Finally, the tremors subside. I take a deep breath as exhaustion and satisfaction wash over me. I turn off the water, step out of the shower, and wrap myself in a thick, fluffy towel.
I dry myself slowly, savoring the feeling of the soft fabric against my skin. I feel…renewed. Refreshed. Ready, perhaps, to face whatever the day holds, whatever Aria throws at us next.
I walk into the bedroom, the clean scent of the freshly laundered sheets filling my nostrils. I put on a bra and panties—not wanting to be caught without them in Aria’s home-slash-prison—then reach for a pair of comfortable jeans and a soft, oversized shirt. As I pull the shirt over my head, I glance toward the window.
And then I see it. A shadow. A tall, familiar silhouette.
Standing in the corner of my room.
Here.
Inside.
Here.
My heart leaps into my throat.
Landon.
He stands there, silhouetted against the fading light, his presence radiating through the room. My breath catches. He’s here. He’s back.
Oh god.
Whyis he here?
Is everyone okay?
Oh god.
He’s at my side in two long strides, his hands cupping my face, his touch so real, so warm, it brings tears to my eyes. “Ellie,” he breathes, his voice a ragged whisper.
“Landon,” I choke out, my hands flying to his wrists, holding on like he’s my only anchor to the world. “What are you doing here? Is everyone okay? Is Ryker okay? Did anyone see you? Oh god, if you were seen?—”
“Shh,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking my cheek. He’s thinner, the lines around his eyes deeper, but his gaze is as intense as ever. “Everyone is okay. Ryker’s perfectly fine—even if he is a surly psycho. No one saw me. I was careful. I had to see you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away another day, knowing you were in here.” He leans his forehead against mine, and I close my eyes, breathing him in. He smells of leather, cold night air, and the faint, clean scent of him that’s been haunting my dreams.
“Okay,” I whisper, a fragile sense of safety wrapping around me, even in this dangerous place. “Okay.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his expression darkening. “I know why she’s keeping you, Ellie. I know why Aria is so desperate to have you.” His voice drops lower, laced with a grim satisfaction. “Fischer isn’t her biological son. We found a birth certificate. Fischer is the son of your mom and a one-night stand. He has no blood ties to Aria. And—get this—Aria is Jane’ssister. Your little friends showed up at the hotel,and…fuck. It’s a lot, I know. I need to explain it all, but I can’t… It’s so fucking good to see you.”
His words hit me like a slap.
Fischer isn’t related to Aria by blood? He isn’t related tomeby blood? Jane is Aria’s sister? Does that mean she’s, like, my aunt? Oh god.
But… I don’t want to hear that. Any of that. I don’t want to think about Fischer, about Jane, about Aria and her twisted games and suffocating obsession. All I want is this. Him. This one, stolen moment. It may be selfish of me, but all I can focus on is Landon. He’s here. God, he’s here, and I missed him terribly, and it finally feels like I can breathe.
It’s always like this when one of them is near me. They become the center of my universe. It’s not as if I forget the others—how could I?—but at this moment, they don’t matter. No one does but the man I’m with.
I push all thoughts away. I’ll focus on them—and the revelations that my brain still can’t entirely process—later. But for now…
“No,” I say, shaking my head, my voice trembling. “Landon, don’t. Please, don’t talk about them. Not here. Not now.”
He looks at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. “But, Ellie, this is important. It means we know why?—”
“I don’t care about that,” I interrupt, my voice stronger than I expect as I grab the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him to understand. “I don’t care about Fischer or Aria or any of our sick family drama. I’ve had weeks of nothing but that in my head. I’ve spent every single moment in this room thinking about them, wondering what Aria wants from me.” My gaze locks with his, pleading. “You’re here now. For just a few minutes, you’re here. Please. Let’s not waste it on them. Let it be about us. Just for a minute.”
The hard, determined lines of his face soften. The urgency in his eyes melts away, replaced by a deep, aching tenderness. He sees it. He understands. He lets out a slow breath, his body relaxing.
“Okay,” he whispers, his hands moving from my face to thread through my hair. “Okay. You’re right. No them. Just us.”
