Page 9 of Fallen Empire (The Fallen Trilogy #2)

Millie

By the time I stepped out of the shower, my skin was flushed, raw from scrubbing away everything I couldn’t name. The silence in the apartment felt heavier than before. Less suffocating. More still. Like something had shifted. Or maybe I had.

I wrapped the towel tighter around myself and padded into the kitchen, expecting to find the apartment empty.

But there he was.

Plating food on real dishes instead of takeout containers. His sleeves were rolled up, tattoos visible, and the ever-present tension in his body—the kind that made him look ready to snap someone’s neck at any moment—was gone.

Ben almost looked almost domestic.

And it threw me off more than I cared to admit.

“Who knew you could cook?” I said, trying to inject some lightness into the air. My voice cracked anyway.

He didn’t look up. Just slid a plate across the counter and answered with a shrug. “Didn’t cook. Ordered. But figured we’d pretend like adults for once.”

That made me pause. Not the food. Not the setup. But the way he said we . Like we were something. Like this wasn’t just survival or proximity. Like maybe he was still here for reasons I hadn’t let myself believe.

And maybe I wasn’t ready to admit I wanted him to be.

I took a few slow steps toward the counter, and then the smell hit me.

Garlic.

Rich, buttery, roasted garlic. Like it had been steeped in olive oil and heaven. My stomach roared so loud I let out a moan. The scent wrapped around me, warm and comforting, and for a moment, I just stood there and let it take me.

God, it smelled good.

I closed my eyes, letting it settle. Letting something simple feel good for once. The kind of good that didn’t have strings attached. No trauma. No headlines. Just food and warmth and the promise of something normal.

When I opened my eyes, he was staring at me.

Not in the casual, guarded way Ben usually did when he was scanning the room or keeping his distance.

No. This look was different.

Raw.

Hungry.

But not for food.

There was something wild behind his eyes. Like he’d been caged too long and just found the door unlocked. Like he wasn’t just looking at me—he wanted me. Wanted something he’d been craving.

And that look? It made heat crawl up my spine and settle low in my stomach.

He wasn’t looking at me like a friend.

He was looking at me like a man who’d been starving.

And the worst part was... I wanted to be the thing that fed him.

My stomach tightened, unsure if it was the scent of garlic still lingering in the air or the way his gaze slid down my skin like a man desperate to commit every inch to memory.

I stood there frozen, towel clutched tighter than necessary, heat crawling up my throat as something unspoken passed between us.

Then I blinked.

And reality snapped back into place like a rubber band to the wrist.

Towel.

I was still in my towel.

My throat closed, heart stuttering as I gripped the edge a little tighter. “I’ll, uh… I’ll be right back,” I managed, backing out of the kitchen like I wasn’t just seconds away from combusting.

I darted down the hall to the bedroom.

To get distance. To swallow air. To catch my breath.

And to put on some damned clothes.

When I came back out, the scent had only grown stronger. Rich, creamy, intoxicating.

I didn’t look at him.

Couldn’t.

My eyes stayed glued to the plate in front of me like it held all the answers I didn’t want to face.

“What’d you order?” I asked, playing it off like my heart wasn’t still hammering in my ribs.

“Your favorite,” he said without missing a beat. “Chicken Alfredo.”

I swallowed. “Did you get—”

Before I could finish, he slid a plate across the counter toward me.

Garlic bread.

Of course.

Everyone had a food weakness. Mine was garlic bread.

And it didn’t escape me that he knew that. The same way he always knew when to step in. When to hold back. When to bring silence instead of words.

It was infuriating. And comforting. And... terrifying.

Ben slid the stool out and sat down beside me. I didn’t have time to think about how close he was.

I stabbed my fork into the pasta, twirling the fettuccine tight and shoving a huge bite into my mouth.

The second the creamy sauce hit my tongue, a sound clawed its way out of my throat—low, primal, unfiltered. God, I was starving.

I was already mid-twirl for the next bite when Ben’s hand gently caught mine, halting me mid-motion.

“Mills,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Slow down. As much as I want you to eat, I also don’t want it coming back up ten minutes after you’re finished.”

I nodded, cheeks full, chewing faster than necessary like I could make up for how wrecked I felt with food alone. Like fullness could fill all the places inside me still cracked open.

He didn’t let go of my wrist right away.

Not until I met his eyes.

Then he loosened his hold, not breaking the gaze.

And just like that, everything tightened again. My chest. My gut. The air between us. He looked at me like he wanted to say something. Like he wanted to do something.

Instead, he reached for his fork and cleared his throat.

“After you’ve taken a nap and rested for a while,” Ben said quietly, “we’ll head back to the hospital.”

I froze mid-bite, fork suspended in the air. “I’m not sleeping while my best friend is clinging to life,” I said, sharper than I meant to.

Ben didn’t flinch. “Mills—”

“I’m going back once we’re done eating.”

His jaw tightened. “You can’t keep running on fumes.”

“I can sleep in the chair beside her. Just like I have for days.”

His expression shifted. Barely, but I noticed. The tension between us pulled tight like a wire.

“Damn it, Mills,” he snapped, voice low but hard. “I know she’s your best friend. But you need rest too.”

I stood, pushing the stool back with a scrape.

“Don’t tell me what I need. You think I’ll just nap it off while she’s—”

“I never said that,” he growled, cutting me off. “But you can’t help her if you collapse. I’m not asking you to abandon her. I’m asking you to take care of yourself.”

“I am taking care of myself,” I shot back. “By staying close. By not checking out when she needs me.”

My chest was heaving. His eyes were wild. We were both unraveling.

Then, without a word, he moved.

His mouth crashed into mine so hard I gasped. One hand clamped around my jaw. The other slid into my damp hair and gripped tight. His lips were fierce and unapologetic, and for a second, all I could do was hold on.

I didn’t expect it. Didn’t prepare for the heat that roared up my spine or the sound that escaped my throat.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet.

It was raw. Primal. Everything we’d never dared admit.

Then I kissed him back. Hard.

Because I was angry.

Because I was scared.

Because kissing him felt like the only real thing in a world that was falling apart.

Ben kissed me like he was trying to erase every mile of distance we’d ever put between us. Like he didn’t care about timing or consequences or how many pieces we might shatter into when it was over.

And God help me.

For that moment?

Neither did I.

Our tongues warred. Circling. Tasting. Taking.

The scent of Ben—sandalwood and pine—flooded my senses, heady and grounding. And the taste? Garlic. Alfredo. A trace of smoky red pepper lingering on his lips. It all collided in a storm I wasn’t ready for.

Every nerve in my body lit up.

Every part of me awakened.

Everything I lov —

I choked the thought back.

I wouldn’t say that word. Not even in my head. Not that word.

Because love came with a price I’d already paid once. And it nearly destroyed me.

But if there was anyone— anyone —I could feel that way for again…

It would be the man that currently had me in sensory overload.

The man whose lips bruised mine with a kind of desperation that felt like salvation.

The man who silenced the chaos in my head just by touching me.

My arms slid under his, hands curling along the hard lines of his back, palms resting against the muscle that had carried too much for too long. I pulled him closer, not because I should—but because I had to. Because for the first time in days, I wasn’t drowning.

I was burning.

And God, it felt good to feel something again.

I pressed my body into his like I could press the pain away with the heat between us.

I was using him. Fully. Shamelessly. Using him to silence the screaming in my head, the panic that never left my chest. I needed this.

Needed him . Not just the kiss. Not just the strength.

I needed the way he made me feel like the world wasn’t crashing down.

And he let me. He took just as much as I gave.

Because maybe that’s what we were—takers and givers. Two fractured people with nowhere to put the ache except into each other.

He picked me up like I weighed nothing and set me down between our plates. The edge of the counter was cool against the back of my thighs. Even in this haze, even lost in the heat of it, he stayed aware. Always calculated. Always alert.

That part of him never turned off. It was in his blood, in the way his eyes flicked to the door before returning to mine. But when they did, when his gaze finally locked onto me, every part of me turned liquid.

Need surged up from somewhere I hadn’t let myself touch in years.

I ran one hand up his chest, the other threading into his hair and tugging hard enough to draw a growl from his throat. My entire body pulsed at the sound. A raw, masculine sound that struck something feral inside me.

His hands gripped my thighs like a vow written in skin.

Like I’d always belonged to him, even if neither of us dared to say it out loud.

When his fingers dug into my flesh, the pressure was so sharp and possessive it sent a jolt of electricity straight through my core. I almost came undone right there.

It was starvation.

A hunger born of loss, of grief, of everything we hadn’t said and everything we couldn’t.

It was desperation wrapped in heat.

The kind of ache that didn’t ask permission. It just took.

His lips crashed into mine again, and I opened to him fully. Tongue against tongue, breath tangled with breath. My senses were on fire. Everything about him—his taste, his warmth, the ache in his touch—wrapped around me like a fever I didn’t want to break.

And in that wild, frantic moment, I made myself a promise.

I wouldn’t fall.

Not again.

It wasn’t a risk I’d wanted to take.

If anyone could break through me... if anyone could touch the parts I’d buried and never planned to dig up again, it was him.

He made me feel safe. More than that, I felt like he saw me. Every dark corner, every sharp edge—and didn’t flinch. He could destroy every wall I’d spent years building, if only I let him.

But I held the line.

I would use him to feel alive again. Let him use me in return.

No expectations. No future. No strings.

Because if I ever let myself want more—if I dared to hope...

He’d shatter me.

And this time, I wouldn’t survive it.

A sound pierced the haze.

High-pitched. Sharp. Ringing.

Not in my ears this time. It was real. Close.

My phone.

“Shit,” I breathed, shoving Ben back with more force than I meant to as I scrambled off the counter. My feet hit the floor hard, and I lunged for my purse, fingers fumbling with the zipper until I finally yanked it open.

“Hello?”

My voice came out breathless, uneven. Whether from the jolt of panic or the heat still pulsing through me, I couldn’t tell.

“It’s time,” Jaxson said, voice steady.

He didn’t comment on the rasp in my voice. Didn’t need to.

“They’re taking her off the vent,” he continued. “She’s strong enough to try breathing on her own.”

My pulse slammed into overdrive.

“If it doesn’t hold,” he added quietly, “they’ll move to a trach. But the nurse says her numbers are solid. This is our first real shot.”

I didn’t hesitate.

“We’re on our way,” I said, already grabbing my keys with shaking hands and shoving the phone back into my bag.

I slid my shoes on—the pair sitting by the door—and darted for the elevator.

“I’ll drive,” Ben said as we waited for the doors to open.

Our moment from before, heated and breathless, was gone now. Stripped away by the weight of something far more important.

The one person I would’ve moved heaven and earth for was coming back to me.

I glanced down at the bag he was holding, raising a brow.

“You’re going to eat, Mills,” he said simply.

And my heart softened a little more.

Because it was in that quiet moment—the look in his eyes, the steadiness in his voice—that I realized he’d meant everything he said.

He wasn’t leaving.

Not unless something ripped him away from me.