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It was. No one is going to believe a city girl, who is also a popular and well-respected author, murdered Xavier over Z. They would look stupid if they tried to blame me still. Plus, everyone knows I’m a victim of sex trafficking. They could try to spin it that I sought revenge, but then they’d have to deal with the added stress of Zade leading an absolute riot over a survivor being wrongfully convicted. Not to mention that Zade would quite literally never let them just cart me away to jail. He’d put me into hiding and take the blame for that, too. And once again, the people would be rooting for Zade over the government, which is the last thing Claire wants.

Shit. Zade really did fuck up any plans Claire might’ve had, and all to protect me.

“Oh!” Sibby shouts, causing me to jump again. “You should write a book about it. Your readers would swoon over the big, scary guy coming to your rescue and then murdering your abuser.”

She’s not wrong. Even I’m swooning.

But I’ve been too mentally drained to write. I scrounge up the energy to post little updates every so often before dipping out again, too exhausted to even read the comments. My personal assistant has been intercepting all messages and questions until I'm ready to get back into my career again. I don’t think I’ll be able to truly focus on writing until Claire is dead.

“Did it bother you that he took the credit?” Sibby asks, misinterpreting my silence.

I laugh. “I don’t care about the glory.”

“Then why are you so tense?”

Because my blood has turned into liquid lava. God help me if Sibby is in the vicinity when I see Zade because I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself from tackling him, and lord knows the weird little doll wouldn’t willingly leave the room.

A plethora of emotions are running rampant in my body, and at the very forefront of it all is my need to thank him. And there are so many fucking ways I want to thank him.

Seeing him on screen, with his deep voice and black mask, putting himself under fire to protect me—all I could think about was how much I love him. And how badly I need to show him that. How badly I need to tell him that.

Zade will suffer little to no consequences for killing Xavier, at least not from the public. He doesn’t need the support of the people to keep doing what he’s doing. It’s just something Z has always had regardless. And whether people choose to shift their alliances because he took a predator off the streets, it won’t matter.

In the grand scheme of sacrifices Zade has made for me, it wasn’t really much of one. Yet, it means the world to me anyway.

What we’re doing is so much bigger than writing books, but it still would’ve devastated me to lose a career I love so much. It would’ve felt like losing yet another piece of myself, and I already have so little to spare.

“Oh…” Sibby says softly, realization dawning. “You want to fuck him. I understand now.”

My cheeks burn, but I don’t deny it. Because she’s right. My thighs are clenched tight, and that familiar heady feeling is swirling deep in my stomach.

I won’t lie and say that watching him just now didn’t turn me on. My blood is on fire, and I’m nearly vibrating with desire. It was… well, it was fucking hot. What else can I say?

Sibby groans, sitting up with a pouty look. “Why do you guys get to have loud sex, and I can’t?”

I turn to her, eyes wide and an expression that says, are you shitting me right now?

“Because you try to do it in front of everyone, Sibby.”

She slams her back into the couch with a huff, shoving a sorrowful handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Not my fault you guys are boring.”

I roll my eyes. Zade and I are many things, but boring is not one of them.

Chapter 37

The Diamond

I’m a ball of nervous energy by the time Zade walks through my bedroom door. Between the footsteps trekking back and forth down the hallway, and my anticipation to see Zade, I haven’t been able to sleep.

It’s well after midnight now, and I’ve been lying in bed in nothing but a black nightie, gearing myself up for his arrival.

Rolling over, I watch him gently shut the door and begin to shuffle towards the bathroom, sulfur, blood, and smoke permeating the air. My balcony doors are cracked open, allowing in the cool breeze and webs of moonlight.

I sit up and flip on the sconces hanging above my bed, feeling like one of those women sitting in a pitch-black room, clicking on a single lamp when their cheating husband sneaks through the door.

The thought of Zade cheating is laughable, though. That will always be one thing I’d never have to concern myself with.

He pauses, tipping his chin over his shoulder at me.