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We hadn’t needed to.
I’d seen the look in his eyes. Whatever those alerts had said, they weren’t good. But I hadn’t asked. I hadn’t looked. Not yet.
Maybe that made me a coward. Or maybe it made me sane. Because for once, I wanted to keep the chaos outside the door. Let the danger knock without letting it in.
So I’d buried my phone in a drawer, climbed back into bed, and wrapped my limbs around the most dangerous man I’d ever known like he was a comfort blanket. A broken, battle-scarred comfort blanket with a cock that ruined me.
Now, with morning spilling through the curtains and the scent of sex still clinging to my skin, I shifted carefully, not ready to break the spell. My body ached, delicious and sore, marked in places only I knew to look. My throat was raw from moaning,my thighs trembled from overuse, and my heart … well, that traitorous bitch had started whispering things I wasn’t ready to hear.
Elias stirred beneath me, his arm tightening around my waist, eyes still closed.
“You’re awake,” I murmured.
“Been,” he rasped, voice wrecked from sleep and everything we’d done before it.
I traced a line across his chest, slow and lazy. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“Didn’t want to break it.”
I looked up. “Break what?”
“This.” His fingers brushed my hip. “Whatever this was.”
My throat tightened. I wasn’t ready to define it either. Not when it still felt so fragile and fucked up and new. So instead, I kissed the underside of his jaw, right where his pulse thudded. “Then don’t.”
He didn’t answer. Just held me a little tighter, a little longer.
But eventually, reality came knocking. As it always did.
He shifted, lifting onto one elbow. “Vivi …”
“No.” I sat up, hair tumbling down my back. “Let me guess. The sky is falling. The feds are on their way. The ballet’s canceled. There’s a vengeful hacker in the pantry.”
He didn’t smile. Not even a twitch.
So I did it for him—rolled my eyes, grabbed the sheets, and leaned back on my elbows. “Fine. Say it.”
He watched me carefully, like he was trying to assess how much I could take before cracking. “You’ve been suspended from the Charleston Crescent Ballet.”
I nodded once. “Figured.”
“They’re claiming it’s for ‘behavior unbecoming of a principal dancer.’” His voice was calm, measured. “It’s the bridge stunt. The media got hold of it. You’re everywhere.”
I stared at the ceiling, the fan spinning slow above me like it had all the time in the world. “So, I’m officially a liability now.”
“You’re a headline,” he said. “Which is worse.”
The bed was quiet for a long beat. The kind of silence that demanded truth.
“I knew it was coming,” I said softly. “You don’t climb suspension bridges and expect the board of directors to send you flowers.”
Elias sat up beside me, elbows on his knees. “You did it for me.”
“No.” I turned to him. “I did it for me. For that part of me that’s always been waiting to fall. You just happened to be there to catch me.”
His jaw ticked. “They’ll come after your reputation. Twist it. Make you look unstable.”
“They won’t have to twist much,” I said, a laugh catching in my throat. “I’ve always been one pirouette away from a breakdown.”