Page 99 of Bitter Truths

The shower felt amazing. Now I’m wearing clothes Weller somehow procured overnight—perfectly sized, as if he’d measured me in my sleep.

His meticulous attention to detail crosses into obsession, but it’s always been that way.

Sunlight spills through tall windows, warming the kitchen. I curl up on a stool at the marble island, watching Freddie move around with comfortable familiarity. He whips up scrambled eggs flecked with fresh herbs, fruit arranged in spirals of color, toast with some jam I couldn’t pronounce if I tried.

He’s always been magic in the kitchen. Memories surface of us baking together, flour dusting his nose as he taught me recipes to impress my family on the nights Mom made Winston and me cook dinner.

His hair catches the light, golden curls chaotically perfect. Each time he glances over, that familiar smile tugs at my heart.

This is what mornings might have been if we hadn’t been ripped apart, if our lives hadn’t been sabotaged.

Owen leans against the counter, arms folded across his chest. When our eyes meet, my skin prickles with the phantom weight of him pinning me to that mat. Heat lingers where his lips brushed mine, and his gaze keeps dropping to my mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as if searching for traces of me there.

Fuck.

“The meeting’s at the Grandmont.” Weller claims the stool beside me. Authority radiates from him with his perfect hair and tailored attire. His eyes track every glance between Owen and me, his mouth tightening when Owen’s attention lingers on my lips too long.

He’s definitely suspicious.

“Two days of meetings with the associates from the West Coast,” Weller continues, pulling out his phone. “We’ll be staying overnight. Owen, you have that appointment to deal with this morning.”

Owen cracks his knuckles one by one, a wild look in his eyes. “Good. I could use the stress relief.”

From the dangerous curl at the corner of his mouth, someone’s day is about to get a lot worse, and he’s not upset about being the reason.

If I didn’t already have my own plans lined up for today, I’d be tempted to beg him to let me tag along.

Tristan drops into the chair next to mine. His knee brushes mine and lingers there. My body tenses, but I don’t pull away… can’t pull away. The contact burns through my jeans like his skin’s made of fire.

“Gotta keep their business transactions tidy,” he says.

I glance at him sideways. “Do they give you breaks, at least?”

“Occasionally,” he replies, eyes glinting. “If we’re good boys.”

His gaze locks onto mine, blue eyes holding a beat too long. The elevator flashes through my mind… his body caging mine against the wall, how quickly he unraveled me without even touching me.

But there’s darkness in his expression, threading through his usual control. A challenge aimed at Owen as tension crackles between them like electricity seeking ground.

“Sounds thrilling,” I say lightly.

“It’s not,” Owen interrupts, pushing away from the counter. He steps closer, gaze locked on mine. “Which is why we’re hoping you’ll join us.”

The room goes silent. Freddie freezes mid-pour, vulnerability written across his face. Weller’s fingers halt over his phone screen. Even Tristan grows perfectly still beside me.

“Join you how?”

“At the hotel,” Freddie rushes out, words tumbling over themselves. “Nothing to do with the meetings... just us. Spending time together.”

Time together. Everything he’s not saying hangs heavy between us. We don’t have much time left.

“We could arrange it easily.” Tristan’s fingers drum against the marble. “Though I do love watching you pretend you’re not desperate to say yes, little bee.”

“Hmm.” I stare at him. “You want me to sneak into your hotel room?”

“We want you to be wherever we are,” Owen answers, his bluntness stealing my breath. “But this is what we can manage without getting you killed.”

Weller’s head snaps toward Owen at the reminder of the stakes. His jaw locks, but his eyes soften when they meet mine. “He’s right, it’s dangerous. If anyone realizes you’re with us...” His voice trails off, weighted with unspoken concerns. “But if we can do this safely... it would be worth the risk.”