhausted.

I stood on shaky legs, avoiding Jason’s eyes burning a hole into my back. The memory of his hands dragging me out, his chest pressed against mine, haunted me. I couldn’t face him. Not now.

Not when I still felt the water clawing down my throat.

Back in my dorm, I stripped out of damp clothes, shoved them into a corner, and stood under the scalding shower until my skin prickled red. The heat didn’t chase the cold from my bones. Every time I closed my eyes, I was under again—dark water, choking, my cousin’s voice echoing in the past, my own scream trapped in my lungs.

I wrapped myself in a towel, curled on the bed, tried to sleep. Nothing. The silence pressed in, suffocating in its own way. My chest wouldn’t loosen. My brain wouldn’t shut up.

So I did the only thing I knew—moved.

The gym was empty, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing above as I stepped inside. The familiar burn of muscles, the rhythm of motion—this was supposed to help, supposed to quiet the storm. I wrapped my hands, settled into the punching bag, let my fists thud into the leather. Over and over. Harder. Faster. My knuckles ached, sweat stung my eyes, but at least I could breathe between strikes.

Until I heard it.

A sound. Soft. Behind me.

I froze, shoulders tensing, pulse spiking. A producer? A medic checking on me?

I turned—

And my chest hollowed out.

Jason.

His shirt clung damp to his skin, his hair still tousled like he hadn’t bothered to fix it after the river. His eyes locked on mine, heavy and unreadable.

As hot as I remember, more even…

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think of what to say.

The air stretched taut between us.

He stood there in the doorway, shadows cutting across the sharp lines of his perfect face. His shirt clung to his chest, damp, like he hadn’t bothered to change after the river. His green eyes found me immediately, locked on like he’d known exactly where I’d be.

“I never thought I’d find you here,” he said, voice low, steady, but his gaze burned hotter than the words.

I swallowed, forcing air into my lungs. “I couldn’t sleep. So I came to the gym.”

He shook his head slightly, stepping further inside. “No. I don’t mean here. I mean—” His eyes swept over me, unreadable. “—in the show.”

The words punched the air out of me. My throat closed.

I shrugged, trying for casual, though my heart was clawing at my ribs. “It’s a good prize. It’s worth it. You think I’m not capable of winning this?”

A laugh, short and low, escaped him. He dropped his head, shaking it, a tiny smile tugging his mouth. “Of course not. You can win this. You probably will.” His gaze lifted, pinning me. “You’re the most fierce, stubborn girl I ever knew.”

The word knew coiled inside me like fire. My stomach twisted, my chest too tight to hold the air in.

“I’m not a girl anymore,” I said, the words sharper than I meant, desperate to shield myself.

His jaw flexed. He looked away, then back, softer, rougher. “I know. I can see.”

Heat flushed up my neck, traitorous, betraying me. My skin buzzed, every nerve screaming.

I folded my arms across my chest, trying to armor myself. “The show can’t know that we… that we know each other. If they find out I have a past with one of the judges—”

“I won’t say anything,” he cut in, his voice certain, almost fierce. “You know that.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, though the words felt too small, too fragile.

His eyes flickered over me, searching, heavy. “Were you really okay after today?”

Shame stabbed deep. I looked away, fists tightening. “I’m fine. I just—” My throat burned. “Thank you for saving me. And I’m sorry. Sorry you had to.” The last word cracked, humiliation thick in my chest.

He moved. Two steps, and suddenly he was close—too close. The air seemed to fold around us.

“I will always protect you,” he said, low, almost a growl. “But Emma, you risked your life to save another—”

“Don’t.” The word tore out sharper than I intended. My chin lifted. “Don’t give me that speech about how I need to be safe, about how putting myself in danger is reckless. I don’t want it.”

His eyes narrowed, heat sparking there. “I would never give you that speech. Not to you. Because I know you.” His voice dropped lower, steadier, and it pressed into my chest like a weight. “And you know me. We’ll always throw ourselves into the fire if it means pulling someone else out. That’s who we are. That’s what makes us the best kind.”

My heart hammered so hard I thought he might hear it.

He moved. Two steps, and suddenly he was close—too close. The air seemed to fold around us.

“Never be sorry for that,” he said, low, almost a growl. “I tried to spare you from the swimming test, from the start.”

“You shouldn’t have,” I whispered, forcing the words out, shaky. “You can’t give me special treatment here because of—”

The words died. I couldn’t finish. Couldn’t name us.

His gaze sharpened, pinning me in place. “This isn’t special treatment. I know exactly how capable you are, Emma. You don’t need my help. But it’s not fair—someone with a trauma like yours against people who don’t. That’s not the competition. That’s cruelty.”

My chest tightened so hard it hurt. His voice was steady, but his eyes… his eyes told another story. They locked on mine, and I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe.

The space between us shrank, every nerve in my body straining toward him and screaming to run at the same time. His breath brushed my cheek, warm, so close it made me dizzy.

Then—a noise. The slam of a door down the hall.

I blinked, jolted, reality flooding back. My throat thickened, eyes stinging. “No one can see us here,” I whispered, wiping at my face like that could erase everything he saw in me.

Before he could answer, I turned. I walked out, fast, not looking back, because if I did, I wasn’t sure I could keep going.

In my dorm, I collapsed onto the bed. The tears I’d fought clawed out anyway, burning, unstoppable.

After all this time, Jason still wrecked me.

And I hated that part of me didn’t even want him to stop.

Chapter 5

POV: Emma

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual morning energy—chairs scraping, forks clinking, competitors trading tired jokes over coffee. Sofia and Alexander found me quickly, sliding into their usual spots across the table.

“You okay?” Sofia’s eyes searched mine, worry written plain across her face.

“I’m fine,” I said, forcing my tone light. “Nothing to worry about.”

Alexander studied me, unconvinced, but he let it go. Instead, Sofia leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Do you think that’s why we don’t have a test today? Because of Amanda?”

“Probably,” Alexander muttered. “They need to handle her elimination. And… the injury.”

I just nodded, pushing food around my plate. Amanda’s pale face in the river still haunted me.

The rest of the day dragged. Training, eating, small conversations that did little to distract me from the restless tension in my chest. Every hour that passed without the sound of the alarm only made the silence heavier.

By the afternoon, most of us ended up in the gym. The clang of weights and the steady thump of shoes against treadmills filled the air. That’s when I noticed Jax again.

He wasn’t working out. He was leaning casually against a wall, speaking in low tones to a man I recognized instantly—Silas Blackwood, one of the producers. His sharp suit contrasted with the sweat-soaked air of the gym, his presence commanding, detached. I slowed my reps, angling myself toward them, ears straining. I couldn’t make out more than a few words—enough to know their conversation wasn’t casual.

Then the air shifted.

Jason walked in.

He didn’t need to say anything; the gravity of him pulled the room into orbit. His presence was sharp, cut from something harder than the rest of us. Shoulders broad, jaw tight, eyes scanning the gym like he was measuring everyone and everything.

The competitors noticed, of course. Some of the girls adjusted their tops, straightened their spines, started lifting heavier or running faster, desperate to be seen. They orbited him like moths to flame, but Jason didn’t so much as glance their way. No smiles, no nods, no acknowledgment. He just moved with single-minded focus, choosing his equipment, starting his routine as if none of them existed.

Except for me.

His gaze found mine once, across the gym. The impact hit low, quick, like being struck. My stomach flipped, my rhythm faltered. He didn’t look away. And the heat of it—quiet, restrained, but impossibly sharp—unraveled me, left me fumbling for breath.

I forced myself to turn, to focus, but it was too late. I’d lost Jax and Silas. When I glanced back, they were already gone, and Sofia and Alexander were pushing through the doors, waving me over.

The rest of the day blurred, dinner passing in quiet conversations and strained nerves. When we walked back to the dorms, the three of us lingered in the corridor for a moment.

“Guess it’s a free day,” Sofia said, stretching her arms.

“Because of Amanda,” Alexander agreed. “She’s gone, injured. They probably don’t want the backlash of more eliminations right after.”

I hummed, pretending to agree, though something in me stayed restless. Uneasy.

Back in the dorm, I stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, willing my body to relax. I closed my eyes, trying to convince myself it was safe to sleep.

And then the alarm ripped through the silence.

I bolted upright, heart hammering, fear already clawing through me before my feet hit the floor. A night test.

Shit.

I hated the dark—the way it smothered control, twisted every shadow into threat. The night carried too many memories, too much I wanted to forget.

We dressed fast, adrenaline surging as we joined the stream of competitors moving toward the field. The air outside was cold and sharp, the sky heavy with stars, the floodlights casting harsh, uneven beams across the terrain ahead. Every breath felt louder than it should.

And then—him.

Jason stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed, shoulders squared, his silhouette cut clean against the artificial light. His eyes moved over us, sharp and assessing, until they landed on me.

My chest constricted. I could feel him, his presence wrapping around me like armor and fire at once. Protective, steady, unshakable—and dangerous to my already frayed control.

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to look forward. This was a test. Another chance to prove myself.

The night pressed down heavy, colder than it had any right to be. The floodlights cut wide swaths across the field where we all gathered, shadows stretching long and nervous. My pulse was already sprinting. Nights never sat well with me—too much dark, too little control.

William strutted forward, smile sharp beneath the glow. “Good evening, competitors! Welcome to our first night challenge. I hope the dark doesn’t scare you. Tonight’s test is all about teamwork, strategy, and leadership. You’ll be split into two teams—one of six, one of five. Each team will enter the forest with only a set of cryptic clues. Somewhere in there is your prize. The team that brings it back fastest secures safety. The slower team will face an elimination task. Clear?”

Clear as mud.

The crowd murmured, restless. My gut twisted.

The names fell quickly, dividing us.

Team One: Sofia, Alexander, Samantha, Clark, Owen… and me. Six.

Team Two: the other five, their faces sharpening with relief or dread depending on the luck of the draw.

I exchanged a glance with Sofia. She winked. Alexander cracked his knuckles like he was already planning to take charge.

William’s grin widened. “Then—go.”

We plunged into the trees.

The dark wrapped around us immediately. The floodlights were gone; all that was left was the thin glow of lanterns clipped to our belts. Branches snapped under boots, breath fogged, tension spiked.

“Okay, listen,” Alexander said, loud, already puffing his chest. “We should split into pairs. Cover more ground. Fastest way.”

“Stupidest way,” Sofia muttered. “We’ll get lost and waste time.”

“I’ve trained for this. I know—”

“Shut up, both of you.” The words tore out of me before I could stop them. Six heads turned, light beams bouncing across my face. My throat tightened, but the silence gave me room.

“We don’t have time for a pissing contest. Stay together. Move fast, move smart. Samantha, Clark—you’re on clue duty. Read, think, tell us where to go. Owen, you’ve got stamina, so you lead point. Sofia, Alexander—you take rear, make sure no one drops off. I’ll keep us centered.”

They blinked. For a second, I thought they’d ignore me. Then Samantha gave a sharp nod. Owen muttered, “Makes sense.” Even Alexander bit back his retort.

And just like that—I wasn’t just part of the team. I was leading it.

The clues were riddles, twisting directions about trees “that fork like broken bones” and “stones that echo when struck.” My lungs burned from the pace, but my brain lit up like fire. Each step, each order I gave, every time I shifted us right before someone made a wrong turn—it worked. We moved as one.

The forest swallowed sound except for our boots, our breath, and the occasional curse when someone stumbled. I pulled them back on track again and again. And then, finally—

“There!” Samantha hissed.

Half-buried beneath twisted roots, gleaming under the lantern light: the chest. Heavy, solid, marked with the show’s emblem.

We hauled it free. The adrenaline hit like lightning—hot, blinding. We’d done it. We were first.

By the time we staggered back into the floodlit field, the announcer’s voice boomed, “Team One—finished!” Cheers erupted. I barely heard them. My chest heaved, sweat plastering my hair to my forehead.

And then I saw him.

Jason.

Off to the side with the other judges, his stance sharp, his expression the same iron mask as always. But for one second—just one—his lips tugged into a smile. Real. Proud. Unmistakable. And it was aimed at me.

Heat slammed through my chest. I looked away fast, pretending I hadn’t seen. Pretending I wasn’t unraveling inside.

The other team dragged back late, exhausted, one man limping. They’d lost, and William’s voice thundered about their penalty task. My team was safe. The relief was sweet but sharp—because even winning didn’t silence the storm inside me.

By the time we were dismissed, it was well past midnight. My limbs trembled with exhaustion as I showered and collapsed onto the bed in my dorm. The silence pressed heavy, and for a moment I thought sleep might finally take me.

But then—

Knock. Knock.

The sound cut through the dark. My heart jerked, wild.

Someone was at my door.

Chapter 6

POV: Emma

The knock again. Low. Insistent.

I hesitated only a second before unlatching the door.

And then—my breath caught.

Jason stood there, the hallway’s dim light spilling over him like the universe was conspiring to remind me just how unfairly beautiful he was. Broad shoulders filling the frame, dark shirt clinging to his chest, jaw shadowed with stubble. His eyes, deep and sharp, locked on mine. Too close. Too much.

Heat rushed through me, reckless and alive. My chest rose fast, air snagging in my throat. I hated how my body reacted, how my pulse leapt just from him standing there.

“Jason…” My voice was a whisper, tight. “You can’t be here. If anyone sees—”

His mouth curved, the smallest, most dangerous tilt of a smile. “Then let me in.”

I froze. And then, as if my body had a will of its own, I stepped back. He brushed past me, close enough that the heat of him skated across my skin. The room seemed smaller instantly, the air thicker. He sat on my bed like he’d been there a thousand times before.

I shut the door, my heart thundering. “What are you doing here?”

“Talking.” His gaze flicked up, steady, unreadable.

“There’s nothing for us to talk about,” I lied, my voice shaky even to my own ears.

He shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving mine. “Come on, Emma. Don’t do that.” He leaned back slightly, casual, but every muscle in him still coiled tight. “I couldn’t sleep. Too much adrenaline. I figured maybe you couldn’t either.”

I swallowed hard. “Me too.”

His expression softened just enough to cut through me. “What you did out there tonight… leading them—it was like watching a piece of art come alive. Controlled. Fierce. Beautiful.”

The words hit me square in the chest. I tried to play it off, to look away, but the stupid smile betrayed me. He’d always had that power—the way his pride could make me burn from the inside out.

He reached into his jacket then, pulling out a small flask, polished steel catching the light. “Here.” He handed it over.

I frowned. “What is this? You think I’ll just take alcohol from you?”

“Not alcohol.” His mouth curved again, a flash of mischief I hadn’t seen in years. “Good alcohol. Lagavulin 16. The kind you used to eye at that bar near campus, remember?”

My breath stuttered. God. He remembered.

“I know you’re a whiskey girl,” he added quietly. “You’ll like this.”

I bit my lip before I could stop myself, then took it. The flask was cool against my palm, heavy, like it carried more than just whiskey. I took a sip—the smoky burn sliding down my throat, familiar and dangerous all at once.

I handed it back, and his fingers brushed mine when he took it. My whole body jolted. He took his own swallow, eyes on me the entire time.

“So,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re here for the prize.”

I nodded slowly. “Of course.” But deep inside, the truth pressed harder. The truth I’d kept buried. The truth that had dragged me into this arena in the first place.

“And you?” I asked, too quickly. “Why are you here?”

His jaw flexed. “They asked the army to send someone. Begged, actually. My CO said it’d be good PR—get the hero face out there, remind the country who fights their wars. I was off-duty, so…” He shrugged, but his voice was edged.

My throat tightened. “You are a hero, Jason. Everything you’ve done… I’m proud of you.”

Something flickered in his eyes, raw, unguarded. For a second, I saw the boy I used to know—the one who kissed me under the bleachers, who held me when the world went dark.

He studied me, voice lower now. “And you? You really went to college?”

“Yes.” My pulse skipped. “I did.”

“I always thought you’d go FBI.” His lips twitched, almost like he was teasing. But the words sliced through me, too close, too sharp.

My stomach knotted hard. Because he was right. Because he didn’t know. Because that was the truth—the secret pulsing like dynamite under my ribs.

I wanted to tell him. Needed to.

The words clawed up my throat, desperate, dangerous.

But I swallowed them down, biting until my lip hurt.

I wasn’t a police officer. That was the lie I could manage to give him.

The truth was sharper, heavier. I was a Special Agent with the FBI, buried deep in an undercover mission to investigate the rot laced into this competition—the whispers of human trafficking, mercenary work, and bodies left behind overseas. Every instinct in me wanted to tell him, because Jason was the one person in the world I’d always trusted with my life. But I couldn’t. Not even him. Especially not him.

Jason’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he could see the war behind my silence.

And for the first time in years, I was terrified—not of the night, not of the test, but of what would happen if I finally let the truth out.

My mouth went dry, the truth scraping at the back of my throat. FBI. The reason I was here. The reason I was lying to him at all.

But I couldn’t. Not yet.

“I went into the police,” I said instead, forcing the words out. My stomach twisted at the lie.

Jason’s eyes softened, pride warming his expression in a way that made my chest ache. “I always knew you’d shine, no matter where you landed.”

I swallowed hard, looking away, heat burning behind my eyes. Then his voice shifted, quieter, heavier.

“That’s why I broke up with you.”

My head snapped toward him. “What?”

He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, his face shadowed but his eyes unwavering. “I needed you free to choose your own path. Not attached to me, not chained to my chaos. You deserved better than waiting for someone who might not come back.”

The words sliced through me, too neat, too polished. My hands curled into fists. “Don’t you dare make abandonment sound like nobility. Because it’s not.”

His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring. “Emma—”

“No.” My voice cracked sharp. “You gave me no choice. You decided for both of us. You didn’t even let me try.” My chest heaved, all the years of silence flooding into the space between us. “A distance relationship—it was possible. I could have—”

“You couldn’t.” His voice thundered, then cracked open, raw and broken. “I couldn’t. You don’t know what it was like, Em. Hell, that’s what it was. Every day wondering if I’d make it out alive. I couldn’t… I couldn’t survive that knowing I had someone waiting back home. That I might never make it back to you. I couldn’t carry that weight. I couldn’t break you that way.”

The anguish in his voice slammed against the fury tearing through me, leaving me shaking, breath stuttering, sharp and shallow. “So you broke me in another way instead.”

His eyes squeezed shut, like the words sliced him open.

“You didn’t argue back then,” he rasped, his voice shredded.

“I couldn’t,” I choked. My throat burned. “I was just a girl, Jason. And you—” My voice cracked, tears blurring hot in my eyes. “You chose the army over me. Worse—you didn’t even give me a choice. You chose for me. You decided our path without even asking.”

His head turned sharply, and when his eyes found mine, they were glossy, green burning through the dim light. “I did what I thought was best. What I believed was the only way to protect us. I didn’t choose the army over you—I am the army. It’s in my blood, in my bones. It’s the only certainty I’ve had since I was a boy.” His words were steel, but behind them, pain bled through every syllable.

Then, before I could react, he moved. We were already too close, but he closed the space completely, his hands coming up to cup my face. His calloused palms were warm, steady, forcing my eyes to lock on his. My body froze, shock rippling through me, but my resistance melted under his touch.

“What you need to know,” his voice dropped, rough and trembling with something that was too much, “is that I didn’t break up with you because I didn’t love you. I never chose anything over you. I made my choice because of love. Because I would rather be the one to carry that guilt, to live with that weight, than watch us get torn apart piece by piece while I was gone. I wouldn’t let you live on scraps of me. You deserve more than that. Always.”

His words detonated inside me, a lightning bolt straight to my chest. Tears slipped free, hot trails cutting down my face. His thumbs brushed them away, tender where his voice had been brutal.

The air thickened, crushing. My lungs barely worked. His eyes—God, those eyes—searched mine, and then dipped to my mouth. My lips parted on instinct, breath catching. For a single, blazing second, the pull between us was unbearable, magnetic, inevitable. My body remembered him, remembered how to fall.

And I almost did.

But I couldn’t. Not now. Not without knowing if he wanted all of me or just this moment.

I jerked back, my heart battering my ribs, and his forehead lingered against mine, a soft torture. “We can’t go there again,” I whispered, my voice shaking but firm. “I can’t kiss you without wanting everything. And I don’t know if you want that. I don’t know if you ever could.”

His face twisted, like my words gutted him, but he didn’t argue. He stepped back, the space between us suddenly an open wound.

“I think you should leave,” I whispered.

His exhale was sharp, pained. He nodded once, then pulled back fully, his jaw locked tight. He looked at me one last time, like he was memorizing every line of me, and then he left.

The door clicked shut, and it shattered me. The dam broke wide open. I collapsed on the bed, sobs tearing free, shaking me until exhaustion dragged me under.

Love, pain, longing, rage, sadness—they all stormed through me in violent waves. But the worst part was the sincerity in his voice. The way, for a moment, I almost believed him.

Chapter 7

POV: Emma

I looked like hell. I knew it the second I saw myself in the bathroom mirror that morning—swollen eyes, blotchy cheeks, hair that no amount of water could tame. Crying until exhaustion dragged me under wasn’t exactly part of the strategy to win this game. And yet… Jason looked just as wrecked as I did. Dark circles hollowed his eyes, his jaw tense like he hadn’t unclenched it all night. Our gazes snagged for a single heartbeat across the room, and I hated that I knew—he hadn’t slept either.

Breakfast felt more like brunch; everyone was sluggish, dragging their feet, muttering about how late we’d gone to bed after the treasure hunt. The long table was scattered with food—fruit, bread, scrambled eggs that had gone rubbery under the heat lamps. The air carried that faint mix of syrup sweetness and coffee bitterness, and I wrapped my hands around my mug just to keep them from shaking.

Of course Samantha noticed. She never missed a chance.

“Well, well,” she sang, tilting her head as her sharp eyes raked over me. “Looks like leading a team really takes it out of you. You look like you didn’t sleep at all, Emma.”

Her grin was smug, cruel, and I wanted to wipe it off her face.

I forced a faint smile, my voice low. “Adrenaline keeps you up.” The lie slipped easily enough, but my eyes betrayed me. Against my will, I glanced across the table. Jason. He wasn’t even looking at Samantha. He was looking at me, and his gaze told me he knew exactly why I hadn’t slept. Heat flushed through my chest, and I looked away before my hands could betray how badly they wanted to tremble.

I slipped into a chair near the far end, close to Jax and Owen. They were leaned in, voices low, words half-swallowed by the scrape of cutlery.

“—offer came in yesterday,” Jax muttered. “Big contract after the show. Can’t say no to that kind of money.”

My heart tripped. A contract? Connected to the program? But before I could catch the rest, the shrill blare of the morning alarm cut through the room, announcing the day’s new test. Conversations died instantly, forks clattered, and the moment was gone.

We gathered outside, blinking against the sharp bite of daylight. William’s smile was all teeth, like a wolf amused at the flock.

“Today,” he said, voice booming, “is about trust. Partnerships will be tested. Some of you will thrive. Some of you… not so much.”

I ended up partnered with Alexander. Sofia rolled her eyes when she got stuck with Owen, and Jason’s jaw twitched when Clark was paired with him. Samantha, of course, preened when she landed Jax.

The test itself was simple enough—on paper. Blindfolded, one partner had to guide the other through an obstacle course filled with traps and distractions. It was meant to be about listening, about connection. About trust.

I let Alexander lead first. His voice was steady, sharp, and I forced myself to listen, to breathe through every nerve in my body screaming to rip the blindfold off. When it was my turn, I let my voice cut clean and sure through the course, giving him only what he needed, nothing more. We finished near perfect, and I felt a strange flicker of pride I couldn’t fully name.

Samantha, though… she couldn’t help herself. Jax was blindfolded, trusting her, depending on her. And she tried to twist it, to cut corners, to take advantage. I heard his bark of frustration, the crash of his shoulder into a barricade she hadn’t warned him about. And when William caught it—when he announced her elimination—Samantha’s mask cracked. Her fury was almost beautiful in its ugliness. She stormed off, spitting curses under her breath, while the rest of us stood in tense silence.

My chest ached with relief. One less snake in the grass.

But as the afternoon bled into evening, one thought kept circling like a vulture in my head: that word contract. If Jax had been offered something, if Owen knew about it, then Blackwood had to have proof. And proof meant paper. Deals like that didn’t stay invisible forever.

That night, while the others celebrated or sulked, I already knew what I had to do. I would find my way into Blackwood’s office. I would find that contract.

Even if it meant risking everything.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Jax’s words. An offer. A contract. Out there, hidden beneath the glossy surface of this show, there was something darker breathing. And I knew—deep in my gut—that this was it. This was the thread I’d been planted here to follow.

Because the FBI didn’t send me into this circus for nothing.

At first, my orders were simple: blend in. Compete. Survive. Earn trust. The Bureau couldn’t just slide an agent onto the set and start sniffing around; it would’ve blown everything wide open. So they chose me. They threw me into the fire and told me not to burn.

And I hadn’t. Not yet.

But then the bodies started surfacing. The first ex-participant found dead overseas? Tragic, maybe. Coincidence. But when the second turned up just weeks later, both with backgrounds sharpened into blades—military, law enforcement, combat athletes—the red flags lit up. Too precise. Too intentional.

That’s when the Bureau pulled the thread. This wasn’t random. Someone was recruiting ex-participants, using the show like a damn shopping window. People with skills. People you could bend with money or break with threats. And when they outlived their usefulness… they were erased.

Which meant this wasn’t just about contracts. It reeked of organized crime, of trafficking networks running deeper than anything we’d cracked open in years.

And Blackwood—Silas Blackwood—was at the center of it all.

I’d seen him whispering with Jax. I’d heard Jax mutter to Owen about a deal on the table. It had to be connected. And if I wanted proof, if I wanted to rip the mask off this operation, I had to get into Blackwood’s office. Tonight.

So when the house went quiet, when laughter died into snores and lights went black, I slipped from my dorm. My heart thudded hard and steady in my chest, the way it always did when I was working—sharp focus, every nerve alive.

The halls smelled of disinfectant and cold metal. A cameraman’s door was cracked, low hum of snores bleeding out, but otherwise the corridor was empty. I padded silently down the hall until I reached the producer’s office—slick black door, steel handle gleaming under the dim emergency lights.

My fingers found the pick kit tucked inside my waistband. Not standard issue for a competitor, but the Bureau made sure I wasn’t walking in here blind. I crouched, worked the lock, muscles remembering every trick I’d drilled for years.

Click.

The sound was small, perfect, and the door eased open with a slow sigh.

I slipped inside, closing it gently behind me. The office smelled faintly of cigars and expensive cologne, the air colder than the hall. I moved quickly, grabbing a small desk lamp, flicking it on low. My eyes darted across the ceiling, corners, edges. No cameras. Thank God.

I was halfway to the desk when a voice cut the silence.

“Emma—what the hell are you doing?”

I froze. My blood iced.

Slowly, I turned.

Jason stood in the doorway, shadow filling the frame, green eyes hard as knives and burning with confusion.

My stomach dropped. My chest constricted so tight I could barely breathe. No. Not him. Not now.

I didn’t think. I just lunged forward, grabbed his arm, yanked him inside, and slammed the door shut behind him before anyone else could see. My pulse roared in my ears.

“Are you out of your mind?” he hissed, low, furious.

I pressed my back to the door, breath stuttering, heart clawing against my ribs. Every nerve in me screamed. I couldn’t explain. I couldn’t not explain.

Jason’s eyes pinned me where I stood, green fire searching my face, demanding answers.

And for the first time since I’d stepped into this place, I felt my mask crack.

Chapter 8

POV: Emma

His stare pinned me against the door, sharp, relentless. My pulse pounded, my hand tight on the knob like I could bolt. But I didn’t. Couldn’t.

Instead, the words snapped out before I could stop them. “What are you doing here?”

Jason’s jaw ticked. “Across the hall are the judges’ dorms.” His voice was low, hard. “You knew that, didn’t you?”

I blinked. I had seen the doors, but it hadn’t sunk in. My stomach twisted.

“I was actually headed to your dorm,” he added, softer now, almost ashamed. “To check if you could sleep. And then I found you here.”

Air scraped my throat. I exhaled hard and dragged a hand down my face. Frustration burned through me. This couldn’t be happening. Not him. Not now.

Jason took a step closer, eyes searching mine. His hand landed on my shoulder, steady, solid, far too familiar. “Emma. What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you broke into this office to read task notes. I know you better.”

The weight of his hand seared into me. I shook my head, cornered. No way out but through.

“I…” My voice shook. I closed my eyes, sucked in a breath. “What I’m going to tell you… you won’t believe it. Please.”

His brow furrowed. He looked wrecked, like he was bracing for a blow.

My throat tightened. “Do you remember when you said you always thought I’d join the FBI?”

His whole body stilled. Green eyes locked on me, unblinking. “Yeah,” he whispered.

I swallowed hard. “You were right. I did. I am. I’m a special agent.” My voice cracked, but I forced the words out. “And I’m here on a mission.”

The blood drained from his face. He looked pale, gutted, like I’d just cut him open.

His jaw worked before he found words. “What were you looking for?”

I dragged air into my lungs. “Bodies. Some ex-participants… they were found dead abroad. And it wasn’t random. We think there’s an organization recruiting competitors. Using this show like a filter. And the pattern—the contracts—it points to human trafficking.” My voice broke, but I pushed on. “If I can prove who’s recruiting, I can trace it to the people behind all this.”

Jason froze, then lifted his gaze back to me, fury flaring hot and sharp. “And you didn’t tell me?” His voice thundered low, dangerous. “When I asked why you were here, you said it was for the prize. When I said you should’ve joined the FBI, you lied. You told me police. You—” His hand curled into a fist. His eyes cut through me. “You always dreamed of this. And I was so stupid—I trusted you.”

“Jason.” My hand shot out, clutching his arm, desperate. “No. I wanted to tell you. God, I did. But I couldn’t drag you into this. It’s too dangerous.”

His laugh was bitter, sharp. “Danger? Emma, I’m a major. I live in danger.” His eyes burned into mine. “You think you’re protecting me? You’re walking blind into something venomous, and you think I’ll just step aside?”

Heat flared up my chest, tearing my voice raw. “I can’t drag you into this. I won’t. I just need to find the contract.”

He leaned closer, jaw locked, voice a growl. “I don’t agree. I don’t like this. But if you’re going to tear yourself apart chasing shadows, then I’m not leaving you alone in it.”

“Jason—no!” I hissed, panic and rage tangling in my chest. “You need to leave. Now.”

“I’m not leaving.” His tone was final, carved in stone.

The silence cracked like lightning between us. I wanted to scream, to shake him, to kiss him—God, anything to burn through this tension before it killed me. But I didn’t. Instead, I spun toward the desk.

We searched in furious silence. Every drawer yanked open, every file folder scanned, every locked cabinet tested. Nothing. Not a damn thing.

By the time my hands shook with frustration, I knew what I had to do. I pulled the bug from my pocket—thin, small, disguised as a pen cap—and slipped it under the lip of his desk. My pulse roared. This was my only shot.

Jason saw me do it, his jaw tight, his eyes unreadable.

“Done,” I whispered, straightening.

We didn’t speak as I killed the lamp and opened the door. We slipped back into the hallway, shadows swallowing us whole.

The tension between us was a living thing, stretching, suffocating. Jason’s shoulders were rigid, his jaw a blade. I could still feel his fury, still feel his betrayal vibrating in the air between us.

And the worst part? I couldn’t even blame him.

I didn’t sleep. I lay in the dark with the hum of the compound crawling under my skin, Jason’s face scraping every shadow on the dorm ceiling. His eyes when I told him the truth — the way his voice broke when he said I hadn’t trusted him — it carved me raw.

When I closed my eyes I saw the mission files instead: routes, contacts, goals. Focus, Emma. You got it.

By morning I looked like hell. Eyes swollen, skin sallow, every muscle reminding me that the river had not been a story but a thing that wanted to keep me. Breakfast felt like a waking nightmare — forks clinking, forced laughter, the sterile hot smell of eggs. Sofia slid into place beside me and said, soft, “It’s getting harder every day, right?” I nodded. As a competitor it was hard enough. As an agent it was a hundred different kinds of danger. And as the woman who’d just told her ex-boyfriend the truth, every step felt sharp.

My gaze snagged on Jason. His face was closed-off but the anger was there, a dark line at his mouth. He caught me looking and I hated myself for the way heat crawled up my neck. He always knew.

I picked a seat near Jax and Owen, pretending to be casual while angling so I could watch them. Jax had said the word — contract — and it kept thudding in my head like a warning bell. He and Owen were leaning over something, talking low. I tuned in. A man I’d never paid much attention to drifted closer to Owen: a cameraman, headset crooked, hands jittery. They didn’t look like they were filming. They were leaning in, checking who might be listening. That way of whispering—too careful—felt wrong in my bones.

Before I could pull more from them, I felt Jason moving toward me. My stomach flipped; I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to see what his face would do when it hit me. But before he reached my table the alarm cut through the room like a blade.

The sound shredded whatever fragile calm I’d been trying to hold. Trays hit the table, voices spiked. Jason’s step froze. The blare both saved and condemned me — saved because it kept our confrontation from happening, condemned because there was nowhere to hide from the day’s test.

We were herded outside. The air tasted of cold metal and earth. Floodlights already painted the course in hard white: ropes, sandbags, nets, a wall that scraped the sky. Alicia Fox stood like an athlete carved from stone, arms shining, smile sharp as an axe.

“Circuit day,” she called, voice booming over the field. “Fastest times earn freedom. Last three repeat. Bottom gets cut.”

My stomach rolled. I tightened my hands into fists until my nails bit the skin.

“Three. Two. One.” The horn screamed.

I exploded forward. Sand spritzed up beneath my feet, the grit clawing inside my shoes. Rope first — my palms slapped the coarse fibers; they burned, sweat slicking between my fingers. I hauled, legs trembling, every muscle howling. Voices blurred: Fox’s bark, a judge calling times, the crowd’s distant roar. Jason’s presence was a phantom at the edge of hearing.

Down, sprint, duck under the nets — sand in my mouth, elbows stinging as they scraped the ground. I tasted iron and adrenaline and something harder, a cold edge of fear that wanted me to slow.

The wall hit me next. I leapt, fingers finding the lip, nails screaming. For a second I dangled, whole life in the clamp of bone and skin. Then I pulled. My shoulders burned until they felt like they might split.

Sofia blurred ahead like a comet. Jax moved like he had gravity on his side. Owen’s breaths came ragged already. Then I saw Alexander — off-tempo, feet heavy, the rhythm gone from him. Something in my chest lurched.

Burpees. Kettlebells. My arms shook, sweat tracing hot tracks down my spine. Vision tunneled to the next hold, the next push. Fox’s shout landed sharp: “Faster, Greene!”

I pushed until white lit the edges of my vision. I sprinted the last stretch on a scream and stumbled across the line. Not the best. Not the worst.

Jax was standing tall, grin stupid and white against his face — best time. Of course he was first.

I folded over my knees, tasting copper on my tongue, fighting the black closing at the edges. Owen hit the line and slumped. Alexander staggered in a beat later — skin ashen, shirt soaked through. He had missed the cut.

The elimination round was a kettle of teeth. Seconds was the difference. Fox’s verdict came hard and fast. Alexander stood stunned while the world rolled on without him. He forced what could have been a smile; Then he walked away.

It hit like a physical blow. You’re supposed to be detached. Mission-first. But seeing him go hollowed me out. I’d been counting on him. He’d been one of the few faces I could let exist without suspicion.

Sofia met my gaze; her smile was thin, wet. “It is getting harder,” she breathed.

“Yeah,” I rasped. “Too hard.”

But my eyes had already snapped elsewhere. The cameraman I’d noticed earlier stood just beyond the ropes, lens angled at Jax in small, focused movements — not sweeping, not editorial, just locked. He watched Jax the way a predator watches the shiver of prey. Not at me. Not at the course. Always at Jax.

A pull tightened in my chest. It wasn’t Blackwood alone. The threads were fatter than that. The cameraman — headset, jittery hands, too-attentive gaze — was a thread I needed to pull. I filed his face into the same mental folder that held Jax and Owen and those two dead bodies: look harder, follow longer, don’t blink.

Tonight I’d sleep with one eye open. The show was still our stage, but the danger had begun to move backstage.

Chapter 9

POV: Emma

I couldn’t sleep.

The sheets clung damp to my skin, my body buzzing with the weight of everything I was holding. Alexander’s empty bunk hit me harder than I’d expected, a hollow in the dorm that wouldn’t be filled. The cameraman’s face looped in my head, sharp as glass. And Jason—Jason’s eyes when I told him the truth—burned through every thought until I wanted to scream.

I tried pacing. Tried breathing. Tried focusing on the mission. Nothing worked. My chest was a storm.

And before I even realized what I was doing, my feet carried me past the mess hall, past Blackwood’s office where my bug waited, humming in the dark, recording God knows what. I swore I could feel it in my bones. Tomorrow, I’d pull it. Tonight… tonight I needed something else.

Jason.

I found his dorm. My hand trembled when I lifted it, knocking once. Twice.

The door creaked open.

And there he was.

Shirtless. Just sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His body wasn’t the boy I remembered—it was carved, ridged, brutal in its strength. My gaze betrayed me, sweeping down, then up, then down again. His chest. His shoulders. The scars that slashed pale lines across his ribs and collarbone. Scars I hadn’t given. Scars I didn’t know.

I swallowed hard. My throat ached.

He cleared his throat, breaking the spell. His jaw was tight, his eyes unreadable. “Emma.”

“I… Can we talk?” My voice cracked on the word.

He stepped back, silent, and I slipped inside. The door shut behind me with a click that echoed too loud in the small space.

The air between us was thick, charged. He crossed his arms, every muscle coiled. The distance he kept hurt more than any bullet could.

“I’m sorry,” I started. The words were fragile, spilling before I could stop them.

His eyes flickered, but his arms stayed locked. “I understand you couldn’t tell me everything at the start. Fine. But when we were alone—when I asked you—I trusted you. And you lied. You made me feel like…” His jaw worked, his voice rough. “Like I was just some ordinary guy you couldn’t trust.”

The words gutted me.

I stepped forward, shaking my head. “You were never ordinary. Never. You were everything. You always mean something to me. You always will.” My voice broke. “You know that.”

He studied me, eyes dark, searching for a lie. His throat worked once before he whispered, almost against his will, “Do you mean that?”

I nodded, the tears burning behind my eyes. “Of course I do.”

Something cracked in his expression then, a softness breaking through, edged with pain. His voice came out rough, almost unwilling. “You always meant something to me, too.”

And then he did something that gutted me completely.

He lifted his arm, fingers brushing the skin at his ribs, enough to reveal the edge of ink. The muffin. My stupid little doodle he’d sworn he’d get tattooed after I baked for him the first time.

It was still there. Faded, stretched, but alive.

“You were always a part of me,” he whispered, his thumb pressing over it, then dragging slow across the ink like he was remembering me with every touch. His eyes found mine, green and devastating. “You always will be.”

The world caved in.

In that moment, I didn’t see the soldier. I didn’t see the man who’d left me. I saw the boy I had loved with every fragile piece of my teenage heart. The boy I stayed awake for, dreaming he’d sneak back through my window and promise he’d never go again.

His eyes pulled me under, and I drowned in all the sleepless nights I had spent aching for him. The hollow years I had tried to patch with strangers’ hands, with meaningless kisses, with men who never got close. Not even close.

Because no matter how far I ran, no matter how many walls I built, Jason was still the one thing that felt like home.

And that broke me.

The ache turned to fire, and before I could think, I closed the distance, rose on my toes, and kissed him.

The spark was instant. Electricity ripped through me, sparks lighting up every nerve. His lips were warm, softer than I remembered, familiar in a way that undid me. It felt like coming home. Like breathing after drowning.

But he didn’t move. He didn’t kiss me back.

He froze.

The world tilted. My stomach dropped. I pulled back, my eyes wide, breath shattering out of me. “Oh my God. I—I’m sorry. This is a mistake.”

I stumbled a step backward, fumbling for the doorknob, desperate to escape the humiliation clawing up my chest. My fingers brushed the cold metal—

And then his hand slammed against the door above mine, blocking it.

I froze.

Jason’s body was close, heat radiating off him, his chest rising hard against mine. His face was carved tight, his eyes burning into me.

“Emma,” he rasped, voice breaking.

And before I could beg or apologize or run—he turned me, pinned me with his gaze, and kissed me. Fierce. Hungry. Like he’d been holding it back for years.

His lips moved against mine like he’d been waiting for this kiss every single day we were apart. Softer than I remembered, but tasting even better, like everything I’d been starving for was finally in my mouth.

My hands flew to his neck, clutching him, pulling him closer, desperate. His body pressed mine into the door, hard, unyielding, all heat and strength. His tongue invaded me, deep and demanding, like he was pouring his soul into me, branding me, claiming me. It felt like it was always meant to be this way.

Our mouths moved in sync, wild and perfect, and suddenly it was like no time had passed at all. We were back in his jeep, my teenage heart racing, his grin calling me Muffin.

His kiss was fierce, delicious, reckless. I raked my nails over his neck, over his shoulders, mapping the new body that was broader, stronger, harder—but underneath it, I still felt the same Jason. My Jason.

His hands gripped my waist, dragging me flush against him, and I felt his arousal, heavy, insistent, pressing into me. My pulse stuttered. His mouth trailed fire along my jaw, nipped at my earlobe, then down my neck, his teeth scraping my skin as he murmured, rough and wrecked, “You have no idea how much I missed you.”

God. That single sentence shattered me.

Because I missed him too. Missed him so much it hollowed me out for years. We were a nightmare apart, I thought, breathless, but together— I tightened my arms around him, aching. Together, we’re everything.

His hands slid down, squeezing my ass with a hunger that made me gasp. He lifted me effortlessly, and instinct took over—I wrapped my legs around his waist like I’d done a thousand times before. He carried me across the room, lips never leaving mine, and then laid me on his bed.

For a heartbeat, he just stopped. His hands pinned mine above my head, his eyes locked on mine. His chest heaved.

Then he pinched my arm.

I blinked. “Ow—what are you doing?”

His mouth curved, soft and wrecked all at once. “Just proving you’re real. That you’re here.”

My heart twisted. He smirked then, kissing me again, and I was gone.

His fingers brushed the hem of my shirt, but it was me who yanked it off over my head, like instinct, like muscle memory. Like my body remembered exactly how to bare itself for him.

His gaze burned over me, stopping at my bra, his expression torn between hunger and reverence. He traced a fingertip slowly along the curve of my breast, as if memorizing me all over again.

Then his hands were quick, undoing my jeans, sliding them down my hips. His mouth followed—kissing the arch of my foot, the inside of my calf, the tender skin of my thigh. Each touch left goosebumps in his wake, heat flooding me, chills sparking across my skin.

By the time his lips reached my stomach, I was trembling. When he unclasped my bra and took one nipple into his mouth, sparks exploded through me. He sucked, slow and possessive, his teeth grazing just enough to make me arch.

A moan escaped me, ragged. He smirked against my skin, the bastard, and did it again, worshiping the other breast until I was gasping, lost.

Then he trailed lower, lower, until his mouth brushed the edge of my panties. He glanced up at me once, eyes burning, before he hooked his fingers in the fabric and dragged them down—agonizingly slow.

When he tossed them aside, he spread me open, and his breath hitched. My cheeks flamed, but the heat between us burned hotter, undeniable.

He lowered his mouth, and when his tongue slid over my clit, I almost cried out.

“Fuck—”

He sucked, teased, licked, until my back arched off the mattress. His voice rumbled against me, sending vibrations straight into my core. “You taste sweeter than ever. Sweeter than a muffin.”

Chapter 10

POV: Emma

He sucked, teased, licked, until my back arched off the mattress. His voice rumbled against me, sending vibrations straight into my core. “You taste sweeter than ever. Sweeter than a muffin.”

The words nearly undid me. His hand came up, pinching and teasing my nipple, while his other hand slid lower, two fingers pressing inside me.

I clenched around him, pleasure slamming into me so hard I couldn’t breathe. The orgasm tore through me, wild and violent, and I shattered, crying out his name as I came undone in his mouth, his hand, his everything.

I was still pulsing, trembling around his fingers when he pulled them out of me slowly, deliberately, like he wanted to make me whimper. His tongue gave me one last teasing flick before he dragged himself up my body, kissing every inch of me along the way—my stomach, my ribs, the valley between my breasts, the curve of my throat—until his mouth crashed against mine again.

I tasted myself on his lips.

“Jason…” My voice was wrecked, shaky, and pleading all at once.

“Emma.” My name left him like a prayer, like a curse. His forehead pressed to mine, his breath uneven. “I need you. I can’t—fuck—I can’t wait anymore.”

Neither could I.

I reached down, frantic, shoving at the waistband of his sweatpants. He hissed when I brushed against him, hard and thick, straining. My fingers wrapped around him, and he groaned into my mouth, his hips jerking into my hand.

“Christ,” he muttered, teeth gritted. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Then die with me,” I whispered, not even recognizing my own voice—it was desperate, guttural, born of years of longing.

He tore the sweatpants off, and for a second, I just stared, heart hammering. God, he was beautiful. Hard and ready and mine.

He hovered over me, braced on one arm, his other hand cupping my cheek like I was breakable. His eyes searched mine, burning and soft all at once. “Tell me this isn’t a mistake.”

“It’s not.” The words ripped out of me. “It could never be.”

Something cracked in his expression then—like armor shattering—and he kissed me again, deep and savage, before guiding himself to my entrance.

The first push stole my breath. Stretching, burning, filling. My nails dug into his back, desperate for more.

“Oh God—Jason—”

I’d had sex after Jason broke me, after he left. But it was always shallow, always wrong—like touching shadows instead of fire. Like I almost forgot what it was to feel this way. They say that when you’re with the person you’re meant for, it’s like a puzzle piece finally falling into place. But this wasn’t just a click. This was the entire universe realigning. Every planet, every star, every choice I ever made pulling me here—to him. To this.

His hands framed my head, his body pushing deep, claiming, but it was his eyes—those wrecking green eyes—that undid me. Because I saw it there. I felt it. He was feeling it too. The pleasure was fierce, overwhelming, building higher with every thrust, every brush of his skin against mine. But underneath it, through it, was something more. Something infinite. Love. Belonging. The kind of perfect that destroys you just as much as it saves you.

He froze, teeth clenched, his jaw trembling. “Fuck—you’re so tight. So perfect.” He buried his face in my neck, shaking. “I dreamed of this. Every fucking night, Emma. Every night.”

Tears stung my eyes. “Me too.”

He thrust deeper, slow at first, sinking into me inch by inch until he was fully inside, until there was no space left between us. I felt him everywhere, felt him in my bones, in my heart.

And then he moved.

A deep, steady rhythm that stole the air from my lungs, that lit me up from the inside. Every thrust sent sparks flying through my body, every groan from his lips made me unravel further.

I clung to him, my legs locking around his waist, pulling him deeper. His hand slid under my thigh, gripping hard, angling me so he could hit that spot that made me see stars.

“Yes—right there—” I gasped, my voice breaking.

He groaned, low and rough. “God, you feel like home.” His mouth brushed mine, desperate, reverent. “You are home.”

The words destroyed me. I kissed him back hard, biting his lip, tasting blood and salt and years of unsaid everything. My body was on fire, every nerve ending strung tight, every part of me focused on him.

Our bodies moved in perfect chaos—raw, unrestrained, but threaded with tenderness that broke me apart. It wasn’t just sex. It was reclaiming. It was forgiveness. It was us.

His thrusts grew rougher, deeper, dragging moans out of me that I couldn’t control. My head fell back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure built sharp and unbearable, the kind that ripped through me in waves.

“Emma.” His voice was raw, guttural, right against my ear. His hand slid up, cradling my jaw, forcing my head to turn toward him. “Open your eyes.”

I shook my head, lost, too far gone. “Jason— I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His tone was a command, wrecked and desperate all at once. His forehead pressed to mine, his green eyes burning down into me. “Look at me, Muffin. I want you to look at me when you come. I need to see you.”

That broke me. My eyes flew open, and the second I met his gaze—saw the fire, the hunger, the fucking love staring back at me—the pleasure detonated. I shattered, clenching tight around him, a cry ripping out of my chest as my orgasm tore me apart.

“Fuck—yes, that’s it—” he groaned, watching me fall apart, thrusting harder, deeper, like he wanted to brand himself inside me. His hand stayed locked on my jaw, holding me there, making me drown in his eyes while I came undone.

And God, it was too much. Too intimate. Too consuming. Because I knew in that moment—I’d never belong to anyone else. Not in this life. Not in any other. Only him. Always him.

But he keep going.

And when he whispered against my ear, voice shaking, “I’ll never leave you again,” I shattered again.

My climax ripped through me like lightning, blinding and brutal. I screamed his name, clutching him tight as wave after wave crashed over me.

He followed, thrusting hard, burying himself deep, groaning into my mouth as he came undone inside me, every muscle straining, his entire body breaking against mine.

And then we collapsed together, tangled and gasping, our sweat-soaked skin pressed so close I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began.

His body was still heavy over mine, our breaths tangled, his chest damp with sweat against my skin. My pulse was still stuttering, wild and uneven, but there was something calmer beneath it now, a quiet that only he could bring.

Jason shifted, pulling me closer until I was caged against him, his arm draped tight over my waist, like if he let go I might vanish into the dark. I pressed my face into his neck, breathing him in — salt and heat and something that was so him I thought I’d drown in it.

My hand drifted lower, fingertips brushing over the ink I’d glimpsed before — the small muffin etched along his ribs, faded from time but still there. Still ours.

I traced it gently, my throat tightening. “Do you mean it?”

His chest rumbled under me. “Mean what?” His voice was rough, raw from groaning my name into the dark.

“That,” I whispered, my fingertip still circling the muffin, like it could anchor me. “When you said you’d never leave me again. Was it just…” My voice broke. “Just sex talk?”

He shifted, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of my head, guiding me to look at him. His green eyes burned into mine — steady, unflinching, and too full of everything I’d wanted all these years.

“Emma,” he said, my name softer than I’d ever heard it. “I know I broke you when I left. And I hate myself for that. But I can’t regret it.”

The words cut, but his gaze didn’t waver.

“Because if I’d stayed back then, we wouldn’t be here now. You wouldn’t be who you are. You wouldn’t have chased your dreams. You’d have been waiting for me, living in my shadow. And I could never take that from you.” He swallowed hard, brushing his thumb along my cheek, catching the tear that slipped free. “I’m proud of you. Proud that you’re exactly what you always wanted to be. An agent. A fighter. You.”

Another tear slid, then another, until they blurred everything. “Jason…”

He pressed his forehead to mine, his voice breaking low and fierce. “I regret the years we lost. I regret every night I dreamed of you and couldn’t touch you. But I swear to you — I’ll never leave again. Not unless you tell me to. If this is real—” His thumb stroked my jaw, reverent, trembling. “—if we’re real again… I’m in it. For good. If that’s what you want.”

The sob caught in my throat, silent and sharp. All I could do was nod, my lip trembling.

And when I did, his mouth was on mine again — slower this time, tender and deep, tasting of promises and forgiveness, of everything we’d lost and everything we might still have.

For the first time in years, I felt whole.