Page 101 of Double Standards

Fucking smug bastard.

Ryder bursts in, eyes wide. “What the fuck happened?”

“Chester happened,” I snap.

Trigger scowls. “I’ll send my men.”

“No need,” I growl, storming into the hallway of flickering red light. “Let the fucker run. He’ll never stop looking over his shoulder again. And when he slips?—”

I glance back.

“—we’ll be there.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Snow falls softly from the skies, blanketing the city in a false sense of calm. I stand at the window, watching cabs fishtail around corners and pedestrians skate across icy sidewalks. Despite the seasonal beauty outside, a quiet dread sits heavy in my chest, like a storm cloud that refuses to lift.

I’d rather bury my head in the sand until spring. My to-do list is overwhelming, and one case in particular has me stuck in a loop I can’t break. Still, the office is closed for the holidays, which means I have a week of reprieve, time to live in pajamas, eat too much ice cream, and endure Lexie’s insistence on a proper Christmas dinner.

This Christmas is different. It’s the first I’ll spend with Lexie in years, since before Cooper and I got together. That was nearly eight years ago.

After my parents died, Lexie’s father took me in like I was his own. For a long time, Christmas with them became my new tradition—something steady and warm to hold onto when everything else felt like it had fallen apart. Her dad always made sure I felt welcome, like I belonged, and Lexie… she never let me feel alone.

But life has a way of shifting things. Distance, time,relationships. It all piled up, and somewhere along the way, our tradition slipped through the cracks.

Now, for the first time in years, I’m coming back to that warmth. Back to the only real family I’ve known since losing mine. Spending Christmas with Lexie and her dad again feels like coming home.

And honestly? I’m excited. Nervous, a little. But mostly excited. Because after everything, being with them—especially now—feels like something I didn’t realize how much I missed.

Family isn’t always blood. Sometimes, it’s the people who choose you when the world falls apart.

I lock my case files away, the metallic click of the drawer closing sounding louder than it should in the stillness of my office. It's late, later than I’m meant to be working, but the silence has been good for focus, for avoiding the weight of everything else. I lean back in my chair and exhale slowly, rolling the tension from my shoulders. For the first time all day, I let myself feel the quiet.

Until my phone buzzes on my desk.

Axel: I have something for you. A.

A smile tugs at my lips. I feel like a teenager again; giddy and nervous. No one has ever made me feel the way Axel does. Safe and vulnerable all at once. It’s been four days since our “date,” but every morning, without fail, he sends me a message just to say he’s thinking of me. I haven’t seen him, but I’ve told myself it’s just because he’s busy. He hasn’t given me a reason to think otherwise.

Me: What is it?

Axel: Come outside and find out. A.

I grab my coat and head outside, stepping into the quiet hush of a city blanketed in slush and glittering snow. The air is crisp, biting at my cheeks, and my boots crunch softly against the salted pavement. The sidewalks have been scraped clear, but a thin, treacherous sheen of ice still glimmers under the streetlights, catching the glow like cracked glass.

I tuck my hands deeper into my pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold—then I see him.

My heart stutters. For a moment, I forget about the biting wind, the snow clinging to my boots, the chill seeping through my coat. Everything else blurs. It's like the world narrows to just him.

Axel.

His presence hits me like a wave; unexpected, overwhelming. That familiar pull coils tight in my chest, equal parts dread and longing. I hadn’t prepared for this. I thought I was done flinching at the sight of him, done feeling this… ache. But there it is again. That maddening mix of adrenaline and heat, of history and unfinished things.

A shiver runs through me, and it has nothing to do with the cold.

He leans against his black Mercedes like he owns the night, one ankle crossed over the other, a picture of relaxed control. Snowflakes cling to his dark hair and the collar of his wool coat, softening the sharp angles of his face but doing nothing to dull his intensity. He’s as striking as ever—dangerous, magnetic, untouchable. He looks like a shadow come to life, too bold and beautiful for the delicate snowfall swirling around us.

My breath catches, visible in the air between us. And for a moment, the cold fades. All I can feel is the weight of his gaze, the storm he always carries with him, and the way my pulse begins to race—like I’ve stepped into something I can’t undo.