I can tell you which idea sounds easier, but my heart aches with the thought of leaving Rowan again, especially now, with his semi-heroism. The idiot stormed in here, sweaty and arrogant and half-feral, assuming I belonged in his apartment.
Has he really been moving furniture around in his apartment to make room for Waffles and me?
The thought wrecks me more than it should. I picture him alone, dragging bookshelves across hardwood, muttering curses under his breath. Clearing closet space he pretends not to careabout. Looking at empty corners and imagining where my things would go.
No one has ever made room for me before.
And I don’t know what to do with that kind of tenderness when it arrives wearing Rowan’s face.
I sigh and bury my face in my hands. My palms are warm against skin gone cold, and for a second, I just stay there, folded in on myself, hiding from the wreckage of my own thoughts.
I love Rowan King. I do. I so utterly do. The truth lands with the force of something ancient and unavoidable. It is not new love, not convenient love, or the kind built from timing and practicality. It is old-rooted love. Wild love. The kind that survives distance, anger, humiliation, and years of pretending it died.
And while I don’t appreciate him trying to force my hand by taking my dog, I can appreciate the love he hid behind his actions. Rowan has never been a man who arrives with flowers and clear declarations. He arrives with strategy. With leverage. With grand gestures disguised as irritation. He loves like a man who doesn’t trust softness to be enough.
He wants me with him.
He doesn’t care about my past; he just wants me. Wants me with all the ugly chapters included.
A knock sounds at my door, and I damn near sprint to it. My heart foolishly launches itself forward before the rest of me can catch up. “Row?—”
Rhys, in all his ire, stands at my door with a frown. His expression looks personally offended to be here. “I was told you wanted to see this.” He holds out a flash drive in his palm.
Disappointment crashes through me so quickly I almost laugh at myself. Of course, it isn’t Rowan.
That’s right, I wanted to know what doors Hale & Brooks had opened for us. I had almost forgotten. I was so wrapped up in Rowan and Waffles.
“Uh, thanks.” I take the stick and go to close the door when Rhys sticks out his hand and catches it. His reflexes are annoyingly fast.
“You know, I’ve never seen him go through such lengths for someone.” He tips his chin. “Not even for an IOU.”
There’s no sarcasm in his voice this time. Just blunt fact.
I don’t really understand what all that means, but I think I should be flattered. Or terrified. Possibly both.
Without another word, Rhys turns and leaves. He stalks down the hall like a man inconvenienced by human connection, hands in pockets and shoulders tight.
I want to ask him more, maybe drill him about Rowan. Like, do you think he really loves me, or does he think I’m the girl who got away, and it’s a challenge to finally get me back? But even I know that’s not the truth. Rowan only pursues the things he loves. Ruthlessly. Relentlessly. Sometimes stupidly. I should know, I’ve known him longer than Rhys and Deacon. I knew him before he became whatever polished, dangerous version the world sees now.
Closing the door, I go to Tiffany’s computer and plug in the drive.
At first, I think he gave me the wrong file. It’s just dinner. People are mingling, and Rowan is nowhere in sight. Then, the camera pans to the front of the room and zooms in on the podium, where a big screen hangs behind it on the wall.
And then Rowan steps up.
Even through the grainy video, the room changes when he enters it. Attention bends toward him like metal finding a magnet. He looks composed, immaculate, and dangerous in his suit. But I know him well enough to spot the signs beneath thesurface: the set jaw, the stillness that means violence is being delivered politely.
I watch in silence as Rowan lays out what he knows about Hale & Brooks. Calmly. Methodically. No wasted motion, no raised voice. He exposes every detail of their corruption.
And Rowan? Rowan never flinches.
He just stands there in the center of the fire he started, looking every bit like a man who burned down an empire for me.
* * *
This jerk.
“I changed my mind. I think I’ll just keep Waffles. He’s less stressful.”
