Chapter 11

POV: Ivy

Jonathan kept talking, completely unaware, while under the table, I made Aiden shift in his seat more than once. He never touched me back—not with my dad right there—but his eyes burned across the table, and I knew the second we were alone, I was in trouble.

Later, the house settled into silence. My dad went to bed early, like he always did after wine and meat. I waited in my room, heart thumping too fast, barely daring to breathe. I wasn’t sure if Aiden would come.

But then I heard it—the soft click of my door opening. The creak of wood under a heavy step.

He closed it behind him without a word, shirt gone, sweatpants slung low. His body was shadowed and golden under the moonlight pouring in through the window.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he murmured, voice low and full of promise.

I sat up in bed slowly, sheets sliding down my body. “I think I’m irresistible.”

He was on me in seconds.

Aiden crashed his mouth onto mine like he’d been starving for it. His hand slid into my hair, gripping just hard enough to make me whimper. He kissed me like he wanted to erase the hours we’d spent pretending we were nothing.

“You drove me crazy under that table,” he growled against my lips.

“Poor baby,” I whispered, tugging at his waistband. “Need me to make it better?”

“I need you,” he said, raw, almost broken. “All fucking day I wanted you. Couldn’t even look at you without thinking about how you sound when you come.”

I yanked him down on top of me, moaning as his weight pressed me into the mattress. “Then take me. Quietly.”

His hand was already under my shirt, then beneath my panties, fingers finding me wet and ready. He groaned into my mouth. “God, Ivy…”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” I gasped, hips bucking into his touch.

“Then I won’t make you wait anymore.”

Aiden stripped me bare like I was something sacred.

Every inch of skin he revealed was a revelation—his gaze devoured me before his hands ever touched, and by the time they did, I was already trembling.

He kissed me like he had all the time in the world.

Like we weren’t burning from the inside out.

His mouth found mine first—slow, possessive, claiming—and then it trailed lower. Down the column of my throat. Over the swell of my breasts, where he lingered, circling my nipple with his tongue until it hardened under his touch.

“Fuck,” I whispered, arching into him.

He didn’t stop. He kissed my ribs, my stomach, lower—until he was at my hips. Then he paused, his warm breath teasing where I needed him most… but he skipped my core entirely.

My breath caught, a desperate little gasp betraying me.

“Easy, baby girl,” he murmured, dragging his lips along my inner thigh, “you’ll get your turn.”

I could feel the smirk in his voice. Cocky. Controlled. Ruining me on purpose.

He kissed my knees, then my calves, even the tops of my feet—like every part of me deserved worship.

And when he finally kissed my clit, I nearly lost it.

A moan clawed up my throat, but I bit my lip hard to silence it.

“Oh my god, Aiden—” I gasped.

His tongue worked me with slow, devastating precision. Licking. Sucking. Torturing.

One hand held my hip down as the other slid up, slipping a finger inside me, curling just right.

“Aiden,” I cried out, my voice breaking. “I—I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered. “Come for me. I want to feel it.”

And I did. I shattered against his mouth, trembling, crying out softly as waves of pleasure crashed through me. His name was the only thing on my lips, the only thought in my mind.

When I could finally breathe again, I pushed myself up on shaky arms, still pulsing with the aftershocks.

I looked down at him, wild and desperate, and reached for the waistband of his boxers.

“Take them off,” I said, my voice hoarse with need. “Now.”

He did, slow and deliberate, and when I wrapped my hand around him, I felt the way he twitched in my palm.

I leaned in and took him into my mouth, savoring the weight of him, the way his breath stuttered as I worked him deeper.

“Jesus, Ivy,” he groaned, one hand tangling in my hair. “You’re gonna kill me.”

I pulled back just enough to whisper against him, “Then die happy.”

His laugh was breathless, wrecked.

I kissed the head of his cock once more, then looked up at him, eyes locked with his.

“I need you inside me,” I said, voice raw. “Now.”

His expression changed in an instant—restraint gone. Gone.

He slid inside slowly, so slowly it burned—like he was trying to memorize every inch of me, like he didn’t want this to end even though we both knew it shouldn’t have started.

My hands clawed at his back, desperate to ground myself as the pleasure overwhelmed me. My mouth opened in a gasp I couldn’t contain, and his hand came up quickly, gently, to cover it.

“Shh,” he breathed, forehead pressed to mine, sweat beading at his temple. “You have to be quiet, baby.”

But how could I be quiet when it felt like this? When every inch of him was fire and I was nothing but dry leaves, ready to be consumed?

The room was thick with heat, with the danger of being caught, with every suppressed cry and gasped name. The tension of what we were doing wrapped around us like smoke—illicit, heavy, intoxicating. Each movement was slow but deliberate, a rhythm that made my body arch toward his without even thinking.

His lips found the curve of my neck, and he whispered there, like a confession:

“Ivy… you feel like fucking home.”

My heart cracked open. Right there.

I grabbed his face and kissed him—hard, deep, like I meant it.

Because I did.

Because he did.

Because we both had been pretending for too long.

And when we came together, stifling each other’s cries with our mouths, our bodies tangled and breathless, clutching and trembling and pulsing with everything we weren’t supposed to feel—I knew the truth:

We were falling.

Hard.

And fast.

And maybe into the exact kind of wreckage neither of us would ever crawl out of.

But in that moment?

I didn’t care.

Because the way he held me after, the way his fingers threaded into my hair and his chest rose and fell against mine like he was finally breathing for the first time—

It felt like something more dangerous than sex.

It felt like love.

The kind that ruins you.

And I…

I wanted to be ruined by him.

Chapter 12

POV: Aiden

She was still asleep.

I could tell by the way her breath ghosted across my collarbone, slow and even. Her thigh was hooked over my waist, her fingers curled into my skyn—like her body refused to let me go, even in sleep. She was draped over me like sin and salvation, all softness and heat and the quiet kind of chaos that left a man like me wrecked in the best fucking way.

I hadn’t meant for this to happen.

Didn’t mean to touch her, to kiss her, to give in.

But God, from the second Ivy stepped into this house—hell, from the second I opened the door and saw her standing there with that storm in her eyes—I knew I was in trouble.

Not the kind of trouble you run from.

The kind you crave.

Her skin was warm against mine. Her scent still clung to the sheets—vanilla and sweat and sex—and my entire body ached with the memory of the night before. The sound of her moans still echoed in my skull. The way she’d looked at me… like I was the only man who had ever touched her soul. Like she wanted me, not because I was safe, not because I was older or close—but because I was me.

And that scared the shit out of me.

Because I’d spent the last decade trying to keep my life in control. After the divorce. After the drinking. After I nearly lost the company. I rebuilt everything I had on discipline, loyalty, and the one line I never crossed:

Jonathan’s daughter was off-limits.

And now she was pressed against me, naked under the sheets, her leg tangled with mine, her lips pink and swollen from my mouth, her body marked by my hands.

I had never broken a rule so thoroughly in my life.

And I didn’t feel sorry.

I felt like I was finally breathing.

She shifted in her sleep, a low hum in her throat as her nose nuzzled into my chest. I closed my eyes, buried my face in her hair. God, I loved how she fit against me. How she didn’t hesitate. How she saw me—through all the layers of control and damage and guilt I tried to wear like armor.

No woman ever had.

Not even my ex-wife.

Ivy didn’t flinch from my sharp edges—she grabbed them. Played with fire like she didn’t care if she burned.

And somehow, she was the one thing in this damn world that made me feel alive.

I pressed a kiss to her forehead, trying to memorize the weight of her against me. I didn’t know how long this would last. If I had the strength to keep pretending this was just a mistake. It wasn’t.

It had never been a mistake.

She was wrapped around me like a dream I didn’t want to wake from.

Sunlight leaked through the blinds, soft and golden, but all I could see was her. Ivy. My best friend’s daughter. The woman I was never supposed to touch—let alone spend the night making come undone over and over again.

And fuck me, I’d do it all again.

I looked down at her, and my chest tightened. She looked so peaceful like this, so beautiful it actually hurt. Black hair spilled across my arm, lips slightly parted. There were bruises on her neck—mine—and my chest ached with something that went beyond lust. Something deeper. More dangerous.

My fingers brushed her spine, and she stirred, blinking those wild blue eyes up at me, sleepy and soft and entirely too smug.

“Mornin’, Soldier boy,” she whispered, voice hoarse with sleep and sex.

Jesus.

“Morning, trouble,” I murmured, brushing my lips over her forehead.

She stirred again, murmuring, “Why are you thinking so loud?”

I let out a quiet breath, smiling despite the ache in my chest. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

She looked up at me, eyes still heavy with sleep. Blue fire. Wild. Reckless. Mine.

“Were you watching me sleep like some creep?”

“Guilty.” I brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Couldn’t help it.”

She smirked, stretching, the sheets sliding down her bare back. “You’re such a softie when you’re not being all grumpy and broody.”

“Don’t spread that around,” I said gruffly, but my voice was low, warm. “It’ll ruin my reputation.”

She leaned in, kissed my jaw. “Too late. I’ve already seen the gooey center.”

God.

She had no idea how deep this went.

“Why are you really awake?” she asked, quieter now.

I looked at the ceiling, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Because I knew this wouldn’t feel real unless I was awake for it.”

Her hand stilled on my chest.

“Aiden…”

I looked at her then, my hand cupping her jaw. “I spent so many nights wondering if I was broken. If I gave all the good parts of myself away already—to people who didn’t care, to things that didn’t last. But last night…” I trailed off, letting my thumb brush her cheek.

She was silent, eyes locked to mine, breathing shallow.

“…you gave me something back I didn’t even know I’d lost.”

And just like that—no teasing, no sass—she softened. Her hand slid up to my neck, fingers curling there.

“You’re not broken,” she whispered. “You just hadn’t found someone who knew what the hell to do with you.”

I kissed her again, slow and deep, like I was trying to tell her everything I didn’t know how to say.

Her leg slid higher, hips shifting against mine. She felt me harden instantly—because of course she did. My body reacted to her like it was wired to. She smirked, eyes narrowing.

“Already?” she teased. “Thought I wore you out last night.”

“You’re lucky I’m still breathing after last night,” I growled, pulling her tighter, grinding against her slowly. “Five times, Ivy.”

“Six,” she corrected, smug as hell. “You forgot the shower.”

“I didn’t forget. I’m still recovering.”

She laughed against my neck, and I swear to God, it was the kind of sound that could make a man lose his mind. I tilted her chin up, kissed her one more time—slow and deep and consuming. Her fingers slid into my hair, tugging me closer, and I forgot about everything—Jonathan, the danger, the rules

But then—I remembered where we were.

And who else was in the damn house.

I broke the kiss, forehead resting against hers. “We should get up. Before your dad walks in and finds me like this.”

She smirked. “You mean naked and debauched in his daughter’s bed?”

I groaned. “Jesus, Ivy.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll behave.” She paused. “Sort of.”

We got dressed quietly. She stole one of my flannels again—and a fucking tiny bikini underneath, just to mess with me—and I grabbed the first t-shirt I could find, trying to ignore the way her ass looked.

As we walked to the door, I glanced down at her, heart beating too damn fast.

“Ivy…”

She turned. Her blue eye locked into mine, and God…

I almost told her everything. That I couldn’t stay away. That I was already in too deep.

Instead, I said, “Stay close. If Jonathan sees us together, I’m dead.”

She grinned. “Don’t worry. I’m very sneaky.”

And I knew she was.

She’d snuck right into my chest, my life, my goddamn soul.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted her to leave.

Chapter 13

POV: Aiden

The scent of coffee barely masked the knot in my gut.

Jonathan stood by the counter, scrolling through his phone like it was any other morning. Like I wasn’t walking around with her taste still on my lips. Like I didn’t have her scratches down my back and her heartbeat pressed into mine all goddamn night.

I cleared my throat. “Morning.”

He glanced up. “You’re up again. Always military. Always on time.”

I forced a tight smile. “Can’t sleep past six. Never could.”

Not when guilt’s chewing through my insides like acid.

Act normal.

I repeated the words in my head like a mantra. Act. Normal. Don’t let it show. Don’t let him see.

“She still asleep?” he asked casually.

My chest tightened. “Yeah,” I lied.

She was probably still tangled in the sheets. Wearing my scent, my name, my sins.

He turned back to his phone, sighing. “Heard back from Marcos.”

The name snapped me upright.

Marcos Sico.

A client we should’ve never taken on. A deal that turned to shit before it even started. Too aggressive. Too slick. Too used to getting what he wanted.

“What’s he saying?” I asked.

“Legal threats. Lawsuits. Contract breaches. All through his lawyer. But the tone’s changed.” Jonathan met my eyes, his own sharp. “I think it’s gonna get physical.”

Something cold slid down my spine.

“I’m not worried about me,” he continued, voice low. “But Ivy…”

He didn’t need to finish.

Ivy.

Our weak spot. Our exposed artery. The one thing either of us would burn the world for.

“I won’t let anything happen to her,” I said, my voice steel.

Because I meant that.

If that bastard so much as breathed wrong in her direction, I’d destroy him. I didn’t care if it meant crossing lines, burning bridges, or stepping out of my lane. Ivy was mine to protect now—even if I couldn’t say it out loud.

Even if I had no right to feel it.

Jonathan nodded. “I know that. That’s why I need you here. I will go to the city, try to calm this thing down face to face… I need someone I trust watching her. Day and night.”

Someone I trust.

The blade twisted.

I was that someone.

I was the wrong someone.

Because I’d already touched her in ways he’d never forgive.

But I still meant it.

“I’ll protect her,” I said. “Whatever it takes.”

And then—she walked in.

Wearing that tiny black bikini.

And my flannel shirt.

Unbuttoned.

I almost choked on my own fucking heartbeat.

She went straight to the fridge, ass swaying, legs bare, hair wild, humming under her breath like the devil wearing innocence.

I was going to hell.

And I was going with a hard-on.

Jonathan didn’t even look up, but I could barely breathe.

My shirt, hanging loose over her body like it belonged there.

And maybe it did.

But fuck, it did something to me. Lit every nerve in my body. She was dripping with sunlight and sin, humming like she hadn’t just torn me apart last night and stitched herself into my chest.

I didn’t look.

I looked.

She stretched like a cat, pulling the shirt open just enough for me to see the curve of her waist. My eyes dropped to the spot where her thighs met and shame slammed into me like a freight train.

But still—I wanted more.

My shirt on her. Her mouth on mine. My hands in her hair. All of it.

She poured herself a glass of juice, then leaned against the counter like she didn’t just make my pulse stumble.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

And I hated how much I loved it.

The worst part? This wasn’t new.

I noticed her years ago.

She was nineteen when it started—when the teasing turned sharper, her eyes lingered longer, her jokes curled into flirtation. I was married then, broken already, but still fighting to keep my head straight.

But Ivy… she was becoming a woman. A stunning, magnetic, brilliant woman. And the more she smiled at me, the harder it got to pretend.

She always wanted to be near me. Always touched my arm when she laughed, leaned into me when she talked. Asked me about war stories, business, books—fuck, she listened like it mattered.

And it did.

Because Ivy wasn’t just hot.

She was smart. Sharp-tongued, curious, radiant. And it made staying away so much harder.

She was that sin, from the back of my mind, that fantasy I knew would never happened.

The day she arrived at the lake house this week, she stepped out of the car like a storm. Black waves cascading down her back, those blue eyes locking on me like she already knew I was fucked.

“I still hate your ex,” she said, smirking.

I should’ve laughed. I didn’t. I stared.

She stretched, lifting her arms overhead like she needed to wake her muscles, but all she was doing was torturing mine. Every curve of her body on display, every move precise and effortless.

And in the pool?

That first day?

She wore that bikini. The black one. The one that barely counted as clothing.

She swam too close. Brushed her legs against mine. Flicked water in my face and laughed like it didn’t feel like fire.

I avoided her eyes. Gripped the edge of the pool like it was my last lifeline.

But my body betrayed me every time.

I got hard just looking at her.

And she knew.

She touched my bicep when she passed behind me. Sat too close on the couch. Walked around in shorts that barely covered her ass, stretching like she’d trained in seduction her whole life.

I kept repeating it like a damn prayer.

She’s off limits.

She’s Jonathan’s daughter.

She’s off. Fucking. Limits.

But my mind screamed back every time: I don’t care.

The worst was the night Taylor visited.

Richard Taylor, smug asshole with money and eyes that clung to Ivy like she was prey. He kissed her knuckles when he left, said something about how stunning she looked.

And I—

I nearly broke his fucking hand.

I stood so still I felt my teeth ache from clenching.

But Ivy? She smiled.

She liked that I reacted. She loved the way I tensed, how I stared him down until he left.

She was mine already.

Even then.

Even before that night.

I’m undone.

Every time she walks into a room.

Every time she touches me.

Every time she smiles and I forget what the hell I was fighting for in the first place.

And now Jonathan was leaving.

Leaving her with me.

And she’s in my shirt.

Looking like temptation was born just to destroy me.

And the worst part?

I’d let it.

I already had.

Chapter 14

POV: Aiden

The first time I kissed Ivy…

Fuck.

It was the moment I snapped. After days of tension, of her pushing, teasing, testing—until I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I’d imagined it before, yeah. Dreamed about it more than I care to admit. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for the real thing.

That kiss wasn’t just heat or lust or all the fantasies I tried to shove away.

It was everything.

Heaven and sin. Fire and salvation. It felt like something inside me cracked open—something that had been locked down for years. Her mouth on mine was a shock to my system, not because I didn’t expect it… but because it felt like being seen. Like she was looking right into the wreck of me and saying, I still want this. I still want you.

And just like that, I knew—knew deep in my bones—that it wasn’t going to stop with a kiss.

Because once I had a taste, once I felt her hands in my hair, her moan against my mouth, the feel of her body against mine—I broke. It wasn’t just desire. It wasn’t just need. It was everything. My body, my mind, my soul—every part of me wanted her.

And yeah, there was still that voice in the back of my head screaming that she was off-limits. That she was Jonathan’s daughter. But it was getting quieter, weaker, drowned out by the rush of her.

The first time I touched her and felt how wet she already was just from my mouth—

Christ. I lost myself.

She tasted like heaven. Sweet and warm and better than anything I’d ever known.

And when she wrapped those perfect lips around me, when her tongue did what it did—

I came undone. Completely.

But it was that first moment I sank into her that wrecked me the most.

I didn’t expect it to feel like that. I didn’t expect to feel home.

She fit around me like she was made for me. Like she was carved out of every broken piece of my soul and stitched together just to hold me.

And I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t want to admit it even to myself.

But the truth is—

The second her mouth touched mine, I fell.

Hard.

And waking up that morning, wrapped in her warmth, with her breath against my chest, her legs tangled in mine—

That’s when I knew I was fucked.

Because I wasn’t done.

I couldn’t be done.

She made me feel like myself again. No mask. No armor. No numb routine.

She made me feel alive.

And I was already falling.

Already gone.

And now—right now—

She walks into the kitchen like a sin wrapped in sunlight.

That bikini—barely there. Black and tiny, hugging every inch of her. And my shirt—my flannel—hanging loose over her like it belongs to her now.

I swallow hard. My cock twitches.

God, she’s unreal.

And she knows it.

She looks right at me with that mouth curved in a smirk that says she remembers every inch I touched, every place I kissed, every time she cried my name.

And I swear—I want to take her right there on the kitchen counter.

But then Jonathan’s voice cuts in.

“I’ll be heading into the city for a few days,” Jonathan said, voice lower. “Need to get ahead of this, talk to a few people face-to-face.”

Ivy looked surprised. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. The Taylor and thr Marcos thing needs smoothing. And you know Aiden—he’s the hammer. I’m the handshake.”

I scoffed. “I can handshake.”

Jonathan raised a brow. “You intimidate baristas, Aiden.”

Fair.

“But I can come with you,” I offered, instantly. “Help if things turn physical.”

Jonathan shook his head. “Nah. I need you here.”

I froze.

“I need someone I trust to keep an eye on Ivy,” he added, turning to face me fully. “In case Taylor’s grudge goes beyond emails.”

My heart stopped. Just flatlined.

He was trusting me—with her.

And he had no idea he’d just handed me the very thing I’d already taken.

“I’ll keep her safe,” I said, voice steel.

His eyes locked with mine. “I know you will.”

God.

The guilt.

The guilt was a blade in my gut, twisting with every beat of my traitorous heart.

Ivy leaned in closer to me, her hand brushing mine like it was an accident. Her pinky curled around mine for a split second before she turned away, sipping her juice with a smirk.

She didn’t play fair.

But she wasn’t a game.

She was everything I’d tried not to want. Everything I’d denied myself for years.

And now, I was all in. Drowning. Lost. Willingly.

And Jonathan was leaving.

Leaving her with me.

Alone.

The thought shouldn’t have set my blood on fire.

But it did.

And I knew this house wouldn’t survive the storm we were about to become.

We didn’t sleep.

She was insatiable. I was insatiable.

All night, I touched her, tasted her, buried myself inside her over and over until we were both wrecked—sweaty, breathless, laughing, gasping, starving for each other. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to. Every time I looked at her, she pulled something deeper from me. Every kiss felt like it was claiming something I didn’t know I had left.

Nos she leans against the counter, eyes glowing with that dangerous confidence. That knowing. That teasing smirk that makes my cock twitch even though I’m still sore from last night.

“Two days alone,” she murmurs. “You think you’ll survive me?”

I laugh under my breath, low and wrecked. “I barely survived you last night.”

She walks over, slow, hips swaying, dragging her fingers along my chest. “Maybe you didn’t.”

I kiss her. Hard. Pull her close, my hands gripping her hips. She gasps, moans into my mouth, and I lift her up onto the counter without thinking.

Her legs wrap around me.

Her fingers tangle in my hair.

My kiss went to her jaw, and she moaned my name.

“Aiden..”

And then—

The door slams.

A voice. “Shit, I forgot my laptop—”

Jonathan.

We freeze. I tried to move, but was too late.

His footsteps hit the floor like thunder.

He walks in. Sees her on the counter. Me standing between her thighs.

And he fucking snaps.

“What the fuck—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He’s already on me.

He grabs me by the shirt and slams me against the fridge so hard it rattles.

“You son of a bitch!”

“Dad, stop!” Ivy shouts, scrambling off the counter, pulling the flannel tighter.

I don’t fight back. I can’t.

Jonathan’s face is twisted in pain, fury, betrayal. “You touched her?” His voice cracks. “You fucked her?”

“Yes.” My voice is hoarse, wrecked. “I did.”

He punches me.

Full swing.

It hits my jaw like a brick.

“You were my best friend,” he growls. “I trusted you with everything. And you go behind my back and fuck my daughter?”

“It wasn’t behind your back,” Ivy says, her voice trembling. “I love him.”

Her words hit me harder than I ever expected—like someone tearing open a wound and healing it in the same breath.

I’d been starving to hear that. Needing to know this wasn’t just lust. That it wasn’t just sex. That her desire mirrored mine, that this thing between us… was real.

That it was love.

And it is.

But god, the timing couldn’t be worse.

We both froze. The room held its breath.

Jonathan looked at her like she’d lost her mind.

Maybe she had.

Maybe I had too.

But one truth cut through everything—clear, unstoppable, and impossible to hide:

I love her.

Undeniably.

Completely.

“Don’t—” He points at her, broken. “Don’t say that. You’re twenty-four. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing—”

“I do!”

“She’s not a child,” I cut in. My lip’s bleeding, my jaw throbs, but I have to speak. “She’s a woman. She chose me. I didn’t force this—”

“She’s my daughter.”

Jonathan yelled, his voice cracked open.

And then he turned to Ivy. “You were supposed to be mine. Not his. Not like this.”

And she took a step toward him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. But I love him. And he—he didn’t just touch me. He held me. He made me feel like I wasn’t invisible. Like I mattered.” Her words were so raw, so sincere, and I felt the same, I wanted to say it to her, but Jonathan’s voice cut it.

“You should have stopped it!”

Silence.

He’s right.

“I know,” I whisper. “You’re right.”

He looks at me like he doesn’t recognize who I am. Like I’m a stranger.

“I would’ve died for you,” he says, broken. “I trusted you to protect her, and instead you—you took her from me.”

My chest cracks open.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I say. “But it did. And I can’t pretend it didn’t.”

“Then be a fucking man and leave,” he spits. “If you ever gave a damn about her or about me—walk the hell away.”

I look at Ivy.

She’s crying now, shaking. “Aiden…”

My name on her lips cuts deeper than anything.

I step back.

“I’m sorry.” My voice is barely a breath.

Then I walk out.

Because he’s right.

Because I crossed a line.

Because I’m the one who broke everything.

And even though I already love her…

Loving her doesn’t make me worthy of her.

Chapter 15

POV: Ivy

His eyes were already dark when I said it.

“Two days alone,” I murmured, stepping closer, hips swaying as I dragged my fingers across his chest. “You think you’ll survive me?”

Aiden’s lips curled, that wrecked smirk I was addicted to. “I barely survived you last night.”

I smiled, slow and sinful. “Maybe you didn’t.”

He grabbed me. Kissed me like a starving man, like he was already undone by me. His hands dug into my hips as he lifted me up onto the counter, my legs wrapping around him without thinking. My fingers tangled in his hair. His kiss went to my jaw, and I moaned his name.

“Aiden…”

And then—

The door.

The sound of it slamming open sliced through the room like a bullet.

“Shit, I forgot my laptop—”

My blood ran cold.

Dad.

I saw Aiden trying to move, but was too late.

His footsteps hit the floor like thunder.

And in seconds, he was there—standing in the doorway, frozen, eyes locked on us.

Me. On the counter. Aiden between my thighs.

His lips parted.

Time cracked wide open.

“What the fuck—” He didn’t even finish the sentence.

The rage hit first. Then betrayal. Then something worse—devastation.

He lunged.

I screamed. “Dad, stop!”

Aiden didn’t fight. He just stood there, jaw tight, arms down at his sides, while my father slammed him back against the fridge so hard it shook the whole damn kitchen.

“You son of a bitch!”

“Stop!” I scrambled off the counter, heart pounding, clutching Aiden’s flannel tighter around my body. “Please, stop!”

“You touched her?” my father roared. His voice cracked. “You fucked her?!”

And then Aiden—stupid, brave, honest Aiden—said the one thing that broke it all.

“Yes.”

My dad hit him. Full-force. A brutal punch to the jaw that made Aiden’s head snap sideways.

I gasped. “Dad!”

“You were my best friend,” he choked, trembling with rage. “I trusted you with everything—and you go behind my back and fuck my daughter?”

“It wasn’t behind your back, I love him.”

The words tore out of me before I could stop them.

Soft. Fierce. Irrevocable.

They stopped everything.

Both men froze.

Aiden’s chest rose and fell like he’d been punched again—by me this time.

My dad turned to me, slowly, blue eyes burning like fire and ice all at once.

“Don’t.” His voice cracked. “Don’t say that, Ivy. You’re twenty-four. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing.”

“I do.” My voice trembled. “I do. I’ve wanted him for years. And you know what? He didn’t touch me. I kissed him. I made the first move. I wanted him.”

He turned to Aiden again, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. “You let her think this was okay.”

Aiden’s voice was hoarse. “She’s not a child. She’s a woman. She chose me. I didn’t force this—”

“You should have stopped it!” My father yelled and then…Silence.

“I know,” Aiden whisper. “You’re right.”

“She’s my daughter.”

My father yelled, his voice cracked open.

And then he turned back to me, eyes bloodshot, broken. “You were supposed to be mine. Not his. Not like this.”

Guilt slammed into me like a wave.

I took a step toward him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. But I love him. And he—he didn’t just touch me. He held me. He made me feel like I wasn’t invisible. Like I mattered.”

My dad looked at me like I wasn’t his daughter anymore.

And it killed me.

Aiden’s voice was low, gutted. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. But it did.”

My father turned back to him. “Then be a man,” he said, voice cold and sharp and final. “If you ever gave a damn about her—or about me—walk the hell away.”

No.

No.

No.

Don’t listen to him, don’t leave me.

I stared at Aiden. My throat closed.

“Don’t.”

But his eyes—God, his green eyes. They were already emptying.

He stepped back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Then he walked out.

And I couldn’t breathe.

I stood there, crying, my flannel hanging off my shoulders, my father shattered in front of me, and the man I loved walking away like he never meant it.

And I knew it.

Everything had just broken.

The second the door slammed behind Aiden, it felt like my chest cracked open.

He left.

He didn’t even look back.

He just… walked away.

And my dad was still standing there.

Breathing hard. Staring at the door like it had just taken everything from him.

Like he wasn’t sure what hurt more—losing his best friend or realizing that I’m not his little girl anymore.

I wiped my face with the sleeve of Aiden’s flannel. The one I’d been wearing since last night. It still smelled like him—salt and heat and sin. And my heart felt like it was bleeding out beneath my ribs.

I turned to my father, voice shaking with rage and grief.

“Why did you do that?” I snapped. “Why did you hit him? Why did you have to ruin it?”

He turned slowly, eyes burning. “I ruined it?”

“Yes!” I shouted. “You destroyed it the second you walked in and treated me like I was some possession he stole instead of a woman who made a choice.”

His face twisted. “He was my best friend, Ivy. My brother. And he fucked my daughter.”

I flinched at the words, but I didn’t back down.

“I know exactly who he is,” I said, voice sharp and cracking. “I’ve always known. Since I was nineteen, I knew. And I didn’t just fall into this—I chose him.”

My dad’s jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping in his cheek. “You don’t get it. You can’t. You’re young. You think this is love, but it’s not. It’s lust. Obsession. A goddamn phase. And he should’ve been the adult. He should’ve shut it down—”

“He tried!” My voice broke. “You think he didn’t? You think this was easy for him? I chased him. I kissed him. I touched him. I wanted him, and he resisted me over and over again.”

He went pale.

“That’s right,” I said, voice softer now, but laced with steel. “It wasn’t him. It was me. I made the first move. Every time. Because I love him. And because he made me feel like more than just your daughter. More than a burden or a shadow or something to protect and control. He saw me.”

My dad looked like I’d stabbed him in the gut.

“You think you’re saying something noble,” he said, voice hollow. “But all I’m hearing is that my best friend fought me for years… and then lost.”

I could barely breathe past the ache in my throat.

“You’re not hearing me,” I whispered. “You’re choosing not to.”

He stepped forward, fury flaring again. “You don’t get to stand there in his fucking shirt and act like you’re the victim.”

I laughed, bitter and broken. “I’m not the victim. I wanted him. I took what I wanted, for once in my life.”

“You let him manipulate you.”

“Stop saying that!” I screamed, chest heaving. “I knew what I was doing. I wanted him. Every goddamn second of it, I wanted him.”

My dad looked at me then—and it wasn’t just anger in his eyes. It was grief. It was disbelief. His mouth opened like he was going to yell again, but then he just whispered—

“He left you.”

I froze.

“He left you, Ivy. He walked away.”

“Because you made him choose,” I said, my voice barely holding. “Between me and you. And of course he chose you. You’ve been his whole life. His brother. His past. His loyalty.”

Something in him shattered.

And mine had already broken.

“I thought you’d fight for me,” I said, quieter now. “You’re the one person in the world I thought would stand beside me no matter what. But you didn’t. You just fought him.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he said, shaking his head, voice barely holding together. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be destroyed by someone you love.”

I stepped closer. Looked him dead in the eyes.

“Then maybe you should’ve protected me before he ever became the only one who made me feel whole.”

And I turned around.

Walked out of that kitchen with Aiden’s taste still on my lips and my father’s grief crushing my ribs.

Because if Aiden wasn’t brave enough to stay…

Then I would be brave enough to fight.

Even if I had to do it alone.

Chapter 16

POV: Ivy

I hadn’t even taken a step before my father’s voice echoed behind me, cold and sharp.

“You’re not leaving this house.”

I stopped in the hallway. My fingers curled into fists.

“You’re grounded?” I said with a bitter laugh. “Seriously? That’s your plan now? Lock me up like some rebellious teenager?”

“You can call it whatever the hell you want,” he snapped. “You’re staying here. Until you come to your senses.”

I turned my head, just enough to meet his eyes.

“Right. Rapunzel locked in the fucking tower. Only difference is, the prince already jumped.”

His face tightened, but I didn’t wait for an answer. I walked away. Past the silence. Past the anger. Past the ache that cracked open in my chest like a rib cage splitting wide.

I climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last, until I reached my room.

And then I broke.

The door barely shut behind me before I dropped against it, sliding to the floor, my chest heaving with a sob I didn’t even try to swallow.

Because everything reeked of him.

The bed. The sheets. His cologne clung to the pillows like a memory that wouldn’t let go. And on the floor—like a cruel joke—his black t-shirt lay crumpled where he’d left it. The one I pulled off him last night. The one I wore while I straddled him, breathless and desperate and his.

I crawled to it like it might anchor me. Pressed it to my face like maybe I could inhale him back into my lungs.

But it didn’t work.

He was gone.

The grief was a wildfire under my skin, and I couldn’t stay still. I tore off the flannel and changed into a swimsuit, storming out of my room like I could swim the pain away.

The water was cold. But not cold enough.

I dove in headfirst, pushing hard through the lake house pool, stroke after stroke until my muscles burned and my chest ached. But it was no use. The water remembered him too.

I could still see the flash of his eyes when I teased him here. Still hear my voice—What’s the matter, Aiden? Don’t want me? Am I not tempting enough for you?

And I remembered how he didn’t answer. How instead he grabbed my wrist mid-stroke, pulled my hand down, and pressed it against him.

Tell me again I don’t want you, he growled.

He was so hard. So fucking hard for me.

But he didn’t move. Not until I did.

He never would’ve touched me if I hadn’t made the first move. If I hadn’t begged him to break.

And now it was broken.

I climbed out of the pool, dripping and shaking, heart screaming under my ribs.

I went to the gym, desperate to feel something else. Lifted weights. Tried to remember who I was before him.

But the mirror just reflected back a ghost.

Because he’d been here too. His hands on my hips, adjusting my stance. His voice in my ear, low and hot. No, not like that—here. Let me show you.

He touched my thighs. Guided me down into a squat. His fingers firm. His body close.

I collapsed onto the bench and let myself sob. No more pretending. No more training. No more escape.

He was everywhere.

And my father wouldn’t leave the fucking house.

He stayed. All three days. Pacing. Watching. Drinking coffee and whisky like it would cleanse the wreckage he caused.

And I didn’t say a word to him. Not one.

That night was the worst.

I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t breathe.

I poured wine into a glass and drained it. Poured another. And another.

It didn’t help.

Nothing helped.

So I grabbed my phone.

I called him.

Straight to voicemail.

I texted.

Please.

Just talk to me.

Please don’t shut me out.

His reply came an hour later. One word.

Don’t.

That was it.

Like I was poison. Like loving me had been a mistake he didn’t want to repeat.

And maybe it was.

Maybe this was always going to end in flames.

But I would’ve walked through fire for him.

Hell, I did.

And he still left me in the ashes.

Chapter 17

POV: Ivy

It’s been three days…

The next morning was the same.

Same sun filtering through the curtains. Same weight in my chest.

Same silence that screamed louder than anything my father could’ve said.

I was a ghost. Just drifting.

I barely tasted the toast I forced myself to make. The butter melted and went cold. Everything did.

And then he walked in. My father.

We hadn’t spoken since the night he shattered everything. I didn’t even look at him, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I still existed.

But I felt it.

The shift.

The second he stepped into the kitchen, something in the air changed. I caught it in the clench of his jaw, the way his shoulders squared like he was bracing for impact.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just went straight to the drawer by the fridge—the one that always stuck—and yanked it open.

And then I saw it.

The gun.

He slipped it into the back waistband of his pants like it was muscle memory. But it wasn’t. Not for him.

My dad wasn’t the muscle. That was always Aiden.

My dad was the paper. The contract. The clipboard and suit jacket and safe.

“What the hell is that?” I asked, voice low.

His hands stilled.

He didn’t look at me when he said, “I have to go.”

I stood. “Go where? What’s going on?”

He finally turned, and for the first time since Aiden left, I saw something in his eyes that wasn’t anger. It was worry. No—worse.

Fear.

“I can’t explain. It’s important. I’ll send two agents from the firm to stay here with you. You’ll be safe.”

I took a step forward, cold rising up my spine. “Safe from what?”

“Ivy. Don’t ask questions right now. Just stay here.”

“No.”

He frowned. “No?”

“I’m not a prisoner.”

His voice hardened again, steel over panic. “This isn’t a game, Ivy.”

“And this isn’t your decision anymore,” I snapped. “Not after what you did.”

He flinched. Good.

He glanced at his watch. “I don’t have time for this. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

And just like that, he left.

No hug. No goodbye. Just the sound of the front door closing and my heart cracking open again.

But the moment his car tires spun on the gravel, I knew.

Knew.

This was my chance.

I didn’t wait for the agents.

Didn’t change clothes. Didn’t think.

I grabbed the keys from the hook, flew down the front steps barefoot, and stole the jeep parked by the side of the house.

The second the tires hit the road, I felt breath rush into my lungs for the first time in days.

I didn’t even know if I was doing something reckless or brave or completely insane.

All I knew was that I had to see him.

I had to.

I drove fast. Hands trembling on the wheel. Tears threatening. Mouth dry.

Aiden’s house in the city was now his ex’s.

But the lake house—the one he was rebuilding, the one we used to talk about like a dream—that was his safe place.

That was where he went when the world got too loud.

And if I knew anything—anything at all—it was that Aiden was hurting too.

So I went there. Miles blurring under me. Music off. Heart pounding louder than the engine.

And by the time I pulled into the gravel drive, my hands were shaking too hard to even turn off the ignition.

The place wasn’t finished. Still under construction. But I knew that truck in the driveway.

His truck.

He was here.

I stepped out, barefoot on the stone path, stones digging into my skin like they wanted to stop me. Like they knew I shouldn’t be here.

But I kept going.

Up the steps.

Across the porch.

To the door I wasn’t sure I had the right to knock on.

I closed my fist. Pressed it to the wood.

Breathed in.

And then I knocked.

Once.

Twice.

The sound echoed through the quiet trees like a gunshot. Like a prayer.

My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest.

And then I heard him.

Footsteps. Slow. Heavy.

The door creaked open.

And there he was.

Aiden.

Unshaven. Sleepless. He was in shock when he saw me, green eyes wided and lips parted, The way his eyes landed on me was like he’d seen a ghost.

For a moment, we just stood there.

No words.

No air.

And I didn’t know if he was going to kiss me or slam the door in my face.

But I had to speak.

I had to try.

Because I would rather be broken in front of him than live another second not knowing if there was still anything left between us.

I felt the grief for those three days like it was something alive inside me. A beast made of sharp teeth and hollow hunger. It didn’t just ache—it ate. My sleep. My breath. My sanity.

I barely closed my eyes without dreaming of him. And when I was awake, it was worse.

Because I thought of him nonstop. Every blink, every breath. It was like my body didn’t know how to exist without him in it.

I looked in the mirror yesterday and didn’t recognize myself. My eyes were bruised with sleeplessness. My skin pale. My lips cracked. My heart? Ruined.

I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t train. Couldn’t forget him.

Aiden was in my bloodstream. My mind. My bones.

And in those three days, I imagined this moment a thousand times. What it would be like to see him again. What I’d say. What he’d do.

But none of my fantasies prepared me for the real thing.

Because when the door finally opened, the sight of him hit me harder than I was ready for.

Aiden looked like a ghost. Not the man I knew. Not the man who used to hold me like I was something he prayed for.

His face was drawn, hollowed by sleepless nights. His green eyes—those fierce, piercing eyes—were bloodshot and sunken with something deeper than exhaustion.

Pain.

He was wearing sweatpants and a black t-shirt. The same type I found in my room at the lake house. The one I clutched to my chest like it could hold me together while I sobbed into it for three nights straight.

He looked like I felt.

Broken.

Which somehow made it worse—because it meant this thing between us wasn’t just in my head. It was real.

We were real.

But it also meant he didn’t see a way out. Just like I hadn’t.

Only difference? I’d built a way anyway. I’d forced my hands to move, forced my heart to keep beating.

He stared at me for a long moment. His throat moved as he swallowed hard. His green eyes locked onto mine, burning and searching and aching.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. His voice—God, his voice—was a whisper made of gravel. Rough. Cracked. Wrecked.

“I… I needed to see you.”

And it took everything in me not to throw myself into his arms and beg him to fix this, to fix me.

The way his hands stayed clenched into fists at his sides told me he was fighting the same urge.

Aiden’s jaw tightened. “Ivy, you shouldn’t… we can’t…”

He shook his head like the words physically hurt to say. “Let’s not make this harder than it already is.”

I heard his words. But I saw the truth in his eyes.

His voice was all reason. But his eyes? They were desperate.

Screaming things his mouth couldn’t say.

“Then tell me,” I said. My voice didn’t shake, but my heart screamed.

“Tell me you don’t love me. Tell me you don’t feel anything, and I’ll go.”

He flinched.

I saw it—the war in his eyes. Reason vs. instinct. Loyalty vs. desire.

But I knew which one was louder. I felt it.

I stepped closer. His scent hit me like a punch to the gut—cedar, smoke, man. Him.

So him I nearly collapsed.

I tilted my head back, met his gaze, refused to blink. “Say it, Aiden.”

Chapter 18

POV: Ivy

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead, he snapped.

Aiden surged forward, grabbed my waist with both hands and pulled me into him so hard it knocked the breath from my lungs.

And then his lips crashed into mine.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a storm.

A reckoning.

A fucking miracle.

His mouth claimed me like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Like I was the only thing keeping him alive.

And maybe I was.

Maybe he was mine, too.

His hands were gripping me so tight it almost hurt. I clawed into his shoulders, held him like he’d disappear if I blinked.

His tongue met mine and I moaned into his mouth. The sound tore out of me like something primal, something sacred.

He lifted me.

His arms wrapped around my waist and I wrapped my legs around his hips, like instinct, like breathing. Our faces level now, noses brushing.

My forehead rested against his. Both of us panting, uneven and ruined and so fucking alive.

“I missed you,” he whispered, voice breaking, “I missed you so fucking much.”

His words cracked something open in my chest.

Tears stung my eyes. “Then why did you leave?”

He closed his eyes, jaw tight, breathing hard.

“Because I thought it was the only way to protect you.”

“And it didn’t work,” I said, fingers curling into his shirt. “I wasn’t safe from shit. I wasn’t protected. I was just… alone.”

He looked at me then, really looked.

And something inside him shattered.

“I love you,” he said.

No hesitation. No apology.

Just three broken, beautiful words that undid every lie he’d told himself to survive.

“I love you,” he repeated, like he needed me to believe it. “I tried to stop. I tried to be good. To do the right thing. But I can’t. Not with you. You’re in my blood, Ivy.”

My hands trembled against his chest. “Then don’t let me go.”

He kissed me again.

And this time it wasn’t a storm. It wasn’t desperation.

It was home.

I had my legs wrapped around his waist, my arms locked around his neck like I was afraid he’d disappear if I let go.

Aiden’s hands gripped my thighs, his mouth crashing into mine with the kind of hunger that felt like it could end wars—or start them.

We were in the middle of the living room, like nothing else existed. Just us. Just the pain and the love and the fire that refused to die.

His lips were bruising mine, his breath tangled with mine, and I could feel every beat of his heart through his chest. It was a rhythm I’d come to memorize. One that felt like home.

And then he broke the kiss.

He rested his forehead against mine, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon through hell.

“I can’t,” he whispered.

My hands tightened on his shoulders. “Don’t do this.”

“Ivy.” His voice cracked, deep and strained. “We can’t keep sneaking around. I can’t be this guy, living in the shadows, pretending we’re not real. We can’t keep hiding like we’re something to be ashamed of. I can’t do this in the shadows anymore. I won’t be a coward.”

My throat tightened, but I kept my eyes on his. “You’re not a coward. You’re just scared. Like I am. Like we both are. You’re human. But I’ll fight for this, for us, even if I have to do it alone.”

“I’m not just scared.” His voice dropped. “I’m torn in half. Your father… Jonathan… he’s the only constant I’ve ever had in my life. He’s not just your dad. He’s my brother in every way that matters. And I—” he paused, eyes glassy, voice raw, “I can’t lose him.”

“Then don’t,” I said, my voice shaking. “But don’t lose me either.”

His arms trembled under me. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is.” I kissed his jaw. “We’re real. That’s all that matters.”

And then my phone rang.

Dad.

Aiden’s body went rigid under mine. I ignored it.

It rang again.

He looked up at me, alarm flashing across his face.

I finally answered. “Hey.”

“Where the hell are you, Ivy?” My father’s voice was sharp. Angry. And beneath it—panic. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m at the lake house—”

“There’s a tracker in the Jeep. And my agents are standing in your bedroom wondering why you’re not there.”

Shit.

“Ivy.” His voice dropped, quieter now. “Please. For the love of your dead mother. For everything I’ve done to protect you. Go back.”

My breath caught. He never pleaded. Never.

I hung up slowly, my stomach churning, and looked back at Aiden.

He was staring at me, that storm in his eyes again. “That wasn’t just a father freaking out, was it?”

I shook my head. “He’s never talked to me like that before.”

Aiden stepped back, setting me down gently like I was something fragile. His hands found his hips, and he stared at the floor. “This is about that ex-client. I knew something felt off. Jonathan doesn’t plead. He orders. If he’s scared…”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “He said he’s sending agents.”

“I don’t like this,” he muttered. “I should go with you.”

“You can’t. Not without making things worse between you and my dad.”

He flinched like I’d hit him. “I hate this.”

I walked up to him again, wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled him down for one last kiss. Slow. Deep. Full of everything we couldn’t say.

When I pulled back, I whispered, “This isn’t over.”

He looked at me, wrecked.

I smiled, small and bittersweet.

And then I walked out.

But I left a piece of me behind in that living room, in his arms, in that kiss.

I just didn’t know it might be the last time I’d get the chance.

Chapter 19

POV: Aiden

The silence was the loudest thing in the house.

Three fucking days.

Three days without her voice. Without her laugh. Without her scent lingering on my skin. Just ghosts. Ghosts of her in every damn breath.

I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I drank, and it didn’t help. Not even a little.

I thought ending a twelve-year marriage was hard. It wasn’t. It was polite, civil, numb. It ended the way a clock runs out of time—quiet, cold, inevitable.

But this?

Ivy?

This was like bleeding out from the inside. Slowly. Every hour without her was a punch to the ribs.

I hated myself for leaving. I hated how right it felt and how fucking wrong it hurt. I kept replaying the way she looked at me before I left—like I’d torn her in half. Like I was both her home and her heartbreak.

And maybe I was.

I told myself I was doing the right thing. For her. For her father. For everyone.

But truth? I was a coward hiding behind duty.

And then, today, I heard the knock.

I thought I was hallucinating. I hadn’t seen daylight in a while. My body was stiff, my eyes burned from the bourbon and the grief.

But when I opened the door—there she was.

Ivy.

In my doorway, looking like sin and salvation all at once. Pale from crying, dark circles under her eyes, just as wrecked as I was.

And in that second, I felt everything—pain, guilt, love, hunger. She was a mirror of my ruin.

When I saw her standing at my door—black hair a mess, her blue eyes rimmed with exhaustion and hurt—I swear my heart stopped.

God, she looked wrecked. Like me.

And all I wanted—all I fucking wanted—was to pull her into my arms and never let go.

But I didn’t.

I stood there like a statue, frozen by my own guilt, by the weight of the choice I made to protect everyone but myself.

I kept telling myself I couldn’t touch her. That if I just stayed still long enough, the urge would pass. That maybe logic would win.

But who the hell was I trying to convince?

There was no logic here. No reason. No strategy or moral compass strong enough to steer me away from her.

There was only need.

There was only love.

I couldn’t move. My hands clenched at my sides. My throat closed.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, barely above a whisper. My voice cracked like I hadn’t spoken in days. Because I hadn’t.

She stepped closer, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I… I needed to see you.”

I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. My body screamed to pull her into me. My fists curled tighter.

“Ivy, you shouldn’t. We couldn’t…” I started. I tried to be reasonable. Strong. But it came out like shattered glass. “Let’s just not make this harder than it already is.”

But then she said it. That line.

“Tell me you don’t feel anything. Tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll go.”

And that was it.

That was the moment I snapped.

I crossed the space between us and grabbed her waist like she was the only thing tethering me to the earth. My mouth found hers like I’d been dying of thirst and she was the only water I’d ever tasted.

Her legs wrapped around my waist, and I walked us backward until we were in the middle of the living room. Her arms locked behind my neck. Our mouths frantic, desperate, broken.

It was messy and raw and completely out of control.

But it was real.

God, it was real.

When I finally pulled back, my forehead rested against hers, and my voice came out ragged. “I missed you so fucking much.”

And she looked at me like I was her oxygen. Like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t the only one crumbling.

But even as I held her, I knew.

“I love you,” I said.

The words broke free before I could stop them, spilling into the space between us like a goddamn confession.

“I love you,” I repeated, slower this time. Testing it. Tasting it. Because it felt so foreign to my brain and so painfully right to my heart.

“I tried to stop,” I whispered, stepping closer, my breath catching. “I tried to be good. To do the right thing. To stay away. But I can’t. Not with you. Not when you’re in my blood, Ivy.”

She blinked up at me like I’d just ripped open my chest and handed her my heart. Maybe I had.

Because that’s what she was—my blood, my oxygen, my fucking heartbeat.

And I realized… I wasn’t avoiding a fight with her father.

I was fighting myself.

Fighting this gnawing ache in my chest that made it hard to breathe without her. Fighting the emptiness that followed her out the door. Fighting the guilt that weighed down every second we were apart, and the knowledge that losing her would cost me something I’d never get back.

I thought keeping my distance would make me noble.

But all it did was tear me apart.

I was already burning. And she was the only thing that ever made the flames feel like home.

“Ivy,” I said, my chest tight, my heart tearing. “We can’t keep sneaking around. I can’t be this guy, living in the shadows, pretending we’re not real. We can’t keep hiding like we’re something to be ashamed of. I can’t do this in the shadows anymore. I won’t be a coward.”

Her hands slid down my face, soft and fierce all at once. “You’re not a coward. You’re just scared. Like I am. Like we both are. You’re human. But I’ll fight for this, for us, even if I have to do it alone.”

And just like that, she became the bravest person I’d ever met.

My girl.

My fire.

And then her phone rang.

Her face changed. Her body stilled.

Jonathan.

I knew it before she even said it. She tried to lie. Said she was at the lake house. But I caught the panic in her eyes when she realized her dad had a tracker on the Jeep.

Agents were at the house.

He knew she wasn’t there.

And then she went quiet, her lips trembling. “He asked me to go back… said please. He never does that.”

My stomach dropped.

This wasn’t just a protective father throwing a tantrum. This was something else. This was Jonathan pleading. And that scared the shit out of me.

“I should go with you,” I said, already reaching for my keys.

“You can’t. That would only make things worse.”

She kissed me. Slow. Deep. Certain. Heaven.

And whispered against my lips, “This isn’t over.”

Then she left.

And I stood there in the middle of my house, her taste still on my tongue, my heart in her hands as she walked out the door.

And for the first time in my life, I was terrified that love might not be enough to keep someone safe.

She had only been gone an hour.

Sixty fucking minutes and I still couldn’t breathe right.

My mouth still tasted like her kiss. My hands still ached with the phantom feel of her skin. And my chest? It was torn open and raw. Again.

But before she walked out that door, she turned to me—braver than I’ll ever be—and said, “This is not over.”

Maybe I should’ve believed her. Maybe I should’ve held onto that sliver of hope she left behind. But hope’s a dangerous thing for a man like me.

Then my phone rang.

Jonathan.

My brows furrowed instantly. He shouldn’t be calling me. Not yet. Not after everything. Not unless it was—

Work.

Ivy.

Or the nightmare combination of both.

I answered before I could think.

“Where is she?” he barked through the line, voice frantic. “Where the fuck is Ivy, you bastard?”

Chapter 20

POV: Aiden

The instinct to yell back hit hard. But I swallowed it down, jaw tightening.

“She left an hour ago. When you called her.” My voice was clipped, cold. But my gut was already twisting.

The line went dead for a second. Just air. Stillness.

And in that stillness, a hundred dark possibilities tore through my mind like shrapnel.

I’d worked with Jonathan for too long not to recognize desperation. And he was desperate.

“Why?” I asked. My voice dropped. My blood turned ice. “Why are you looking for her?”

He didn’t speak. Just breathed. Hard. Loud.

My heart slammed into my ribs. “Why, Jonathan?”

“She was threatened,” he finally said. “Marco—he threatened her this morning. I had to leave to meet with him. I didn’t want to take her, so I left her in the lake house. I sent agents there to keep her safe. But she wasn’t there. The tracker on the Jeep… said she went to you.”

“She came here,” I confirmed, voice rough. “And she left when you called her.”

“Shit…” he muttered, more to himself than me.

“Where’s the tracker now?” I asked, already moving—my body working faster than my thoughts.

Nothing he could say would stop me. I had to find her.

There was no reality I could survive where Ivy was gone.

And I knew Jonathan was hesitating. I felt it through the silence. He didn’t want to involve me. Didn’t want to make this personal—because once he let me in, once I was in that fight for her, there was no undoing it. No more denying what she meant to me.

“Jonathan,” I growled, “for fuck’s sake—forget the fight. Forget the rules. Let me help. You know I love her. She’s more important than this bullshit.”

He didn’t answer, but I heard the breath he took. A long, shaking inhale.

“Every second you waste not telling me,” I said, voice low and shaking, “is a second she might be suffering. You know I’ll find her—with or without you.”

Finally, he caved.

“I’ll send you her last location. I’ll meet you there,” he said. “Don’t do anything reckless until I do.”

Too late for that.

I ended the call and stood in the stillness of my living room, just long enough to let the grief crack through me. My hands trembled. My throat burned. And for a moment, I felt like I might collapse under the weight of the fear ripping through my chest.

But I didn’t.

I turned it into something else. Focus. Fury.

I moved fast, heading down into the unfinished basement—the one part of the lake house that wasn’t designed to be beautiful. It was meant for moments like this.

For war.

I opened the locked cabinet and grabbed what I needed.

Kevlar vest. Tactical belt. My SIG P226 and two extra mags. A combat knife. Earpiece. Tactical flashlight. Emergency trauma kit. A GPS beacon I hadn’t touched since my last mission.

I packed fast, methodical. No emotion. Just the cold, trained instinct I used to rely on before my world had a name and a smile and a body I couldn’t live without.

I checked my phone. A text from Jonathan pinged.

Her last known location.

I gunned the engine and took off, tires spinning gravel behind me.

My heart thundered in my chest like a war drum, pounding in sync with one truth that lived like a promise in my bones:

I will get her back.

Even if it’s the last fucking thing I do.

The road blurred under my wheels, headlights slicing through fog and pine. Every mile closer, my grip on the steering wheel got tighter. Every second without her pushed me closer to the edge.

The location Jonathan sent led to a clearing just off a back road. I saw the Jeep first—her Jeep—parked slightly off the path like she’d turned into the woods too fast. Or like she’d been forced to.

Then I saw Jonathan’s car, parked at an angle. He was already there, pacing, phone in hand, tension in every line of his body.

I slammed the brakes, threw open the door, and stepped out.

My boots hit the ground like I was stepping onto a battlefield.

Because I was.

Jonathan looked up, his face a mask of grim tension. He didn’t speak. Neither did I. Not at first. We didn’t need words. We both knew what this was.

I moved to the Jeep without waiting for him, scanning the area. It was quiet—too quiet.

The door was cracked open.

My stomach dropped.

I crouched and looked inside.

Jonathan crouched by my side, silent, his brow furrowed, hands careful as he sifted through the interior like it was evidence from a crime scene—which, in a way, it was.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, his voice rough.

I looked over.

He held something up.

It was her phone.

The screen was shattered, smeared faintly with blood—just a drop, maybe, but enough to make my stomach lurch.

“She tried to make a call,” Jonathan said, his voice low, strained in a way I hadn’t heard in years. He turned the screen toward me.

My name.

Still glowing.

Still frozen there like a goddamn grave marker.

Aiden – Calling…

I walked toward him slowly, each step heavier than the last.

“She was trying to call you,” Jonathan said, looking at me in a way I couldn’t quite place—part fury, part grief, but mostly, understanding.

I took the phone from his hand like it might shatter again in my grasp.

My throat closed up. My lungs wouldn’t expand.

She’d reached for me.

In the fucking moment she was taken, she reached for me.

I stared at the screen, the breath punched from my lungs. It felt like someone took a bat to my ribs.

In the moment she was taken—I was the one she tried to call.

I sank onto the driver’s seat, her scent still lingering faintly on the leather, my thumb hovering over the shattered glass like touching it might bring her voice back. Like I could rewind time.

“Fuck,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

I ran a hand down my face, trying to swallow the sudden burning behind my eyes.

She was scared. She was fighting. And through all of it, she thought of me.

Not her father.

Not the agents.

Me.

That was the moment something inside me broke and reforged all at once. I’d already sworn to get her back—but now?

Now, it was more than a promise.

It was my fucking purpose.

The driver seat had a smear of blood on the headrest.

My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might break.

I moved around the vehicle, scanning for more signs.

Passenger door. Opened. The ground below it scuffed and disturbed. Tracks. Not just hers—someone else’s. Bigger boots. At least two.

They came from the north side, through the woods.

I followed the tracks with my eyes, heart pounding.

The dirt was kicked up, uneven. Struggle.

My chest ached. Of course she fought.

Of course she fucking fought.

“She didn’t go quietly, she fought,” I said aloud, my voice hoarse. “Tire marks. Another vehicle. Probably rammed her.”

Jonathan stepped up behind me, silent for a beat. “Of course she fought. She’s her mother’s daughter.”

I turned to face him. We locked eyes—old tension flaring, but behind it? The same thing.

Fear.

Determination.

Love.

“She’s alive,” I said. I had to believe it. “They didn’t kill her. Not here.”

Jonathan nodded once. “We’ll find her.”

We didn’t say we’d try.

We said we’d find her.

The air between us still crackled with everything unsaid—about Ivy, about what she meant to both of us—but none of it mattered right now.

Not while she was out there.

He pulled out his tablet, already syncing with satellite data. “I’m running thermal scans in a ten-mile radius. If they stopped, if they camped, we’ll find the heat signature.”

“I’ll follow the physical trail,” I said. “They moved fast, but not careful. They weren’t expecting to be followed.”

I crouched again, tracing my fingers over the broken grass. “They had a car waiting. They dragged her. But not easily. She slowed them down. There’s blood here too—not hers.”

A flicker of grim pride twisted in my chest.

My girl fought. Hard.

Jonathan stood beside me now, quiet for a moment before he spoke.

“I should’ve never left her.”

I looked up at him, jaw tight. “No. You shouldn’t have.”

He didn’t argue. Just nodded. “We’ll fix it. I’ll work my contacts. There’s a jurisdictional loophole here—I can use it to pull files, pressure people, shake trees. You…”

“I go after them.”

He looked at me, eyes hard. “Don’t die.”

I smirked, but there was no humor in it. “I won’t. Not until I have her back.”

The plan was unspoken, but familiar. Like slipping into an old rhythm. Jonathan handled the legal, strategic, and bureaucratic bullshit. I did what I was trained for—track, infiltrate, eliminate, retrieve.

I rose from the ground, blood still roaring in my ears.

The man who had Ivy had made the worst mistake of his life.

Because I was coming.

And I wasn’t coming clean.

I was coming with hell.