Chapter 21

POV: Nora

“Sit.”

That was the only instruction I got before he started making breakfast like it was another military operation. Efficient. Precise. Shirt sleeves pushed up his forearms, veins standing out as he cracked eggs one-handed.

I propped my chin on my hand. “You’re unusually domestic.”

He didn’t look at me. “I don’t have time to deal with you fainting on me.”

“That’s your way of saying I look pretty right now, isn’t it?”

“It’s my way of saying you need protein.”

I snorted. “Romantic.”

He slid the plate in front of me, leaned down, and said at my ear, “You weren’t complaining about my mouth in the shower.”

My breath vanished. “Elias.”

“What?”

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

He finally met my eyes. “If I were doing it on purpose, you wouldn’t be eating.”

I swallowed. Hard.

We ate. Or… I tried to. He finished in five minutes, paced the kitchen like he was resisting touching me again, and then grabbed his keys.

“Let’s go.”

His voice was tight, like he was holding himself back.

As soon as we stepped outside, I said, “You’re tense.”

“Because I’m making an adult decision,” he muttered.

“What decision?”

“To not drag you back upstairs and call in sick.”

I laughed, breathless. “You’d call in sick?”

“No.” He opened the car door for me. “But I’m considering inventing a mission failure just so I can keep you in bed all day.”

He said it with the same tone someone might use to comment on the weather—calm, practical, terrifyingly serious.

When he got in on his side, he leaned over, buckled my seatbelt for me, and rested one hand on my thigh for a beat longer than necessary.

“Last chance,” he said quietly. “Say the word and I’ll turn this car around.”

My whole body pulsed.

But I shook my head. “We have to go.”

His jaw flexed. “Fine.”

He started the engine.

“But tonight,” he added, smoothing his hand up my thigh before pulling away, “I won’t be this responsible.”

A shiver tore down my spine.

“Elias…”

“Don’t say my name like that unless you want me to pull over,” he warned.

And God help me—I almost did.

By the time we step through the glass doors of Headquarters, my body is still humming.

And Elias knows it.

He walks slightly ahead of me, purposeful strides, uniform perfect, aura impossible to ignore. He doesn’t look back—but I feel him. Every inch of him. His control. His self-containment. And the way his hand had lingered on my lower back before we got out of the car… like a silent claim.

He holds the door for me with nothing but a flick of his fingers.

“After you.”

Not gentle.

Command.

As always.

I move past him, trying not to let the memory of the shower—and his mouth—turn my steps uneven. He’s the general again, technically, but the way his gaze drags down my spine as I walk tells me he hasn’t switched him off. Not one bit.

Inside, I force myself to breathe, to act normal, to pretend I don’t desperately want to drag him back home and ruin his schedule for the rest of the week.

We split in the main hallway.

At least in theory.

“I’ll check in with intel,” I say.

“Good,” he replies. But then he leans in just a fraction, low enough that only I hear it. “And Nora? Don’t make me come get you.”

A shiver racks through me.

Stupid.

Ridiculous.

Instant.

I manage a steady, “You’re at work, General.”

He smirks. “Unfortunately.”

And just like that, he disappears toward the command wing.

In my office, I drop into the chair and pull up the files again.

Paul Draeven.

Michael Horst.

Two soldiers.

Two operations.

Two deaths that felt too calculated to be coincidence.

I tap my pen against the table, scanning Horst’s report again. His face had been covered by the killer. Not Draeven’s. Just his.

Remorse.

Guilt.

Or a personal connection.

I open a cross-reference table, filtering through everyone who’d served with Horst in the same platoon during their last deployment.

One name keeps repeating: Corporal Jens Keller.

A friend.

Someone Horst had protected during a failed ambush years ago. Someone who apparently “owed him his life.”

Could Keller be the killer?

Or did Keller know who was?

I’m digging further when someone knocks once—just once, like an order rather than a request—and a corporal sticks her head in.

“Dr Castell? There’s another meeting. General wants you there.”

Of course he does.

“On my way,” I say, shutting the screen and collecting my notes.

The briefing room is full.

But it doesn’t matter—because the second I walk in, every cell in my body finds him.

Elias sits at the far end of the table, spine straight, hands clasped, expression unreadable. He doesn’t acknowledge me, doesn’t even shift.

But his jaw tightens.

And I know he’s seen me.

I take my usual spot near the center. A safe distance. Professional. Appropriate.

My phone buzzes in my lap the moment the lights dim for the projector.

ELIAS: “You’re late.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my face still.

ME: “By thirty seconds.”

A beat.

Then:

ELIAS: “Thirty seconds too long.”

I press my legs together under the table. Hard.

Someone begins presenting new intel about weapon residues on the second crime scene. Elias nods, perfectly focused. If I didn’t know him, I’d think he was paying attention.

My phone buzzes again.

ELIAS: “You walked in like you wanted every person in this room to look at you.”

I inhale sharply.

ME: “No. I walked in like I wanted you to look at me.”

Across the table, his fingers tighten together.

That’s all.

No reaction in his face.

Buzz.

ELIAS: “You’re testing me.”

ME: “Always.”

Buzz.

ELIAS: “Keep going and we’re skipping the rest of the day.”

Heat pools low in my stomach.

He means it.

God, he absolutely means it.

Someone calls my name.

“Dr Castell? You had findings regarding victim Horst?”

I straighten, force my brain back into the room, and stand.

“Yes,” I say, projecting. “I’ve been cross-referencing his last deployments and personal connections. Unlike Draeven, Horst’s face was covered by the killer, indicating possible remorse or a personal relationship. One name overlaps in every deployment file—Corporal Jens Keller. If the killer wasn’t Keller himself, then Keller may know who had motive.”

I keep my voice even. Analytical.

Professional.

Meanwhile my phone vibrates again, hidden under the table.

ELIAS: “Good. Now sit down before I stop pretending to pay attention.”

I swear my pulse trips.

I finish presenting, return to my seat, heart pounding. I don’t look at him.

But I feel him.

His gaze scraping along me like a hand.

Buzz.

ELIAS: “Nora.”

I shouldn’t.

I do.

I look up.

His eyes are already on me.

Dark.

Demanding.

Unapologetically possessive.

And in that moment, for the second time today, I wonder how much longer either of us can pretend to work.

I’m halfway to the cafeteria before I even realize my legs are moving on autopilot. Lunch feels like an obligation, not a necessity—but hunger is real, and Elias kept muttering all morning about how I “burned through too many calories.”

As if that was my fault.

I load my tray with whatever looks edible today and choose a seat tucked in the corner. The moment I sit, I feel it—that heavy, deliberate stare.

I don’t have to look to know where it’s coming from.

But I still do.

Elias sits across the room with a group of commanders, posture perfect, expression unreadable… except for the way his gaze is locked on me like he’s undressing me with every blink. And then the sauce from my chicken slips onto my lip—slow, warm.

He straightens in his chair.

I lick it off. Slowly.

His jaw ticks.

A second later, my phone vibrates.

“Don’t do that in public.”

I bite back a smile, drop my gaze so no one pays attention, and text back:

“Do what?”

Another vibration.

“You know damn well. Keep your mouth busy with food. You’ll need protein for later.”

Heat punches low in my stomach.

I press my thighs together.

“Later?” I type.

“Yes. Later. When I don’t have to behave.”

I swallow, but it does nothing. The anticipation is already a slow, pulsing ache under my skin.

And he knows it. That’s the worst part—he knows exactly what he does to me. His expression never changes, but his eyes? They’re darker. Hungry. Starving.

I push my food around the tray, barely tasting anything because all I can think about is Elias dragging me back to his bed, pinning me down, making good on every promise he’s texting me.

After lunch, I force myself back to my office, determined—not successfully—to work.

Paul Draeven.

Michael Horst.

Same unit. Same operational perimeter. Same two red flags I can’t fit together. For a moment I thought Jens Keller could be the killer—he had the access, the opportunity—but the emotional profile doesn’t match, and remorse? No. He doesn’t have that in his vocabulary.

I rub my eyes until colors blur. Frustration twists tight in my chest.

Screw this.

I stand, march to the break area, grab a coffee for myself. The warmth helps, the caffeine helps a little…

And then a thought hits me.

I’m already here.

And Elias definitely didn’t take a break. He probably didn’t even blink for an hour straight.

Before I can overthink it, I grab a second cup.

For him.

What the hell am I doing?

He’s the general.

He should be bringing me coffee.

But the thought of his face when he sees it—yeah. That does something to me too.

I shouldn’t be this nervous walking down the hallway with two cups of coffee, but there I was, heart hammering like I was about to commit a crime. And maybe I was. Bringing coffee to the General felt like crossing an invisible line neither of us had acknowledged out loud yet.

Still—I knocked.

A beat.

Another.

Then his voice, clipped, low, unmistakably him.

“Come in.”

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. He looked up from the stack of reports on his desk—and stopped. Completely. Like someone cut the power.

His eyes dropped to the coffee cup in my hand, then lifted slowly, deliberately, back to my face.

“Nora.” It wasn’t a greeting. It was a shock, a rasp, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

I swallowed. “I thought you might want one.”

He stood. Not quickly. Not dramatically. Just… with purpose. The kind of controlled, lethal purpose that made my pulse trip over itself.

“You brought me coffee?” he asked, voice quieter now, rougher. “For me.”

“Yes,” I said, feeling stupidly exposed by such a small gesture. “Don’t make it weird.”

But his expression—God, it softened in a way I wasn’t prepared for. His jaw relaxed, eyes warming with something almost… grateful? No—too strong a word. But the closest Elias ever came to it.

“You have no idea what that does to me,” he murmured.

A flush climbed up my throat. I shoved the cup into his hand before I let myself drown in that softness. “Drink it. You look like you’ve been fighting with your entire chain of command.”

“That’s because I have,” he deadpanned. “And half of them are idiots.”

I snorted. “Sounds like a leadership issue.”

His eyes snapped to mine. Sharp. Heated. “Careful.”

I rolled mine. “I’m already being careful. If I wasn’t, I’d tell you your entire team is incompetent.”

He huffed a sound that was definitely not a laugh but sounded dangerously close to one. He took a sip of the coffee—then looked at me again. Really looked. And something in his gaze shifted.

Softened.

Melted.

And then reignited, hot and consuming.

“Nora,” he said quietly, “come here.”

I didn’t move. “I’m standing exactly where I should be.”

He set the coffee down.

Walked around the desk.

And the whole time, he didn’t break eye contact.

“You shouldn’t bring me things,” he murmured, stopping right in front of me. His voice dropped lower, darker. “It makes me want more.”

My knees softened. “It’s just coffee.”

“It’s not,” he said, and his hand slid to the back of my neck, drawing me in. “Nothing is ‘just’ anything with you.”

The kiss when it came was sharp, impatient—like he’d snapped the second I walked in but held it together long enough to pretend otherwise. His mouth crushed into mine, hot and commanding, and I gasped against him, grabbing his shirt.

He groaned—a deep, low sound I felt in my spine—and pushed me back until my hips hit his desk.

“Elias—someone could—”

“I don’t care.”

That wasn’t a lie. He kissed me again, devouring, hungry like he’d been holding back for hours and this was the exact second he broke.

His hands slid down my waist, gripping, pulling me forward so I was practically sitting on the edge of his desk. Papers rustled beneath me.

I tried to breathe. Failed.

“You have no idea,” he murmured against my mouth, “how close I was to dragging you out of that lunch. When you licked that sauce off your lips—”

A shiver tore through me. “You were watching.”

He exhaled a rough laugh. “I was surviving.”

I try to breathe.

“I thought you liked the teasing.”

“I do.” He presses his forehead lightly to mine. “But there’s only so much I can take before I stop pretending I’m civilized.”

Oh. Oh, damn.

He kissed me again—deeper, slower this time, but somehow even more intense. His fingers traced down my thigh, hooking behind my knee, pulling me open just enough to slide between my legs.

“Elias,” I whispered, gripping his collar, “we can’t—”

“Yes,” he murmured against my throat, lips brushing my skin, “we can.”

His hand slid further, pushing my skirt up, fingers grazing the inside of my thigh with clear intention.

My breath caught. “You’re working.”

“No.” He kissed the edge of my jaw. “Right now I’m busy.”

That earned a startled laugh from me, which he cut off with another kiss—then he pulled back just enough to look at me. And what I saw there… God. Hunger. Possession. Want.

“You drive me insane,” he growls against my mouth. “Walking in here with coffee like you’re not the reason I can’t think straight.”

I slide my hands into his hair, tugging. “Elias—”

That single word unravels him.

He kneels.

Just drops to his knees in front of me like his body makes the decision before his brain can argue.

My breath stops.

He looks up at me with that dark, focused intensity that always hits me lower than it should.

“Don’t move.”

Like I could.

His hands trail up my thighs slowly, possessively, pushing my skirt even higher.

“No one dare enters before knocks my door,” he murmurs. “And everyone thinks I’m in a meeting in ten minutes.”

My pulse is pounding so hard I swear the desk under me vibrates with it.

“You’re going to be late,” I whisper, breathless.

“I don’t give a damn,” he says, voice dropping to a sinful promise. “You brought me coffee. You started this. And I’m ending it.”

“You’re impossible.”

His mouth curves in the kind of smirk that already has heat pulling through my core.

“You love it.”

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my underwear and pulls. Slow. Torturous.

“Elias…”

He doesn’t answer.

He leans in.

And the second his mouth touches me—

I break.

Chapter 22

POV: Nora

My head hits the desk softly. My hand slides into his hair automatically. He growls—actually growls—as he drags his tongue over me like he’s starving.

“God—Elias—”

He tightens his grip on my thighs, keeping me exactly where he wants me.

“Hold onto me,” he orders between strokes, voice muffled against my skin.

Every tease since lunch, every text, every look—he’s cashing it in now.

He sucks, slowly at first, then deeper, faster, exactly how I like and exactly how he remembers. My hips jerk and he pins me harder against the desk.

“Quiet,” he murmurs. “Unless you want the entire building to hear how good I make you come.”

Oh God.

My legs tremble. Heat builds fast, too fast, spiraling tight and dangerous.

“Elias—I’m—”

He lifts his blue gaze while his mouth stays on me, eyes locking with mine as he drags his tongue over the most sensitive part of me.

“Good.” His voice is a dark rumble. “Come for me.”

My breath shatters.

I do.

Hard.

My fingers clutch his hair, my body arching, and he groans like the taste of my orgasm is something he’s been craving since dawn.

He doesn’t stop until I’m trembling, boneless, barely able to stay upright.

When he finally stands, his mouth is slick, his pupils blown wide.

He wipes his thumb over his lower lip, slow and deliberate.

“Next time you lick anything in the cafeteria,” he warns softly, “I’m dragging you straight to my office in front of everyone.”

I can barely speak.

“That… that wasn’t fair.”

He presses a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth—shockingly tender after what he just did.

“No,” he says. “But neither was bringing me coffee looking like that.”

I’m still trying to breathe normally after he made me come like he wanted to ruin me right there in his office. My legs are shaky, my lips swollen. Elias is already behind his desk, pretending he’s composed, pretending he’s the General again — but I see it.

The slight tremble in his fingers.

The hunger he can’t hide.

It hits me in a rush — hot, reckless, inevitable. He took me apart twice already today, and the way he melted when I gave him that stupid cup of coffee… God. I want to return the favor. I need to.

Before the sensible and reasonable part of my brain can speak, I’m already moving.

He notices too late.

His posture straight and controlled, when I walk around the side of his desk. His eyes lift, expecting a question.

Instead, I sink to my knees.

His breath catches — barely audible, but I hear it.

“Oh, Nora.” His voice drops, sharp, warning. “Don’t.”

“I’m making it fair,” I whisper, slipping under the desk before he can grab me. “You took care of me. Let me take care of you.”

“Nora.”

Now it’s not a warning — it’s a plea.

I smile in the dark, smelling cedar, coffee, and him. His thighs tense when my hands slide up the inside of them. He ’s already hard. My fault. His fault. Our fault.

“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, breath shuddering when I undo his belt with one hand.

“You like it,” I whisper, and I feel him give up the last of his composure the second I free him from his pants.

He’s hot and thick against my tongue, and when I take him into my mouth, his fist slams against the desk so quietly it’s almost a vibration.

“Jesus, Nora…”

I suck slowly at first, savoring the way he tries to stay silent — the way he fails when I hollow my cheeks just right. His hand finds my hair, fingers threading through it, not pushing, not controlling, just holding on.

He’s losing it.

I love it.

I want to break him open.

And then—

A knock.

A door opening.

Elias jerks, hips tightening under my hands.

“General?” Major Campbell’s voice fills the office.

Oh, God.

I should stop.

Any normal person would stop.

I don’t stop.

Elias inhales sharply through his nose, his entire body seizing as I take him deeper.

“I didn’t say come in,” Elias says through clenched teeth, voice dangerously controlled.

His hand tightens in my hair — not to stop me, but because he’s about to lose his mind.

“My apologies, sir,” Campbell says quickly. “They’re waiting for you to start the briefing.”

I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock and Elias’s thigh jumps against my cheek.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he says, voice lower than usual, strained.

“Yes, sir.” Footsteps retreat — then stop.

Campbell clears her throat. “Should I wait outside your door?”

Elias closes his eyes. I can feel it.

“Yes,” he says. “Wait outside.”

The door closes.

He exhales like he’s been punched.

“Nora,” he growls under his breath. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to—”

I don’t stop.

I go faster.

His hips lift despite himself. His other hand clamps on the armrest, knuckles white. He’s trying so hard to stay silent and failing miserably.

“You’re going to kill me,” he whispers, breath hot and uneven above me.

I hum around him — and that’s it.

He breaks.

His whole body goes taut, a sharp inhale tearing from his chest as he comes hard, pulse after pulse spilling onto my tongue. I hold him through every second, sucking until he trembles and tries to pull back with a wrecked hiss of my name.

I let him go slowly, licking the last of him from my lips.

He’s breathing like he ran a mile.

I stay under the desk for one more second, savoring the aftershocks trembling through him. Then I crawl out, smoothing my hair, wiping the corner of my mouth.

He’s staring at me like he’s not sure if he should kiss me or drag me back under.

“I have a meeting,” he finally says — voice rough, completely destroyed.

“I know.”

I press a kiss to the edge of his jaw.

“And you’re welcome.”

He grabs my waist, pulls me in, and presses his forehead to mine for one brief, stolen moment that shouldn’t feel as good as it does. He kiss my lightly.

Then he releases me, straightens his uniform, and stands.

“Stay in your office,” he mutters, eyes dark and dangerous. “Because the second this meeting ends, I’m locking the door and making sure you can’t walk straight.”

A shiver runs through me so fast I forget how to breathe.

“Yes, sir.”

He smirks — slow, wicked, devastating.

“Good girl.”

And then he leaves me in the middle of his office, pulse pounding, knees weak, wanting him all over again.

I barely make it back to my office in one piece.

My legs feel unsteady, my mouth still tingling, my heart still pounding with the echo of the way he said “Nora” when he came undone for me. I close the door behind me and lean on it for a second, pressing the back of my hand against my lips like I’m trying to wipe away the evidence — but there’s no wiping him away.

Not from my mouth.

Not from my skin.

Not from anywhere.

I’m pretending to work.

Really pretending.

My screen is open on the victim profiles, the cursor blinking like it’s mocking me. I’ve read the same sentence seven times. I’ve retyped the same notes twice. My thighs are still trembling under my desk, my body humming with aftershocks, and my mouth can still taste him.

I should not be this distracted.

I should not be checking the time every thirty seconds like a teenager waiting for a crush to text.

I should not be touching my lower lip and remembering how he lost his mind when I sucked in that breath against his skin.

And then—

A soft knock.

Not tentative. Measured. Controlled.

My pulse jumps.

I know it’s him even before the door opens.

Elias steps inside, closing it behind him with the quiet finality of a man who always knows exactly what he wants and exactly how to get it.

He promised he’d come.

And now he’s here.

His eyes find me instantly—dark, sharp, already hungry. His uniform looks immaculate, but his collar is slightly loosened, just enough for me to remember my fingers were there less than an hour ago.

“Meeting’s over,” he says, voice low. “I told you I’d come straight here.”

My breath stutters. “You did.”

He looks at me like he’s deciding whether to devour me or drag me across the desk first.

“Stand up,” he says.

I swear my entire body reacts before my brain catches up. I push my chair back, rising on unsteady legs. His gaze drops to my mouth, then lower—to the way my chest lifts with each breath.

He walks toward me with slow, lethal intention.

“How’s your focus, Dr Castell?” His tone is teasing, but there’s that sharp edge—commanding, in total control.

“Terrible,” I admit before thinking. “I couldn’t concentrate.”

“I know.” He stops in front of me. “I could feel you thinking about me.”

I huff a laugh. “You’re so arrogant.”

He leans in, lips brushing my ear.

“Prove me wrong.”

God.

Heat surges through me so fast I have to grab the edge of my desk to steady myself. “I thought you were coming to…talk.”

“We’re talking.” His mouth curves against my jaw. “And you’re shaking.”

I am. I absolutely am.

His hand comes to my waist, pulling me flush against him. He smells like clean soap, cedar, and sheer danger.

“Elias…”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about your mouth,” he murmurs. “Or the way you looked under my desk. Or how you didn’t stop even when Campbell walked in.”

“That was your fault,” I whisper. “You told her to stay at the door.”

“And you kept going.” His thumb sweeps up my hip. “Do you know what that did to me?”

I meet his eyes. “Show me.”

That’s all it takes.

He snaps.

His mouth crashes onto mine, hungry, deep, a kiss that shreds every thought and replaces it with pure, blinding need. I gasp, and he takes advantage, tasting me, claiming me, backing me until my hips hit the edge of my desk.

He lifts me—one clean, effortless motion—and sets me on the desk, stepping between my legs like he owns the space, owns me, owns the air I breathe.

His hands roam—waist, thigh, sliding under the hem of my regulation skirt.

“You waited for me,” he says against my lips, voice rough. “You sat here pretending to work, knowing exactly what I’d do when I walked in.”

“Yes.” The word breaks out of me.

He drags his fingers along the inside of my thigh, slow enough to torture me.

“Good.”

My breath catches. “Elias—”

He kisses me again, harder, one of his hands gripping the back of my neck as the other slides higher, higher, until I’m trembling and pulling him closer.

“Tell me,” he whispers, “how long you’ve been thinking about this.”

“Since the second I left your office,” I breathe. “Maybe before.”

A low, satisfied sound vibrates in his chest.

He pushes my knees farther apart with his hips, his hands guiding me exactly where he wants me.

The angle is obscene. Perfect. I can feel how hard he is against my thigh.

Chapter 23

POV: Nora

“You drive me insane,” he says, forehead pressed to mine. “Every time you look at me. Every time you talk back. Every time you act like you’re not thinking about fucking me senseless right on your desk.”

“I am thinking about it.”

His control fractures right there—beautifully, violently.

“Lie back,” he orders.

I obey instantly, elbows braced behind me on the desk, chest rising, heart pounding. He watches me like he can’t believe I’m real, like he wants to memorize the sight before he ruins me.

“You know I promised I’d come see you,” he says. “I didn’t say how long I’d stay.”

“Stay,” I whisper.

He smiles—dark, wicked.

“Good answer.”

He drags his hands up my legs, slow, reverent, tormenting. My breath stutters with every inch his fingers climb.

Then he leans down, mouth at my throat, voice a dangerous rumble:

“I’m going to make you forget every name in those files.”

“Elias—”

“And then,” he says, kissing just below my ear, “I’m going to make you scream mine.”

My entire body arches.

His hand moves higher.

And then—

He presses his mouth to that spot on my neck that destroys me, and everything inside me shatters into white-hot anticipation.

I grab his shoulders. “Lock the door.”

He doesn’t move.

He grins against my skin.

“I already did.”

Oh god.

“Now,” he murmurs, sliding me closer to the edge, “let me finish what I started.”

His tongue slides against mine, deliberate and commanding, and my knees nearly buckle.

I feel how hard he is against my stomach, and a shiver shoots up my spine.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, pupils blown wide.

“You’ve been driving me insane all day.” He drags his thumb over my lower lip. “You have no idea how hard it was to finish that meeting knowing I’d get my hands on you again.”

“Yes,” I whisper, breathless. “I think I do.”

His jaw flexes—like he’s fighting the urge to devour me right here.

He doesn’t fight long.

His hand slides between my thighs, and I moan, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet office.

“Quiet,” he warns, though he’s smirking. “Unless you want the whole floor to hear what I’m doing to you.”

“Maybe I don’t care,” I breathe.

“Oh, you care,” he says, pushing my legs apart with infuriating confidence. “Especially when I’m the one in control.”

Then he grabs me—one hand on my hip, the other braced on the desk—and lifts me like I weigh nothing.

My breath catches as he lays me down on my back across the entire surface of my desk, scattering files and pens to the floor.

“Elias—”

“Lie back,” he orders, voice low and taut. “I want to see you.”

Heat floods me instantly.

I lie back, heartbeat hammering, feeling the cool wood under my spine and his eyes tracing every inch of me like a man trying to memorize his favorite sin.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Spread your legs for me.”

I do.

God help me, I do without hesitation.

He exhales like the sight alone is enough to break him.

Then he drags his hands up my thighs—slow, reverent, teasing—before bending over me.

His mouth meets the inside of my knee, then higher, deliberate kisses trailing up my inner thigh. My fingers curl over the edge of the desk.

“You’re trembling,” he mutters against my skin, and the vibration makes me gasp.

“You’re the one who put me here,” I whisper.

He chuckles darkly. “And I’m the one who’s going to ruin you again.”

Before I can process it, his mouth is on me—hot, hungry, claiming.

My back arches off the desk.

Elias holds my hips down with one strong hand, keeping me right where he wants me, his tongue working rhythmically, expertly, like he remembers every sound I made last time and wants to drag new ones out of me.

“Elias—god—”

He groans into me, and the sound vibrates through my entire body.

“Look at me,” he orders, lifting his head for a brief second.

I force my eyes open, and he is staring up at me like I’m something sacred.

Then he goes back to devouring me.

My hands fly into his hair, gripping, pulling, and he lets me guide him even though we both know he’s still the one controlling every second.

Heat coils low in my stomach—tight, electric, impossible to stop.

“Elias—I’m—”

“Come for me,” he growls against me. “Now.”

And I do—breaking apart on my own desk, biting back a cry as he holds me through it, hungrily, like he’s drinking every shudder I give him.

My breathing is a mess, my body boneless.

But Elias isn’t done.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, stands, and looks down at me with a hunger that’s somehow sharper.

“Get up.”

My body somehow finds the strength.

He turns me around, bending me over the desk again for a second—but then he stops.

“No,” he mutters, voice thicker. “I want to see your face.”

He lifts me back up, guiding me to lie on my back again as he steps between my legs.

He opens his belt with one sharp pull.

My breath catches.

“Elias—”

He lines himself against me, the heat of him nearly making my eyes roll back again.

“You ready?” he asks.

But it’s not really a question.

“Yes,” I breathe. “Please.”

He pushes into me in one deep, slow thrust that knocks a moan right out of my chest.

His grip tightens on my waist as he bows over me, breath hot against my ear.

“Nora,” he groans, voice cracking. “God, you feel—”

He cuts himself off with a sharp breath and begins moving—strong, controlled thrusts that make the desk creak under us.

Every stroke is perfect.

Every sound he makes fuels the fire building again inside me.

My nails dig into his back as he drives into me, harder, deeper, kissing me between thrusts—messy, hungry kisses that tell me he completely lost the battle to keep himself composed.

“I told you I’d come find you,” he whispers, breathless against my mouth. “I’m not done with you… not even close.”

“Good,” I manage, gasping. “Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t.

He lifts my legs around his waist, driving deeper, the pressure overwhelming in the best way, his face buried in my neck, his breath unsteady—almost desperate.

I cling to him, body tightening, every nerve sparking.

“Elias—”

“Come with me,” he groans. “Now.”

And we fall apart together—his body shuddering against mine, mine arching into him, the world narrowing to heat, breath, and the way he holds me like he can’t let go.

When the aftershocks fade, he stays there for a moment—inside me, forehead resting lightly on mine, breath mixing with my own.

Too intimate.

Too real.

Too dangerous.

He must feel it too, because after a few seconds he pulls back slightly, composure slipping back into place—but not all the way.

His thumb brushes my jaw.

“Get dressed,” he murmurs. “Before someone on your floor gets suspicious.”

I laugh—breathless, wrecked, glowing.

“General,” I whisper, teasing, “you’re the reason someone would get suspicious.”

He smirks, slow and devastating.

“Then we better be quick.”

I close the door behind me and lean against it for a second.

“Get it together… Come on, Castell,” I whisper.

The room still looks… wrecked.

My hairbrush on the floor.

Pens scattered.

Files half-open, skewed at angles that scream exactly what happened.

And the minute I crouch down to pick up a stack, a hot, dizzying memory flashes—Elias’s hands forcing my thighs open, the desk shaking under me, his voice low and commanding in my ear, his breath against my neck as he—

I swallow hard and shove the file into place before my mind drags me right back to the edge.

This is getting out of control.

No—I’m getting out of control.

And worse… I don’t hate it.

I sit down, rub my palms on my thighs, and try to focus on the damn profile. Paul Draeven. Michael Horst. The covered face, the precise method, the angle of the blade, the complete lack of hesitation… but the remorse? That wasn’t corporal-level impulse. It was calculated. Deliberate. Thought through.

“Not Keller,” I mutter, crossing out the corporal’s name. “He doesn’t fit. He can’t fit.”

Too sloppy. Too impulsive. Too reactive.

This killer was higher. More structured. Someone who needed things perfect. Someone who needed control the way they needed air.

And the screwed-up part?

That describes practically every officer above corporal.

My phone vibrates.

I don’t even look at the caller ID—I need the distraction.

It’s the group chat.

COLE:

“Are you dead? Or just ruined beyond speech?”

I roll my eyes.

ELENA:

“Oh my god, she’s totally ruined. Look, she’s not answering. That’s an ‘I can’t walk’ silence.”

I huff out a laugh and type:

ME:

“It’s none of your business.”

Immediate chaos.

COLE:

“SHE IS TOTALLY FUCKING HIM AHAHAHA”

ELENA:

“GOOD. About damn time. You deserve something good.”

“Deserve.”

That word hits harder than it should.

Because for a split second, Daniel’s face flashes behind my eyes—his smile, the dimples he hated, the warmth of him. A year gone and yet still there, tucked somewhere deep and bruised. I blink fast and look at the ceiling, refusing to drown in it.

I’m breathing.

I’m moving.

I’m… something.

And I promised myself: the investigation won’t stop. No matter what my body is doing with Elias. No matter how much he makes me forget everything else.

Daniel would kill me if I dropped the case.

Another thought flickers—sharp, inconvenient, and completely overshadowed by the memory of Elias’s mouth earlier.

The warehouse where he found me.

Where everything almost ended.

I make a mental note:

Ask Elias if he learned anything.

If he dug deeper.

If there’s a lead I haven’t connected.

But before I can sink too far into it, my phone buzzes again.

ELIAS:

“I’ll need to leave later. Around 20:00. A few things came up.”

I exhale, the disappointment embarrassingly real.

Then another message.

ELIAS:

“If you prefer to leave earlier, I can assign a corporal to drive you to my place.”

My place.

I bite my lip.

ME:

“No. I’ll wait for you.”

A pause.

A long one, like he’s letting the weight of that sink in.

Then:

ELIAS:

“Good girl.”

My entire body heats so fast I grip the edge of my chair to stay grounded.

God. This man.

I press my thighs together, failing, absolutely failing to stay unaffected.

I type nothing back.

I can’t.

There’s no oxygen left.

Instead I try—again—to return to my files. Suspects. Profiles. Hierarchies. But every detail overlaps with the curve of Elias’s smirk, the way he said “good girl,” the memory of me kneeling under his desk, the way he gripped the edge trying not to lose control—

Nope. Absolutely impossible.

I shake myself out and reopen the Draeven case file.

Force my brain to focus on the killer.

Force the logic to come back.

Someone higher.

Someone organized.

Someone with access.

Someone who—

The page blurs for a second, and I close my eyes.

I’m too deep into this man.

And it’s only getting worse.

Chapter 24

POV: Nora

By the time the clock hits eight, the headquarters is mostly quiet — the kind of quiet that feels heavy, humming with fluorescent lights and leftover exhaustion. I smooth my hair, take a slow breath, and walk toward Elias’s office.

The door is half-closed, a thin strip of warm light slipping into the dim hallway. I knock once.

“Come in.”

His voice. Low. Commanding. Too effortless.

I open the door and—God.

He’s sitting behind his desk like he owns every inch of the world. Full uniform. Shoulders broad. Medals gleaming. The perfect image of authority and danger and discipline. Elias Falkner, General, scourge of half the world’s problems — and the man who had me bent over this same desk hours ago.

I lean on the frame and exhale a laugh. “You look so important like this,” I say. “So in command.”

My eyes drop to the desk. “I’m seriously considering doing that thing behind your desk again.”

His mouth curves — slow, deep, wicked. A smirk that grabs my stomach from the inside.

He doesn’t even reply.

Just pushes his chair back with his boot, creating space between the desk, and taps his thigh twice.

An invitation.

A command.

Both.

Heat crawls up my neck. I walk to him, trying not to look like I’m racing. I climb onto his lap, facing him, settling into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

His hands come to my waist immediately — grounding, firm, possessive.

I feel him breathe in, like my presence does something to him he can’t control.

Then he brushes my hair aside, slow and deliberate. His thumb traces from my cheekbone to my jaw.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs.

Not teasing. Not cocky. Just… honest.

It cuts right through me.

He leans in and kisses me — not hungry, not rushed, but soft. Careful. Devastating in a completely different way. My fingers slide into his collar, holding onto him, because for a second I forget how to stay upright.

He pulls back just enough to speak. “We can go home,” he says quietly. “And you can do that…”

His smirk flashes again.

“…in a more comfortable place.”

I laugh against his mouth. “You’re saying this like you’re doing me a favor.”

“I am.”

I roll my eyes, but my chest tightens. God, this is dangerous — this closeness, this softness, this… whatever it is.

He looks toward his desk like he remembers something. Reaches beside a stack of reports and picks up a single red rose and a folded note.

“I was prepared,” he says, handing them to me. “In case eight wasn’t enough time to finish everything.”

I look at the rose, then at him. “Elias,” I tease, “you’re getting soft on me.”

He doesn’t smirk this time. He just says, quietly, “Only for you.”

My breath hitches.

For a second, neither of us looks away.

His eyes on me feel like a hand on my heart — deep, sure, impossible to ignore. And that scares me more than anything else happening between us.

So I’m the one who breaks the gaze.

“Let’s go,” I whisper.

He stands with me still in his arms before setting me down gently. His hand slides to the small of my back as he guides me toward the door — protective, familiar, claiming.

And just like that, we leave the headquarters together.

Heading to his place.

Where softness is starting to feel as dangerous as the desire neither of us can control.

Elias’s place is exactly a general’s home. Practical. Controlled. Masculine.

And yet… when he closes the door behind us and shrugs off his coat, he looks at me with something I’ve never seen directed at me before: softness that shouldn’t belong to him.

“I already ordered dinner,” he says slow, purposeful, annoyingly sexy. “It should get here in a few minutes.”

He pours me a glass of wine without asking, because he already knows my preference. He fixes himself a whiskey. His glass clinks lightly against mine when he raises it — not exactly a toast, but something close.

“To… a night without interruptions,” he murmurs.

My heart stutters. I drink. Too fast. I’m falling and I know it. God, I know it. And for once, I don’t care.

We talk about nothing — the wine, the ridiculousness of the corporal who almost walked in on us earlier — and the air is warm. Cozy, even.

When the buzzer rings, Elias heads to the front door, retrieving the paper bags and placing them on the kitchen counter. He’s about to open them when his phone rings.

“Damn it.” He checks the screen, jaw tightening. “I have to take this. I’m sorry. Just start opening everything — I’ll be quick.”

He steps onto the balcony, shutting the glass door behind him.

I turn to the bags. They’re sealed with those thick metal stamples — the industrial kind that restaurants love and normal people can’t open without a tool.

“Of course.” I sigh. My fingers slip, fail again. “Okay… where would he keep—”

His office. He probably has a staple remover to open this with on his desk.

I push the door open and step inside.

And everything in me chills.

The room is immaculate. Too immaculate. Books arranged with military precision. A perfectly organized desk. A massive board covering the wall… covered in documents.

My pulse jumps.

I take a step closer.

The first things I see are photos.

Of the men in the warehouse. The night Elias found me. Their faces printed, labeled, with notes beneath.

“Drug traffickers. Independent faction. No connection to Nora”

My breath stumbles.

He never told me this.

He said he was investigating. That he didn’t know. But he knew. And he didn’t tell me.

My throat tightens. I step closer.

And then I see my face.

A file. Split open across the desk. Photos. From college. From my academy graduation. A grainy picture of me at sixteen — how the hell did he even find that? My résumé. FBI training evaluations. Old case assignments. Notes written in his handwriting. Pages and pages of me.

Documented.

Tracked.

Studied.

My skin crawls.

“No,” I whisper, backing away — but I bump into another board.

This one is worse.

Because staring back at me are Michael Horst and Paul Draeven. Photos, reports, timelines — the very case I’m working on. My case. Only… he has more than I do.

And under their photos:

“Supervising Officer: General Elias Faulkner.”

My heart stops.

He supervised them. Both of them.

He knew them.

He never told me.

I force myself to look further. There are six other men on the same board. All military. All dead. Different causes listed under each. A pattern only someone obsessive would track.

And then—

My breath catches painfully.

Two old case files from the FBI. Victims from the serial killer I investigated before I left the Bureau. Both military.Their photos pinned right beside the others.

“No…” My eyes burn. “No, no, no—”

And then it hits me. Harder than anything ever has.

High rank. Control freak. Commanding.

A man comfortable with violence. With precision. With covering tracks.

It fits.

Oh my god, it fits.

Elias.

Chapter 25

POV: Nora

My stomach twists. I’m going to throw up.

I stumble back from the board, my spine hitting the desk — and one last thing slides into view.

His schedule.

His military schedule.

I scan through the dates, my eyes frantic.

And then I freeze.

The night we met.

The bar.

He told me he had a meeting.

A long one.

That he agreed for a drink after it.

But on the schedule…

The day is empty.

Completely empty.

He lied.

He lied from the very beginning.

Something inside me cracks. Loud. Violent. Terrified.

I step back. And back again. My pulse is so loud I can barely hear my own breath. My vision tunnels, the walls shrinking, suffocating me with every new truth slamming into place.

I turn toward the doorway.

He’s still on the balcony.

Talking.

Relaxed.

Unaware.

Good.

I need to leave.

Now.

My hands shake as I slip out of the office. My legs feel weightless, numb. I force myself toward the front door. My fingers fumble at the lock before I finally wrench it open—

Cold rain hits my face instantly.

I don’t stop.

I run.

Down the steps. Across the walkway. Toward the gate.

The keypad blinks at me — red light, then green — but it’s for entering, not leaving.

“Fuck—” My voice cracks.

I’m trapped.

I spin around — the rain is already soaking through my clothes, my hair sticking to my cheeks. My breath comes in fast, broken bursts. Every instinct I have is firing, screaming.

I can’t breathe.

I need out.

I need out now.

Before he finishes that call.

Before he steps inside.

Before I see those eyes and remember how good it felt to be kissed like that, touched like that—

A sob claws up my throat.

Nothing makes sense.

Everything makes sense.

My heart is breaking and I don’t even know why.

I press trembling fingers against the gate, pushing, hitting, shoving — and it opened.

So I run.

Down the long driveway, into the storm, away from everything warm and safe and terrifying, the rain swallowing my footsteps, my breath, my panic —

I run like my life depends on it.

Because maybe it does.

The rain should be cold on my skin.

It should sting.

It should freeze me.

It should do something.

But I can’t feel any of it.

All I feel is him.

Elias.

Elias.

Elias.

His smirk.

His almost-smile that he only gave to me.

Those blue eyes pinning me like I was something worth looking at.

His body over mine, under mine, against mine — all heat and strength and hunger.

His hands gripping my hips.

My nails digging into his shoulders.

His mouth on my throat.

His breath on my skin.

Every memory slices through me, every one a betrayal, every one a burn.

And God help me, I feel all of them.

I run through the rain, soaked to the bone, my clothes heavy, hair plastered to my cheeks, but none of it registers. All I can see is the board in his office. All I can see is the file with my name. All I can see is Michael Horst and Paul Draeven, and the neat little line under both their names:

Supervisor: General Elias Faulkner.

High rank.

Military.

Commanding.

Control freak.

The profile I’d been building for days — sitting right next to me, kissing me, touching me, holding me through the night.

How did I not see it?

How stupid was I?

How blind?

A sob rips up my throat. It feels like fire. Like something tearing inside me.

The man I was starting to fall for… the man who touched me like I mattered… the man who made me feel alive again…

Fits the damn profile.

My chest constricts so tight I can’t breathe. My vision blurs with tears and rain. I run because I need distance, because I need air, because the world tilted under my feet and hasn’t stopped spinning.

I don’t know where I’m going.

I don’t know what I’ll do.

I just need to get away from him before I—

Headlights explode in front of me.

A car jerks to a stop, brakes screaming. I stumble back, blinking against the rain.

Not a car.

A van.

And before I can even think, the side door slams open. Three men jump out, fast, shadows moving in the downpour.

“Wait—” I gasp, raising my hands—

But something slams into the side of my skull.

Black.

Instant.

---

I wake with a splitting pain behind my eyes. My head feels packed with sand, my thoughts slow and heavy.

I try lifting a hand to my face — but it doesn’t move.

My wrist burns.

Plastic.

Cuffs.

I’m handcuffed with plastic seals.

My eyes snap open, the harsh overhead light stabbing into them. I blink until shapes form.

A chair.

Concrete floor.

Boxes stacked to the ceiling.

A warehouse.

Not the same one as before — smaller, cleaner — but still a cage.

I try my feet. They’re cuffed too.

I twist my body. Nothing.

A man stands ten feet away, shifting nervously beside a metal table.

“She’s awake,” he mutters, voice thin. “She’s awake.”

I don’t recognize him.

But I know danger when I feel it.

My pulse spikes, my breath tightens.

Then—

Footsteps.

Slow.

Measured.

Coming from behind me.

A presence leans in close, heat brushing my neck.

A voice exhales into my ear.

“Nora, sweetheart. It’s good to see you again.”

Everything inside me stops.

My blood turns ice.

My heart slams against my ribs so hard it hurts.

Pins and needles explode through my fingers.

Shock.

I know shock.

I can feel myself sliding into it.

That voice.

That voice whispered my name against my skin.

That voice told me to come for him.

That voice is burned into my memories like a brand.

No.

No—

It can’t be—

I whip my head to the side.

And I wish I hadn’t.

Because standing behind me, smiling like he’d been waiting for this moment…

Isn’t Elias.

It’s Daniel.

Alive.

My dead boyfriend.

Standing in front of me.

The man I mourned.

The man I loved.

The man whose murder I’ve been trying to solve—

He’s alive.

And he’s here.

And he’s smiling.

Chapter 26

POV: Elias

The first sign something is wrong is the silence.

I end the call, shake off the last remnants of irritation from that damn negotiation, and turn back toward the kitchen—

And freeze.

The takeout bags are still closed.

Untouched.

Exactly where I left them.

But Nora isn’t.

“Nora?”

My voice is quiet, even. Too even.

No answer.

A muscle twitches in my jaw.

I check the living room.

Empty.

Her wine on the table.

Her shoes still by the couch.

Wrong.

Everything feels wrong.

My brow knits as unease crawls under my skin.

I call her.

Phone rings once.

Twice.

Three times.

She doesn’t answer.

That’s when the cold slides into my chest.

I walk down the hallway—slow, deliberate—and then I see it:

My office door is open.

Wide open.

I stop breathing for a second.

I told her not to go in there.

I told her it was forbidden — and it wasn’t because I didn’t trust her.

It was because I knew what she’d find.

My investigation files.

Her file.

Daniel’s name.

Every reason to run from me.

And now the door is open.

I step inside.

The air is disturbed.

Her presence is still here, clinging to the room.

Her perfume is still there—light, warm, the kind of scent that never belonged to a place like this.

It punches something deep inside me.

She stood by my desk.

She touched the files.

She saw—

My heartbeat punches hard against my ribs.

I turn toward the front of the house—

The gate outside is open.

Not a crack.

Not half.

Fully open.

My stomach drops.

“Oh, fuck…” I breathe.

Barely a whisper.

Barely a man at all.

“She’s gone.”

And the world around me goes sharp.

Colorless.

Dead.

My jaw clenches so tight I hear the crack in my teeth.

My heart beats like it’s trying to break out of my chest, but I force myself still.

Stillness is power.

Stillness is control.

Stillness is the only thing keeping me from tearing this city apart with my bare hands.

I shouldn’t be thinking about this.

Not now. Not when every second she’s missing carves another line into my spine.

But my mind flickers back to her anyway—

that first day, that first look,

that first stupid, innocent moment when she had no idea what she was doing to me.

She looked up at me like I was… too much.

Like she’d been hit in the chest and couldn’t hide it fast enough.

A week ago, I should’ve been focused on the meeting.

On the offer to leave the Army to a private security company.

On the money.

On freedom

On the chance to be with Ava more

On the pressure of abandoning thirty years of service

On Olivia’s ghost tightening around my throat like it always does when I think about choosing anything other than duty.

But my life felt split between two futures—

both wrong, both inevitable.

My head was a storm and I was trying to make that glass of whisky to calm me down.

And then she walked in.

Green eyes.

Auburn hair.

A black dress hugging a body that should be criminal.

I swear the room shifted around her, like she carried gravity in her hips.

For a second, I thought I knew her.

A face I’d seen somewhere.

But my life is full of faces—soldiers, analysts, civilians, consultants.

I meet a hundred people a week.

And she was walking toward me like she decided the world was hers.

Bold. Confident.

A problem I suddenly wanted to have.

But the moment she walked into that bar…

it was like the universe said, here—this one.

She walked straight toward me with a confidence that punched the air from my lungs.

“I swallow. ‘You’re… definitely not what I expected to look like.’”

She had no idea how dangerous she sounded saying that.

How those wide green eyes traced over me like she was trying to memorize something she wasn’t supposed to want.

I remember the way my mouth betrayed me—

that small lift at the corner.

The hint of humor I rarely showed anyone.

And the dominance I didn’t bother hiding from her.

“And what did you expect?” I’d asked.

She hesitated, hands gesturing in the air like she was fighting her own honesty.

“Someone less…”

A beat.

“Attractive. Intense. Large.”

I almost lost control right there.

Not because of the word—

but because of the way she said it. Breathless. Embarrassed.

Like she’d just confessed something filthy without meaning to.

“Large?” I repeated.

The way she flushed—

God, I feel it hit my gut even now.

She stammered, trying to fix it, failing spectacularly.

“I meant—height. Shoulders. Presence.”

Presence.

She had no idea my presence was already wrapped around her throat, around her pulse, around every instinct I shouldn’t have had.

She didn’t back down.

Of course she didn’t.

And when she sat with me—this stranger she thought was her blind date—I let myself fall.

Just for a night.

Just for one moment of something that wasn’t duty or grief or hollow routine.

When we got to the hotel?

We didn’t stop.

Not once.

Not for breath.

Not for sanity.

Her nails dug into my back.

Her mouth left marks on my skin.

I touched her like I’d been starving for years.

Because I was.

She pulled me apart like she owned my body.

We ruined the bed.

The walls.

Possibly the foundations of the hotel.

And when morning came—

With her curled up against my chest like she belonged there—

I made the mistake of looking at her properly.

Really looking.

And then it hit me.

Nora Castell.

The girl from our street.

The one who used to walk Ava home from school.

The one who always defended her.

The one with the same stubborn chin and fire in her eyes.

And suddenly everything felt too intimate.

Too familiar.

Too dangerous.

Her hair spilled across my chest, her breath warm against my skin.

She fit there.

Perfectly.

Too perfectly.

And the thought hit me like a fist to the ribs:

You can’t have this. Not her.

Not this softness.

Not this peace.

Not this woman who made me feel alive again after ten years of being half-dead.

Her rule had made it easier:

no names, no history, no future.

Just a night.

Fine.

I could honor that.

So I told myself to leave.

To let this be a beautiful wrong thing we never repeated.

But I couldn’t leave before had her one more time, or two. I just couldn’t get enough of her.

I promise I would forget that after.

Except I didn’t.

Because the moment I left her in that hotel room—

soft, peaceful, in the sweetest fucking way—

I broke every rule she set.

I searched her name.

And what I found made my blood run cold.

Her investigation.

Daniel.

His death that CIA was investigating.

Her connection to every file that crossed my desk.

And the danger circling her like a noose.

I felt something violent inside me snap awake.

Something territorial.

Something ancient.

Something that whispered:

Mine. Protect her. Keep her alive. Whatever it takes.

So I put an alert on her name.

A red-level priority flag—something only three people in the entire department can do.

And then I did the one thing I told myself not to:

I interfered in her life.

I requested her at headquarters.

Close.

Where I could watch her.

Where I could keep her safe even if she hated me for it.

If she ever knew the truth—

that I chose her over my own rules,

over my own career,

over every line I swore I’d never cross—

I don’t know whether she’d slap me or kiss me.

Maybe both.

And then I did something worse—

something I’m not proud of but don’t regret for a second:

I hacked her phone.

A soft ping, an access override, encryption bypassed.

And suddenly…

I saw everything.

Her texts.

Her searches.

Her patterns.

And one night—

I heard her breath catch through the audio feed.

Soft.

Ragged.

Intimate.

Heard her whisper my name.

Heard her fall apart saying it.

My hands shook.

For the first time in ten years—

since Olivia died—

I felt alive.

So when the tracker showed her location leaving the city—

erratic, wrong—

I abandoned the meeting.

Left three colonels staring at my empty seat.

And drove like the devil himself was steering.

I found her before those men could take her.

And I almost beat them to death with my bare hands.

She would be safe now.

Near me.

Under my command.

Working at headquarters.

Sleeping in my house.

Where nothing could touch her.

Where I shouldn’t touch her either, even though everything in me burned for it.

But she was addictive.

And I was weak.

And she made me feel like heaven and hell collided inside my ribs.

I was living a dream I knew couldn’t last.

And now—

Now she’s gone.

And every bone in my body knows it.

My heart drops into a cold, dark pit.

I walk outside.

The rain hits me like needles.

I barely feel it.

I’m already moving.

Already calculating.

Already six seconds away from war.

“Nora…”

It leaves me like a broken prayer.

Like something ripped from my chest.

“Hold on, sweetheart.”

My voice is a blade.

“Hold on. I’m coming.”

And God help whoever took her—

because there is no force on this earth that will keep me from tearing them apart piece by fucking piece.

Chapter 27

POV: Elias

“Fuck.”

A whisper. A threat. A prayer. All at once.

She walked straight into the night.

Straight into danger.

Straight toward the kind of trap I’ve been bracing for since the day I searched her name and saw hell staring back.

I grab my phone.

“Nora.”

Ring.

Ring.

Voicemail.

Again.

Again.

Nothing.

My pulse spikes so hard my vision blurs.

This is not a mistake.

This is not a tantrum.

This is a disappearance.

Someone wanted her — I saw it in the red flags, the automated alerts, the classified reports.

The same shadow tracking conspiracy theorists.

The same signature on every “serial killer” case.

The same pattern Daniel was chasing before he “died.”

And if they realized Nora was getting close…

I slam the emergency line.

“Major Campbell,” I bark the moment she answers, “I need every asset we have on a possible abduction. Now.”

She pauses — she’s never heard my voice like this.

“General? Who—”

“Dr Castell. She’s missing.”

A beat. Then pure steel.

“Yes, sir. I’m mobilizing.”

I’m already pulling on my boots, grabbing my jacket, heading toward the armory.

“Activate the rapid-response unit. Pull traffic cams, highway feeds, drones. And call Colonel Reznik — I want his recon team in the air ten minutes ago.”

“General… this is a civilian—”

“I don’t care,” I snap. “She’s my civilian.”

Silence.

Then: “Understood.”

I hit another line.

“Open every flagged file tied to the ‘serial’ pattern. Dump them on my desk. And get IT to unlock the cross-branch firewalls — I want FBI integration.”

“Sir, that requires authorization—”

“This is your authorization.”

I drove like a lunatic to the headquarters.

I’m already pacing to the garage when Campbell rushes in, tablet in hand.

“General, we’re running into encryption issues—”

“Then break the encryption,” I growl. “Or find someone who can.”

She hesitates only a second before blurting, “Should we contact the FBI directly? Her colleagues—”

“Yes. Do it. And I want two specific names brought in: Agent Cole Smith and Agent Elena Clark.”

Campos blinks. “We’re… summoning FBI agents to a military base?”

“We don’t have time for politics. Bring them in.”

“On what grounds?”

“Tell them we believe Daniel Hale is alive.”

She freezes.

Her eyes widen.

Then she runs.

The base erupts.

Orders. Footsteps. Radios. Sirens warming up.

The entire chain of command bending beneath the weight of my voice.

And still — still — it’s not enough.

Because the tracker on Nora’s phone isn’t pinging.

Because someone disabled it.

Because she’s out there, scared, hurt, thinking I’m the monster in her files.

Because she left my house with tears on her face, and I wasn’t there to stop her.

I slam my fist into the metal doorway hard enough that blood beads across my knuckles.

“Where are you, Nora?” I whisper to the empty room.

Hold on until I get to you.

Hold on until I tear the world apart to bring you back.

Hold on, because whoever took you…

I will end them.

I storm back into my office because I can’t keep pacing the hallway like a caged animal. I can’t breathe out there. I can barely breathe in here. The walls feel too close, the air too thin, and every minute that passes without Nora is another minute I feel my sanity peeling away.

My hands won’t stay still. I keep dragging them through my hair, over my face, pressing my palms against my eyes until I see stars. None of it helps. Nothing dulls the panic drilling into my ribs.

Major Campbell hovers by the door, watching me like she’s scared I might snap in half.

“Sir,” she says softly, “can I get you tea? Water? A—”

“I don’t want anything,” I bite out, sharper than I meant, but control is a luxury I don’t have right now.

She nods once. She understands. Everyone here does — they’ve never seen me like this. I’ve never been like this.

She clears her throat.

“Dr. Castell’s friends are here.”

I freeze.

Then:

“Send them in,” I say, voice low, thin, stretched.

Two people walk in.

I read people like others breathe — effortless, instinctive, immediate. And these two? I read them in a heartbeat.

Cole walks in first. Middle-aged, tall, a bit slouched, with an easy face and a humor that sits right behind his eyes. The exact kind of sarcastic bastard who would text Nora memes in the middle of the night to annoy her. His energy is warm, disarming — but I can see the spine underneath. He’s a profiler. His brain never stops running.

Elena follows. Short. Curvy. Dark hair cut in a sharp bob. Warm brown eyes that somehow manage to look soft and fierce at the same time. She radiates kindness — the type of kindness that would eviscerate anyone who hurts someone she loves.

They’re good people. Nora surrounds herself with good people.

Cole steps forward.

“General.”

He offers his hand. I shake it, though my fingers feel like stone.

“Where’s Nora?” Elena asks immediately. Voice steady. Eyes worried.

I exhale once, slow.

“Missing.”

Cole blinks. “Missing since… when?”

“Three hours ago.”

He opens his mouth. “General, she couldn’t just be—”

“No,” I cut him off, the word sharp enough to bleed. My patience snaps so violently I feel the sound of it.

“If I say she’s missing and someone took her, it’s because she’s missing and someone took her.”

Silence drops like a hammer.

I force myself to breathe.

“She was with me. She ran. And someone took her.”

I meet both their eyes, steady and cold.

“The serial killer you’ve been investigating — he’s connected to the case she’s been digging into here. And I strongly believe he’s connected to her ex-boyfriend, who is no dead man at all.”

Cole and Elena trade a look — a heavy one, loaded with understanding, fear, and fury.

Cole nods first.

“Alright. Then we’re bringing everything we have from Daniel’s case. Files, photos, behavioral notes — all of it.”

Elena steps closer.

“And if you need anything from the FBI profiling division, you call us. We’re not leaving you in this alone.”

I swallow hard. Gratitude isn’t something I express often, but it hits me square in the chest.

“Thank you.”

They leave quickly, purposefully, already pulling out phones, already in motion.

The moment the door closes, Major Campbell appears again — almost running.

“Sir.” She places a heavy folder on my desk. “We found something. There are warehouses on the outskirts of the city rented for years by a shell company — and that company received deposits from the same offshore accounts tied to Daniel’s old operations.”

My heart stops.

She continues, flipping pages rapidly.

“We cross-checked recent transactions, power usage… and there’s a spike tonight in one of the locations.”

She taps her finger on a map.

“This one. This is the strongest lead we’ve had.”

I grab the folder before she finishes talking.

“General—” she starts, reaching out as if she can physically hold me back.

I’m already halfway to the door.

“Where are you going?” she demands.

I look over my shoulder, voice low, calm in a way that feels deadly.

“Find her.”

A heartbeat.

“I will find her.”

And then I leave.

Alone.

Because nothing — not protocols, not threats, not even hell itself — is going to keep me from getting to Nora.

Chapter 28

POV: Nora

The warehouse smells like gasoline and cold metal. My wrists burn against the zip ties as I twist them again, uselessly, desperately, anything to get free—but it’s pointless. Daniel’s men stand in a half-circle around me, rifles raised, laser sights trembling slightly with their breathing.

Five men. At least five.

But footsteps echo deeper in the shadows, heavy, dragging.

There are more.

I can feel them watching.

Daniel crouches in front of me like he’s savoring a glass of wine. His smile is small, perfect, precise — the same smile he used when he lied to me about everything.

“You really should’ve stayed away, Nora.”

I want to say something back, something sharp, something brave.

But my throat is sand.

I’m terrified.

I didn’t see the trap.

I didn’t see him coming.

I thought Elias—

My breath stutters.

This is my fault.

All of it.

One of the guards shifts, tilting his head, listening to something in his earpiece.

And then—

A voice.

From the entrance.

Low. Dark.

Too calm for this place.

“Daniel.”

No.

My heart stops.

No, no, no, no—

Elias steps out of the darkness like he belongs here.

Black shirt. Vest. Gun holstered at his thigh. Jaw carved in stone. Eyes fixed on Daniel, not even flicking toward me.

He looks… inhuman.

Cold.

Deadly.

A storm wearing a man’s skin.

Daniel straightens, surprised laughter pushing out of him.

“Well. Look who came to die. Because I hope you came alone, if you brought someone she dies…” Daniel said.

“I came alone,”

Oh shit.

My stomach crashes into my feet.

Elias came alone.

Alone.

I feel everything collapse inside me.

I’m shaking so hard the zip ties bite deeper.

“Elias,” I whisper, but my voice is barely air.

He doesn’t look at me.

Because of course he doesn’t. He’s focused. Prepared. Cold like he always said he was.

Daniel spreads his arms, delighted.

“You must really like her, hm? Risking your rank, your career, your—”

“Shut up.” Elias says it with zero emotion.

Like he’s bored.

Like Daniel is already a corpse.

God.

He came for me.

My chest cracks open.

I’m going to get him killed.

“Elias, I’m so sorry,” I say louder, voice shaking, “don’t—don’t do this. He has men. He has—”

“Twelve,” Elias says simply.

Daniel blinks.

I freeze.

Twelve?

“Five visible. Seven hidden.”

How does he—

Elias finally turns his eyes toward me, and the air leaves my lungs.

Not because he’s cold.

But because behind all that ice, there’s something else.

Something raw.

Something unhinged.

He’s terrified.

For me.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs.

Like he can read my thoughts.

But I can’t hold it anymore.

The dam breaks.

“I thought you were the killer,” I choke out. “And I’m so—God, I’m so sorry. I thought— I thought you were using me. I thought—”

I swallow, trembling.

“I didn’t see it. I didn’t see him. And now I got you killed.”

His jaw flexes once.

Daniel laughs. “Touching. Really.”

I inhale shakily and the words slip out because I’m sure — absolutely sure — this is the end.

“You were the best thing that happened to me,” I whisper. Tears slide down my face. “And you’ll never believe me, but—”

My chest caves.

“I love you.”

Elias closes his eyes for half a second.

A half second that feels like a lifetime.

Then everything changes.

The shift in him is so violent, so sudden, the whole warehouse seems to inhale.

He opens his eyes.

And they are no longer human.

“Daniel,” Elias says quietly.

Daniel lifts his chin. “What?”

“Look behind you.”

The clicks come first.

Metal. Boots.

The unmistakable thud of military rifles readying.

Daniel spins.

His men spin.

Third five — third five — armed soldiers step out of the darkness in perfect silent formation. All aiming.

Not FBI.

Not police.

Military.

His men.

Elias didn’t come alone.

He came leading a silent army.

Daniel’s face drains of color.

“Y-you said— you—”

“I said what I needed to get through your door,” Elias replies, voice like a blade.

His eyes flick back to me.

And suddenly, everything inside me goes quiet.

Still.

Warm.

Because he isn’t cold.

Not with me.

Not even for a second.

He walks toward me — slow, controlled, lethal only toward the world around us.

Daniel tries to grab me, maybe as a shield, maybe out of panic. A stupid move.

Because Elias moves before I can blink.

A gunshot echoes, deafening.

Daniel screams, clutching his hand, dropping the weapon.

Elias didn’t kill him.

He didn’t have to.

But he made sure Daniel understood exactly who was in control.

Elias reaches me, his fingers gentle as he slices the zip ties with a knife he must’ve pulled without me seeing.

He cups the side of my face like I’m something fragile, something precious.

“Not you,” he whispers.

Never cold.

Not with me.

“You don’t say goodbye to me.”

My throat cracks.

“I thought—”

“I know.” He leans closer. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Behind him, soldiers arrest Daniel, disarm his men, secure the entire building with terrifying efficiency.

But all I can see is him.

All I can feel is him.

“I love you too,” he says quietly, almost like a confession he’s been holding for years.

I don’t even think — my body moves like it remembers him better than I remember myself.

I throw my arms around him, burying my face against his chest, clutching his vest like I’m afraid he’ll disappear if I loosen even a finger.

He catches me instantly, like he always does.

Strong arms locking around my waist, pulling me tight, grounding me when my whole world is still shaking.

I can’t breathe.

Or maybe I’m breathing too much.

I don’t know.

“Elias,” I whisper against him, voice cracking, “I thought— God, I thought you were going to die. I thought I got you killed. I thought—”

He presses his forehead to mine, inhaling like he’s trying to calm the storm inside him.

“You didn’t,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

I tilt my head up, my hands flying to his face — cheeks, jaw, everything. I need the reassurance of skin, of warmth, of him.

And then I kiss him.

It’s messy.

Desperate.

A crash more than a kiss.

His hand grips the back of my neck, the other tightening around my waist as his mouth meets mine with the same intensity he had when he walked into the warehouse — unstoppable, consuming, terrifyingly sure.

Everything I thought spills out in broken breaths between kisses.

“I thought you were a monster—”

“I know.”

“I thought everything was a lie—”

“I know.”

“But you— you came for me.”

He pulls back, just enough to look into my eyes.

I’ve never seen him this raw.

“Nora,” he whispers, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth, “I would come for you anywhere. Every time.”

That nearly breaks me again.

I swallow hard, blinking fast.

Then I hold his face between both my hands, forcing him to look at me.

“Okay,” I breathe, “but you— you still owe me an explanation about your office.”

His lips twitch into the smallest smile.

A tired, soft, guilty one.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I’ll tell you everything you want. No more hiding. I promise.”

Before I can respond, he straightens slightly, glancing over my shoulder.

“But first,” he says, “someone here wants to see you.”

I turn—

And immediately get tackled.

“NORAAAAAA!”

“Elena—!” I gasp as she squeezes the air out of me. Cole joins from the other side, wrapping me in a chaotic sandwich hug.

I laugh — actually laugh — for the first time in hours.

God, it feels unreal.

“You two—” I breathe, “you were in this?”

Elena pulls back first, eyes shining — and then she glances at Elias and fans herself dramatically.

“Girl,” she whispers loudly, “your general? Hot. As. Hell.”

I choke on my own breath.

Cole nods sagely. “I didn’t want to say it, but… yeah. He’s exactly your type. ‘Brooding war god with murder shoulders.’ We’ve always known.”

“Elena— Cole— shut up,” I hiss, face burning.

But they’re on a mission.

“We helped him,” Elena says proudly. “He came to us desperate, like full hero mode desperate—”

“Like, ready to declare a national emergency desperate,” Cole adds.

I blink. “He— what?”

Cole elbows Elias lightly. “Man was moving heaven, earth, army bases, three federal databases and probably a satellite or two.”

Elena leans closer to me, stage-whispering, “Honestly? The whole ‘man in love’ energy? Kinda sexy. Like, irresponsibly sexy.”

“Elena!”

She shrugs. “I’m calling it like I see it.”

Elias exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose, probably regretting ever contacting them.

My heart feels too warm to fit inside me.

I look back at him — and something in my chest just gives.

Completely.

Before I think twice, I walk right past Cole and Elena, grab Elias by the vest, and kiss him again.

Harder this time.

In front of everyone.

He stiffens for a heartbeat — surprised — then sinks into it, hands settling on my waist like he was made to hold me.

Someone behind us whistles.

Someone else mutters “finally.”

But none of it matters.

It’s him.

It’s always him.

When I finally pull back, breathless, Elias presses his forehead to mine again.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he whispers.

“I promise.”

And that’s where the world stops — warm, safe, held — right before everything is about to change.

Chapter 29

POV: Nora

They let the paramedics check me, but everything feels like static.

I keep nodding, answering their questions, but my eyes stay glued to the man leaning against the wall—Elias, arms crossed, jaw clenched, watching me like he’s terrified I’ll flicker out of existence.

When they clear me, he exhales the quietest breath, then steps toward me.

“Come with me,” he says softly.

And I do.

He takes me not to his house but to Headquarters—straight into a secure glass-walled conference room with a massive board covered in red strings, maps, names, files… hundreds of details I don’t understand yet.

He closes the door behind us.

For a moment, he just stands there.

Tall.

Still.

Tense.

Then he drags both hands over his face like he doesn’t know where to start.

“Elias,” I whisper. “Please… just tell me.”

He looks at me with a kind of rawness I’ve never seen on him.

A man stripped of armor.

And then he begins.

“It started a year ago.”

His voice is low, steady—but I can feel the weight under it.

“You remember the profile Daniel asked you to build?”

I nod, stomach tightening. “Yes.”

His eyes flick to the board.

“That profile wasn’t for a killer or a serial killer,” he says. “It was for a contract organization. A private execution ring. They kill for money, for political cleanups, for black budget operations. But to avoid detection, they stage each kill as if it came from the same fantasy—leaving notes, ritual staging, fake overlapping patterns. But they change it time to time to look like different killers.”

I stare.

My throat goes dry.

He continues.

“They used to have trouble staying hidden. Until they found someone perfect to help them. Someone who knew how profilers think. Someone trained by the FBI to see connections.”

Daniel.

The name sticks in my throat like a stone.

Elias nods when he sees it hit me.

“They recruited him,” he says. “Long before you ever suspected anything. Long before he asked you for that profile.”

My heart cracks open.

I grip the edge of the table to stay upright.

“But… he died,” I whisper. “I saw—”

“You saw what they wanted you to see.”

His voice goes harder now, controlled steel.

“They faked his death because it was the easiest way to make him disappear. No questions. No accountability.”

I shake my head slowly, in disbelief.

“But the body—Daniel’s parent—”

He cuts me gently but firmly:

“His parents believed it like everyone else. The body you saw wasn’t him—it was a planted corpse, unrecognizable enough after the staged mutilation to pass as him.”

My vision blurs.

“And you,” he says, softer this time, “you had no way of knowing. You weren’t stupid, Nora. You were grieving.”

I close my eyes, but the tears fall anyway.

He lets me cry.

He doesn’t touch me.

Just waits—for me to breathe again.

“Now… why you got dragged into it.”

“When I recognized you at the hotel,” he says quietly, “I panicked.”

I look up at him.

“I didn’t realize it was you the night we met,” he adds. “But in the morning—when you were sleeping on my chest—I finally saw your face clearly. Ava’s friend. The girl from my street. The one who used to walk her home from school when I worked late shifts.”

My heart flips painfully.

“I knew the rules,” he continues. “‘No names, no stories, no strings.’ So I did what I thought was right. I planned to leave. Let you go. Pretend the night never happened.”

“But you didn’t,” I whisper.

“No,” he admits, dark eyes softening. “I couldn’t.”

He glances at the board again.

“When I searched your name… I found the red flag in the CIA records. A potential ‘unfinished case.’ A suspected fake death. Daniel’s death.”

Everything inside me freezes.

“I knew that made you a target,” he says. “Because if he was alive… he would come for you first.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

My voice breaks on it.

He closes his eyes like he expected that part to hurt the most.

“I didn’t want to destroy your grief with something I couldn’t prove,” he says quietly. “I didn’t want to tell you your ex-boyfriend might be alive if there was even a chance the intel was wrong.”

He swallows.

“And selfishly… I didn’t want to scare you away. Or make you look at me with hate.”

My heart twists at the honesty in that.

“The murders.”

He points to the photos on the board.

“The victims weren’t random. They weren’t the work of one man. They were executions carried out by a contracted military operative—someone highly trained—someone from a classified division I once commanded years ago.”

I blink at him. “You… commanded the division?”

He nods.

“It was top-secret. CIA-level. Only a handful of us ever had access. That’s why you couldn’t find patterns—because you didn’t know the origin of the operatives, you didn’t know the division existed.”

I step closer to the board, seeing everything with new eyes.

“So the killer was the same as the ‘old guy’ from the conspiracy blog,” I murmur.

“Yes,” Elias says. “That man was killed by the same assassin your FBI team thought was a serial killer.”

My chest tightens.

“And that’s why you called me to ‘profile the killer,’” I whisper, understanding clicking painfully into place. “It wasn’t a test. It wasn’t academic. You needed my help to find which one of your former soldiers was doing this.”

“Yes,” he says. “You were the only one I trusted to see it.”

My breath stutters.

“And Daniel…” I whisper.

“…he was helping them hide it.”

A soft, horrified “yes” leaves Elias’ lips.

“And you schedule didn’t had te meeting in the date we met…” I said.

“It was a private security company offer, I couldn’t put in my military schedules, it felt like a betrayal,”

And the pieces falling into the right places.

“And the rest…”

His voice gentles.

“When you disappeared tonight… I knew exactly what it meant. I knew he had you.”

He steps closer to me — slow, deliberate.

“I wasn’t prepared to lose you,” he says, voice barely above a breath. “Not again. Not after all of this.”

The room feels too small for everything inside me.

“Elias…” I whisper, chest aching.

He sighs — a raw, exhausted sound — and whispers:

“I didn’t mean for any of this to touch you. Especially not me.”

The confession slices me open in the softest way possible.

“And yet,” he adds quietly, “I can’t regret it. Not one second with you.”

I inhale shakily, my heart breaking and mending in the same breath.

And that’s where this chapter ends — with truth everywhere, shattered pieces still warm, and something new forming between us.

We left the room and Elias was immediately requested.

Elias is still talking to Colonel Ramirez when another voice cuts through the hallway noise.

“General,” she says, stepping toward us. “Colonel McDawson wants a word.”

He nods once—sharp, clipped, all business. Then he dips his head toward me, voice soft in a way that has absolutely no right to exist on the same planet where he’s called monster.

“Give me one minute, sweetheart. Don’t go far.”

Sweetheart.

He doesn’t even notice he said it.

He leaves, and Major Campbell’s gaze slides to me.

She crosses her arms, leaning one shoulder against the wall. “I worked with him for seven years. Combat, counterintel, joint ops with the CIA… everything. And I’m telling you now: the man is feared for a reason.”

My stomach dips.

“I know,” I say quietly.

“You don’t,” she says—not cruelly, but with a degree of certainty that makes my spine stiffen. “People don’t get the nickname Monster in our line of work unless they earn it. General Falkner is… efficient. Cold. Controlled to the point of feeling mechanical sometimes. I’ve seen him break interrogations without touching a single person. I’ve also seen what he can do when he does touch someone.”

A shiver slips down my arms.

But not fear. Not anymore. Something heavier. Deeper.

Then she tilts her head. And for the first time, her mouth lifts into something like a quiet, stunned smile.

“But today…”

Her eyes flick to the hallway where he’s talking to the colonel.

“Today is the first time I’ve ever seen him look like a man, not a weapon.”

My breath catches.

“He must care about you,” she says simply. “A lot.”

I don’t know what to say. My throat feels too small. My heart too big. The whole world too loud.

“He’ll keep you safe,” she adds. “Even if it kills him.”

Before I can answer, Elias is already striding back toward me—sharp suit, broad shoulders, blood still drying on one sleeve, jaw tight from whatever conversation he just had. But the second his eyes land on me, everything inside him softens.

Everything Major Campbell just said suddenly feels terrifyingly, beautifully real.

“Let’s go home,” he murmurs.

Home.

God.

Elias keeps his hand on the small of my back the entire walk out, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go. Not gentle — possessive. Claiming. His fingers press right below my spine, guiding me; reminding me who pulled me out of that hell.

We get into his car. He doesn’t speak.

He just drives.

Jaw tight. One hand gripping the wheel. The other resting on my thigh like he needs the anchor. Like he needs to feel I’m real.

The city blurs by under the streetlights, and something thick sits between us — adrenaline, relief, want. All mixed together.

Finally, I break the silence.

“You really scared him back there,” I murmur.

His thumb slides, barely, against my skin. “I meant to.”

There’s something feral in his voice. Something that sends heat straight through my stomach.

A moment passes. Then his eyes flick toward me, dark and unreadable.

“You said you loved me.”

My breath catches. “I was about to die.”

“And that makes it more true,” he says, gaze back on the road. “You said it first.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh my God—”

“I’m not letting that go, sweetheart.”

The way he says it — low, satisfied, claiming — forces a shiver up my spine.

I gather myself. “You came to rescue me. If that’s not an ‘I love you,’ I don’t know what is.”

He huffs, almost laughing, but darker. “Coming for you is not love, Nora. It’s instinct.”

I swallow.

Yeah.

That’s exactly what scares me.

And exactly what I want.

His hand tightens on my thigh for a second. “And instinct hits deeper than love.”

My breath is gone. Completely gone.

He parks at his house — no hesitation, no pause — and the second the engine cuts, he turns to me fully.

“You’re not leaving my sight again.”

I barely get a word out before he’s out of the car, opening my door, pulling me up by the waist and walking me toward the house like he owns the air around me.

Inside, the moment the door shuts, he pins me against it — not harsh, but determined, powerful, a man who’s been holding himself together for hours and refuses to wait a second more.

His forehead touches mine, breath harsh, like he’s still smelling the danger on me.

“You almost died today,” he murmurs.

“So did you.”

He gives a low, humorless laugh. “I had backup. You didn’t.”

I blink. “You… had backup?”

“Of course I did.” His tone darkens. “I’m obsessed, Nora. Not stupid.”

My knees nearly give out.

He tilts my chin up with two fingers. “You don’t get to scare me like that again.”

I bite my bottom lip. “Or what?”

His breath hitches, and the shift in his eyes is instant — heat, hunger, a command building behind them.

“Or I’ll make sure you can’t walk tomorrow.”

A broken sound leaves me, and his jaw clenches like he felt it shoot straight through him.

“Bedroom,” he orders.

Not loud.

Not rough.

Just… inevitable.

I go.

He closes the door behind us and the tension explodes.

His mouth crashes onto mine — not tender. Not delicate. Starving.

He lifts me effortlessly, throwing me onto the bed like he’s been replaying this moment in his head all day. I crawl back instinctively, but he catches my ankle and drags me toward him with a low, dangerous growl.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, voice dark velvet, “what seeing you tied up in that place did to me.”

“Then show me,” I breathe.

“Oh, I plan to.”

He undressed me with warm and care.

He kisses down my thigh — slow, savoring, punishing me with the pleasure. His hands spread my legs open like he’s claiming territory.

When his mouth finally touches me, it’s devastating.

Not rushed.

Not frenzied.

Slow.

Torturously slow.

He licks me like he’s learning me all over again, tasting every inch, swallowing every sound, building pressure until my stomach is tight and trembling. His grip on my hips is firm, keeping me exactly where he wants me.

I’m gasping — begging — but he doesn’t rush.

He feasts.

He takes his time.

He owns every second.

When I arch up too sharply, he pins my hips harder. “Easy. I’m not done with you.”

“Elias—please—”

He hums against me, and the vibration nearly breaks me.

“You’re going to come on my tongue,” he says, licking me slow and deep, “for making me think I lost you.”

I choke on a sob of pleasure.

“And then,” he continues, voice dark and calm, “I’m going to fuck you slow. Because I need to feel you breathe for me.”

The orgasm hits almost instantly after that — a sharp, helpless release that rips a cry from me as I clamp around nothing, shaking apart.

He doesn’t stop.

He keeps licking me through it — slower, softer — until my whole body melts into the sheets.

He moves up my body, kissing a path to my mouth, his lips slick with me. When he kisses me, it’s filthy and intimate and makes me moan into him.

Then he’s over me, lining himself up, looking into my eyes like he’s memorizing my soul.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs.

Not a question.

A sentence.

A truth.

And when he slides into me — slow, deep, deliberate — I break all over again.

Chapter 30

POV: Nora

He sinks into me in one long, steady push, and my breath is gone — absolutely stolen.

He holds himself there, buried to the hilt, his forehead dropping to mine as if he’s trying to breathe through the feeling.

“Fuck…” he whispers, voice shaking with restraint. “I almost lost this.”

I slide my hands up his back, fingers digging into muscle. “You didn’t.”

His eyes lock on mine — dark, consuming, hungry — and something in him loosens, like the fear finally lets go and leaves nothing but want behind.

He starts to move.

Slow.

Deep.

Measured.

Each thrust is deliberate, like he wants me to feel every inch, feel him claiming me all over again. My body arches into him instinctively, and he catches my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand.

“Look at me,” he commands.

I do — and it ruins me.

There’s no mask, no cold general, no monster the military whispers about.

Just a man undone.

By me.

By almost losing me.

By having me underneath him again.

“You said you loved me,” he murmurs, rolling his hips so deep I gasp. “Say it again.”

I pant against his mouth. “You go first.”

His teeth graze my lower lip, and he lets out a low, breathless sound — half laugh, half growl.

“You teasing me right now?”

“Maybe.”

He thrusts deeper, slow and purposeful, forcing a moan out of me I can’t swallow. His grip on my wrists tightens just enough to make my stomach flip.

“You’re playing with the wrong man, sweetheart.”

“Or the right one.”

His breath catches — and he kisses me, hard, desperate but slow, tongues sliding, breaths mixing. He breaks the kiss just barely, lips brushing mine.

“I love you.”

The words are a murmur, a vow, a surrender.

“I tried not to. I tried to stay away. But you crawled under my skin and stayed there.”

A shiver tears through me so violently he feels it.

I pull at my wrists. “Let me touch you.”

He releases me instantly — like giving in to me is reflex — and I cup his face, dragging him down into another kiss. This one raw, grateful, full of all the fear that almost swallowed us both.

“I love you,” I whisper against his lips. “I meant it. I still mean it.”

His breath leaves him in a sharp exhale — like he’s the one falling apart now.

And then something shifts.

The restraint fractures.

He grabs my thigh, pushes my knee higher, and thrusts into me deeper, slower, grinding against every aching spot inside me. My mouth drops open in a helpless cry.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing the sound from me. “Feel me. Take me.”

His hand slides down my side, spreading across my hip possessively before guiding my movement against him, making me ride the rhythm he sets.

Pleasure coils tight — unbearably tight — and he feels it, because his lips brush my ear.

“Come for me again.”

“Elias—” I gasp, already tipping.

“Come. I need to feel it.”

His thumb slides between us, slow circles, perfect pressure — and heat snaps through me so fast my vision blurs. My back arches off the bed as I fall apart under him, the orgasm tearing a cry straight from my throat.

He groans — deep, guttural — because he feels me clench hard around him, pulsing with every wave.

“God, Nora…”

He doesn’t speed up.

He doesn’t lose control.

He savors it — every tremble, every shiver, every squeeze of my body around him.

And then he lowers himself fully over me, chest to chest, his mouth at my jaw as he keeps moving, dragging pleasure through me until my legs shake around him.

“You’re not sleeping apart from me again,” he murmurs against my throat, thrusting slow and deep. “Not after today. Not after hearing you scream my name in fear.”

I whimper — and the sound nearly undoes him.

His voice drops to a growled whisper.

“I’m going to come inside you.”

My breath stutters. “Yes—”

He kisses me hard enough to steal the word from my tongue, hips pressing deeper, grinding into the sweetest spot while my nails dig into his back.

And with one last low groan — my name breaking apart in his mouth — he comes, spilling into me, his body shuddering against mine.

He stays there, buried deep, breathing hard against my cheek, his hand sliding into my hair and holding me gently. Too gently for a man they call a monster.

“Don’t scare me again,” he whispers, voice rough. “Please.”

I kiss his jaw — slow, soft — the only answer he needs.

We lie there tangled, still joined, his weight warm and grounding over me.

Alive.

Safe.

Together.

“Elias?” I whisper.

“Hm.”

“You said it first in the sex.”

He lifts his head just enough for me to see the dangerous smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Keep teasing me…”

He slides his hips just a little, still inside me, making my breath catch.

“…and I’ll prove you wrong again.”

We slept tangled together like the most natural thing in ghe world.

Elias is already awake when I stir.

He’s lying on his back, one arm folded behind his head, watching me with that unreadable, dark look that makes my stomach flip. The sheets are low on his hips, exposing the hard lines of his chest, the shadows between his muscles, the quiet power coiled under his stillness.

“You’re staring,” I mumble, voice sleep-rough.

“You’re breathing,” he says, like that explains everything.

Then, quieter, “I needed to see it.”

It hits me—what almost happened yesterday—and my chest tightens.

Before I can say anything, he reaches out, sliding his hand over my waist, guiding me gently but firmly on top of him.

“Come here.”

His voice is soft.

His grip is not.

I swing one leg over his hips, settling above him, his hands steadying me by my thighs like he’s afraid I’ll slip away again.

He looks up at me like this is the sight he almost didn’t get to see again.

It makes something deep inside me tremble.

“Elias…” I whisper.

He brushes my hair back, fingers lingering on my cheek. “You’re mine, Nora. And I’m going to remind both of us.”

God.

I lean down to kiss him, intending it to be soft—but he meets me with heat, with restrained hunger, with a low growl against my lips that makes my whole body pulse.

When I shift slightly above him, he shudders.

“Sweetheart,” he warns, voice already raw. “If you do that again, I won’t let you take it slow.”

“Maybe I don’t want slow.”

His hands grip my hips hard enough to make me gasp.

“You’re playing with a man who has no control where you’re concerned,” he murmurs. “Be sure.”

I am.

Without looking away, I reach between us and guide him against me.

His breath stops.

Mine does too.

And then I sink onto him—slow, stretching around him inch by inch, pleasure blooming through me so sharply it steals my voice.

“Jesus…” he exhales, head tipping back, jaw tight.

The control in his hands trembles.

His fingers dig into my hips like he’s fighting not to force his own pace.

“Look at me,” he orders, voice hoarse.

I drag my gaze down to meet his, and the intensity there nearly breaks me open.

“That’s it,” he says quietly. “Take me… all of me.”

I move.

He watches.

Every inch.

Riding him slow is torture—sweet, perfect torture—and Elias looks like it’s unraveling him. His hands guide my rhythm, but he lets me stay in control, like giving me this is its own kind of surrender.

His gaze never leaves my face.

“You’re going to kill me,” he whispers, thrusting up once, hard, forcing a cry out of me. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

I grip his shoulders, riding harder now, taking what I want, what I need, feeling him slide deeper with every movement. His breath hitches, his restraint starts to crack, and he groans—a deep, broken sound like he’s losing the war with himself.

I lean forward, lips brushing his ear.

“I said I love you first.”

He groans again, like the words hit something raw.

“And?” he mutters.

“And now you’re under me,” I whisper, rolling my hips, making him curse. “Feels like you got ruined first.”

His hands snap to my waist.

His control snaps with them.

He thrusts up into me—once, sharp, claiming—making me gasp, making me clutch at him so hard my nails leave marks.

“You want me to say it again?” he growls.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“I love you.”

A deep thrust.

“I fucking love you.”

Another.

“And I’m going to make you say it back while you come.”

Heat floods me in a violent rush.

I ride him faster, harder, his hands locking me in place, our bodies slamming together in perfect rhythm. Each breath, each sound, each desperate movement stacks higher and higher until I’m right there, right on the edge—

“Nora,” he rasps, voice breaking. “I feel you—don’t stop—”

I can’t.

I don’t.

The orgasm tears through me, sharp and consuming, pulling a cry from my throat as I collapse into him. He follows instantly, thrusting deep, holding me tightly while he spills into me with a raw, guttural sound.

When it’s over, my cheek is against his chest, our breaths tangled, my legs still shaking from the intensity.

He strokes down my spine once, slowly.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs.

Not a question.

Not a request.

A truth.

I lift my head and kiss him softly.

“And you’re mine.”

His answering smile is sinful.

And tender.

“Good,” he whispers. “Because I’m not letting you go again.”

I drag myself out of bed—sore, satisfied, and a little dizzy. My legs feel like jelly in that smug, delicious way. I hear him chuckle behind me.

“Don’t laugh,” I warn, pointing a finger at him while I walk toward the bathroom. “This is your fault.”

“Yes,” he says simply. “Good thing I’m not sorry.”

I roll my eyes so hard I almost strain something.

The shower is quick at first because I’m starving, but then the water hits my shoulders and the steam curls thick around me and I hear footsteps—

And then arms.

Elias steps in behind me like he owns the place. Which… he does. But still.

“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter, leaning against his chest as he wraps his arms around me, his hands sliding over every inch of me like he’s cataloging, checking, needing.

“You disappeared for three minutes,” he says into my neck. “That’s exactly three minutes too long.”

His palms curve down my waist, my hips, my thighs… slow, worshipping, still a little desperate.

I melt backward into him.

Not sex this time — just touch. Warm, savoring, steady. His lips press a long kiss to my shoulder, my spine, the side of my throat.

“You alive?” he murmurs.

“Very.”

“Good. I’m not done with you.”

A shiver shoots through me.

We stay under the water until my fingers wrinkle. When we finally step out, he wraps me in a towel so big it could be a blanket, then starts drying my hair with another towel like he’s claiming some boyfriend rights he absolutely did not ask for permission for.

And honestly? I let him.

“Food?” he asks, already heading to his phone.

“Yes,” I croak. “Yes please.”

He orders something fast, low-voiced, efficient, probably half the menu, because obviously subtlety is not a personality trait he possesses.

When I go to his closet, I grab the first shirt my hand touches — plain black, soft cotton, probably costs more than my entire wardrobe — and slip it on.

It hits mid-thigh.

It smells like him.

It’s ridiculous how good it feels.

When I step back into the room, Elias is shirtless, toweling his hair, looking at me like I just committed a federal crime of seduction.

“That’s mine,” he says.

“Mm-hm.”

“You’re stealing it.”

“Absolutely.”

He steps closer, eyes dropping to the hem barely covering me. “Nora.”

“Yes?”

He exhales like he’s barely holding himself together. “You can’t wear that around the house unless you want to start another round.”

My stomach flips in the best possible way.

“Behave,” I tease, kissing his cheek as I pass him.

“I behave for no one.”

He smacks my ass lightly as I walk away.

“Least of all you.”

I gasp, scandalized. “Elias!”

He grins. “You love it.”

I do.

I really, really do.

We’re still laughing when a knock hits the door.

“Finally,” I say, padding barefoot toward it. “Food.”

Elias is behind me but still in the hallway, drying his hair with the towel slung low on his hips. “Don’t open without checking the camera.”

“I can handle a bag of croissants, General.”

“Nora—”

I roll my eyes and open the door.

Not food.

Not even close.

Ava stands there.

Ava, his daughter.

My childhood friend.

The girl who used to braid my hair at sleepovers.

The one whose father I am now very — very — nakedly entangled with.

Her eyes widen. Her jaw drops. She looks at me… then down at the massive shirt I’m wearing… then past my shoulder—

And sees Elias.

Half-dressed.

Wet hair.

Towel around his waist.

Still catching his breath.

Her mouth falls open in slow motion horror.

“Oh my God,” she whispers. “Nora…? What—what the hell—what—Dad?!”

I swear the world tilts.

Elias freezes behind me.

I freeze in the doorway.

Ava blinks.

Twice.

Then—

“You’re—”

Her voice cracks.

“YOU TWO—?!”

“Ava—” I choke out, stepping forward, hands raised.