Page 28 of Fallen Empire (The Fallen Trilogy #2)

Millie

The morning sun shifted just enough to warm my face, and for a moment, I didn’t move. Didn’t think. Didn’t feel in the way I usually did, where everything was clenched tight and carefully managed.

I was in a blissful trance, like my body was floating in air and I was just… existing.

No boardrooms. No fires to put out. No guilt clawing its way up my spine. Just soft sheets, a steady heartbeat beside mine, and the dull ache of being thoroughly, unapologetically wrecked.

I don’t think I’d ever felt like this.

Not even close.

I turned slightly, stretching out my legs with a slow, satisfied sigh as the soreness bloomed across my thighs and settled low in my belly. Every muscle burned—in that addictive, delicious kind of way that reminded me exactly how we’d spent the night.

We hadn’t made love.

We’d used each other.

Desperately. Hungrily. Like the world might split open if we didn’t.

And for once… that wasn’t a bad thing.

I needed it. God, I’d needed it. The chaos. The control slipping through my fingers. The dam finally breaking. And Ben— Ben —catching every single jagged piece I’d tried so hard to keep buried.

He didn’t ask for explanations. He didn’t demand clarity.

He just held me together with his mouth, his hands, his body—like he’d been waiting for me to fall apart just so he could prove I didn’t have to do it alone.

And now, in the warm, quiet light of morning, I felt… light.

Used. Spent. Rewired.

Like all the sharp, jagged edges inside me had been melted down into something softer. Manageable. Almost beautiful, if I didn’t stare too long. But the high didn’t last. Reality came crashing in like cold water to the face.

Savannah. Shit—Savannah .

I sat up so fast the room tilted. My heart lurched, dragging me back down to reality with it. “Shit, shit, shit,” I hissed, throwing the covers off and stumbling out of bed, completely naked.

Where the hell was my phone?

I bent down, grabbing the crumpled sheets at the foot of the bed, tossing them into the air like maybe it had gotten tangled somewhere inside the cotton carnage of last night. No phone.

“Where is it?” I muttered, half to myself, half to the universe. “Where the actual fuck is it?”

Clothes were everywhere—his, mine, a damn warzone of lace and denim. I dropped to my knees and shoved through the pile like a madwoman, tossing a sock across the room and growling under my breath.

Ben’s voice came from behind me, calm, infuriatingly amused. “Lose something?”

I looked up at him, completely breathless, hair wild, heart in my throat.

“My fucking mind. Where’s my phone?”

Without missing a beat, he disappeared into the hall and reappeared two seconds later, phone in one hand, steaming coffee in the other.

“Relax,” he said, holding it out like a peace offering. “I put it on the charger for you. Figured I’d let you sleep.”

I snatched the phone from his hand and immediately pressed the screen awake. No calls. No texts.

Damn it.

“I can’t believe I forgot to check in on Savannah,” I snapped, voice cracking under the guilt. “She’s going to fucking hate me.”

Ben just stood there, calm as ever, that damn cup of coffee still in his hand like it was a normal Tuesday. Like the world wasn’t tilted sideways inside my chest.

“She won’t,” he said softly. “She knows you love her. One night of rest doesn’t erase that. If she even woke up.”

I heard him, every word, but it didn’t matter. Logic didn’t soothe guilt. Especially when it was your best friend lying in a hospital bed, and you chose to disappear when it counted. It wasn’t on purpose. But that didn’t make it right. I’d still let her down.

“Mills, she’ll be fine,” Ben said, his voice low and steady. “Take a shower. We’ll head to the hospital so you can check on her yourself.”

The hospital.

Shit. Jaxson was going to wonder where the hell I’d been. Why I hadn’t come back. Or at the very least, called.

I walked straight toward Ben in all my naked glory, not even bothering to grab the shirt he’d tossed to the side last night. Modesty had officially left the chat.

He didn’t flinch. Just stood there like a damn statue, coffee in hand, mouth twitching like he was fighting a grin.

I took the cup from him without a word and let the warmth settle into my palms as I tried to let it calm the nerves buzzing under my skin.

“Fine,” I muttered, taking a long sip. “I’ll be out in ten minutes and ready to go.”

Ben raised a brow. “Don’t you have to do other things? Like… your makeup or something?”

I turned slowly, one brow arched. “Are you saying you don’t like me this way?”

I was teasing, but not really. My voice was light, but I didn’t want to be the only one standing here with nerves scrambled like eggs.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Mills, I can show you exactly how much I like you this way if—”

“Nope.” I cut him off, tossing my hand in the air like a stop sign. “I’m taking a shower. And I’m taking this with me.”

I lifted the coffee in my hand like a trophy and spun on my heel, marching into the bathroom before I lost the willpower not to let him follow.

The second the bathroom door clicked shut behind me, I exhaled.

Not just a breath, but a full-body collapse of nerves I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. What the hell had I done?

No, that wasn’t the right question.

What had we done?

Because that—last night—wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t scratching an itch or trying to outrun grief. It was everything.

And the worst part? I liked it. I liked him . More than I should. More than I’d let myself feel in a long time. I squeezed my eyes shut, stepping into the shower and letting the water hit my skin. It wasn’t hot. I didn’t even care.

The high of his hands on my body hadn’t faded. The way he looked at me—like I was more than the front-page PR package. More than the spin-master CEO with too many secrets tucked behind a painted smile.

I’d told myself I didn’t do love. That I couldn’t. But last night…

God, it felt like love.

Stronger than anything I’d let myself feel before. Even with—

I cut the thought off before it could finish forming. I wasn’t ready to admit that yet. Not even to myself.

I twisted the handle off and stepped out of the shower, water dripping off my skin and pooling around my feet.

My eyes landed on the can in front of me. Same brand, same spot, same emergency miracle-worker. I gave my roots a few quick sprays. Dry shampoo: the official sponsor of women who don’t have time to fall apart.

Because right now, I didn’t have the time. I’d lost enough of it already.

I stepped into the closet, snagging a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater. It was nice not having to wear heels for once, despite the heavy reason why. I slipped on a pair of tennis shoes, tugged my hair into a loose ponytail, and opened the bathroom door.

Then froze.

The bed was made. Clothes picked up. And sitting on the ottoman in the corner was a tray of breakfast like we weren’t two emotionally complicated disasters who’d barely made it through the night.

Too bad I didn’t have time to eat it. I could definitely get used to this.

I wandered over and snatched a piece of bacon, then another bite of egg as I made my way toward the kitchen, nibbling as I walked.

The food was perfect. Like if my favorite chicken alfredo had a steamy one-night stand with a southern brunch and made magic in my mouth.

That, plus last night’s sex? Easily my new favorite combo.

Ben sat on one of the bar stools, scrolling something on his phone, his back to me. He turned at the sound of my footsteps, but the second his eyes landed on me, his expression shifted—part disapproval, part concern.

“Mills, you had time to sit down and eat.”

I popped the last bit of bacon into my mouth and shook my head. “No, I didn’t. I told you ten minutes. I just multitasked like the boss I am.”

He muttered something under his breath, but I ignored it, heading toward the trash to toss the napkin I’d grabbed from the tray. I opened the lid—

And froze again.

Two familiar to-go containers sat right on top. From the breakfast place three blocks down. I turned slowly, narrowing my eyes.

Ben met my glare with both hands raised in mock surrender. “You’re the one who said you didn’t have time. I couldn’t exactly whip up a homemade breakfast with a ten-minute window.”

I crossed my arms, one brow lifting. “So you’re telling me… you bribed a delivery guy at 7 a.m. to pretend you might have potential?”

“Guilty,” he said with a shrug. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

I hated how right he was. Because damn… I could get used to this. The breakfast. The clean apartment. The part where he made me forget the rest of the world existed for a night.

And that scared the hell out of me.

Because things like this? They always ended. That was the part I trusted. That was the part I knew. But I’d laid out my truths to Savannah for a reason. If I was going to help heal her, I needed to at least try and heal myself.

If she could fight her way through the physical, I could damn sure meet her halfway and fight the mental. If there was even a chance we could both be happy—really happy—I owed it to her to try. I owed it to myself not to shove one more thing into that damn box inside my head and slam the lid shut.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my keys off the hook near the door. “Let’s go, Chef.”

Ben grabbed his jacket and followed, a smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he locked the door behind us. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.

The elevator dinged, and we stepped into the parking garage. Ben clicked the remote, and the sleek black sedan beeped as the lights flashed.

He opened the passenger door for me—classic Ben—and I climbed in without a word.

The second he slid into the driver’s seat, I turned to him. “You’ll drop me off and then head to the office?”

He looked over, one hand on the gear shift. “No. I’m staying.”

I blinked. “Why?”