Page 76

His mouth quirks to the side before he leans down and kisses me, his mouth bruising and searching for my surrender, which I give willingly. I’m lost completely.

***

A warm glow emanates from the bedside lamps, casting Rowan’s bedroom in soft gold. Through the black-framed sliding doors that lead out to his garden, the sky is still dark, but it’s late. My body feels heavy yet satisfied, every nerve humming with the lingering echoes of his touch.

Rowan’s arm is draped over my waist, his hair an unruly mess against the pillow, and his eyes glassy with the haze of sleep. He looks younger like this, almost vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

His brows knit as he shifts under me, pulling me closer. “For what?”

“For everything,” I say, my voice breaking on the word. “I know I said I wouldn’t apologise, but I was wrong. I didn’t grow up in the best environment, and Halle and I always promised each other we’d get out. The OCU was my lifeline, my one chance to make something of myself. I couldn’t afford to fail. Then I met you, and you were the first thing I wanted more than that life I’d pictured for myself. But I knew I couldn’t have you. Not fully. I’ve told myself I made the right decision every day, but now … I’m not so sure.”

Rowan’s lips curve into a soft smile, a rare gentleness in his expression that tightens something in my chest. He cups the back of my neck, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin.

“It was the right decision,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I hated you for it, but you didn’t have a choice. I didn’t give you one.” He pauses. “For the longest time, I thought you only wanted to make a name for yourself, and I never bothered to ask why. So, I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for not being braver to ask and to tell you the truth.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “A lot of this could have been avoided if we were honest sooner.”

“I wasn’t honest with myself, much less you. I don’t think I realised the depth of my feelings until I started stalking your every move again.”

I grin. “You’ll be happy to know I got a home security system, by the way.”

“I can probably bypass it,” he says easily.

I shake my head, lying back on his chest. His heartbeat is steady against my ear. For a while, we lie in silence, letting the confessions soak in. I wish I could bask in the afterglow, but a thread of apprehension lingers in the back of my mind.

“Tell me about Canning and Halle,” Rowan says suddenly. His voice is casual, but when I look up at him, his eyes are unreadable.

I hesitate. When I was undercover, I’d kept my past vague, letting only small truths slip through the cracks. But now, lying in his arms, the compulsion to tell him everything outweighs my caution. It feels dangerous to trust someone like this—to trust anyone—but with Rowan, I want to try.

I want us to be honest.

“I never met my parents,” I begin quietly. “No one wanted to adopt a troubled boy with an unverifiable past, so I was passed from foster home to foster home until I was eleven. That’s when I ended up in the same home as Halle.”

I pause, the memories rising unbidden, sharp as broken glass. “It wasn’t a good place. They were in it for the welfare checks. They didn’t care that some of the kids were already running for the Scarlet Ravens by thirteen. Halle kept me safe. She could fight, and she never let the older kids come near me.”

Rowan doesn’t say anything, but his arm tightens around me.

“One night, Halle was out with friends, and I stayed home. One of the boys—Felix—came into my room. He was older, bigger, and I couldn’t fight him off. I thought he was going to—” My voice falters, but I force myself to continue. “Halle came backjust in time. She knocked him out cold. He had to be taken to the hospital because there was so much blood. Our foster parents kicked her out that same night.”

“And you went with her,” Rowan says, his voice steady.

I nod. “We had nowhere else to go. No one wanted to take us both at first, so we stayed in shelters and then finally another home. It was better there. When she turned eighteen, I left with her, and we worked in some bars. When I turned twenty, I signed up for the OCU. It seemed like my best chance to get out of Canning and the life I was living. You know the rest.”

Rowan is quiet for a long moment. Then, in a voice as casual as if he were asking about the weather, he says, “Do you want me to kill him?”

I blink at him, startled. “What?”

“Felix,” he says, his tone dark and matter of fact. “Do you want me to kill him?”

I laugh despite myself, the absurdity of the offer cutting through the heaviness in my chest. “You’re a few years too late. He died in a bar fight. Someone hit him with a bottle.”

Rowan doesn’t respond right away. His eyes search mine, as if trying to piece together the fragments of my story. Finally, he says, “What would you rather be doing?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“If you had all the money in the world,” he clarifies, “and didn’t have to be in the OCU—what would you be doing?”