God.
This is exactly how it starts, isn't it?
Not with grand gestures. Not with declarations. But with small, terrifying moments where someone looks at you like you matter. Like you've always mattered. And I hate how much I want that. Because Pete… a bitter thought cuts through everything. Pete had years. Years. Six of them. As much as I try, I can't remember a single moment where he looked at me like this. Where he noticed the small things. The meaningless things that somehow mean everything. The way I take my coffee. The side I sleep on. The sound I make before I fall asleep.
My chest tightens. Maybe it's coincidence. Maybe Gabe just… pays attention. But even as I think it, I know. Pete wouldn't have been able to list half of that. Not after six years. Not after sharing a bed, a life, a routine. Because Pete never looked at me like I was something to study. Something to learn. Pete never wanted to know me; he wanted to change me.
And Gabe?—
Gabe looks at me like I'm a puzzle he wants to take his time solving. Like every piece matters. And it does something to me. Something I don't know how to control.
"It's not fair," I whisper before I can stop myself.
His brows pull together slightly. "What isn't?"
I let out a quiet, shaky breath, my gaze dropping for just a second before I force it back to him. "You."
There's a beat of silence.
"Me?" he repeats.
I nod, barely. "You don't even try, and you still—" I cut myself off, pressing my lips together.
Still what? Still make me feel things I shouldn't? Still make me question everything? Still make my body betray me every time you get too close?
I shake my head again, frustrated now. "It's just… a lot."
His expression softens, but not in a way that makes me feel small. In a way that makes me feel… seen. "Yeah," he says quietly. "It is."
He doesn't look sorry about it, though. He takes a small step closer, not touching me, but close enough that I feel him anyway. The heat. The awareness.
"You can tell me to stop," he adds.
My heart begins to beat rapidly, and the butterflies in my stomach have decided to dance a Macarena. It takes a lot of willpower, but I finally force the words out. "Please stop."
Immediately, he steps back. Regret flickers in his eyes, but he respects my words. He has no idea how that affects me, coming from a man like him. A man so used to taking what he wants.
I let out a nervous laugh, trying to recapture the mood from before I decided to do something stupid like flirt with him. I should have known that my amateur moves would pale compared to those of an experienced man like him. The problem is, I always liked playing with fire. Still do, obviously. And equally obviously, I haven't learned when to stop before getting really burned. I decide to give him a small secret, just to make the last few seconds disappear.
"I blackmailed Flea," I admit.
An amused eyebrow arches up, in sync with the corner of his lip, making him so fucking dangerous to my lower parts, I can feel wetness gathering. "Flea?"
I nod. "Razor's second in command, the man who truly ran the Black Canyon Reapers. I told him that I knew what he was doing and that one word from me to Razor would put an end to him. I told him that it was in his best interest for me to vanish and for Razor not to come looking after me."
I can't lie, the astounded look in his eyes is like balm on burned skin. Like warm oil running down my back. His hand reaches forward and gently, ever so gently, cups my cheek. The gesture is so intimate, so soft, my breath stops mid-inhale. The contact of his palm on my skin is electrifying; it misfires every single nerve in my body, and my pussy clenches with an ache that is hard to describe.
"You are the most amazing woman I've ever met."
The next morning…
You are the most amazing woman I've ever met.His words run on repeat, royalty-free, in my head. He made me sound asif I had single-handedly disassembled the entire MC instead of a simple act of blackmail. He made me sound… like a heroine. And shit. In that moment, I felt like one too.
We stood on that balcony almost all night. Long enough for him to learn more of my secrets. He listened to my stories with such intensity you'd think I'd given him the nuclear codes. We talked and talked. It was easy.
Too easy. Because the entire night, I didn't think about Pete, not once. Guilt comes roaring back, heavy and hot, settling in my stomach. Despite the fact that I had already emotionally separated from him, he was still my husband. He was still a man I deeply cared about, and he deserved a lot better than a wife like me who can just… tune him out that easily.
Before I can get into a deep state of self-loathing or let the grief take root, there is a knock on the door, and Jenna pops in. "Am I disturbing you?"
