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CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

Evangeline

Knight stands in my doorway, with at least two days’ worth of stubble shadowing his jaw. His hair is standing up in uneven tufts, like he’s been running his hands through it constantly. His shirt is wrinkled, half-tucked into jeans that look like they’ve seen better days.

He looks like he’s bracing himself for rejection, tension radiating through him. For a second, I think he might bolt, his gaze dropping to the floor before lifting to meet mine again. Then he speaks.

"My apartment felt wrong."

"So you thought you’d come and invade mine instead?" I lean against the doorframe, heart pounding, arms crossed.

"Your deadbolt is pathetic. Your windows are vulnerable. Your entire building’s security is a joke."

"Most people start with hello."

"I’m not most people." His voice is rough, unsteady. "Are you going to let me in, or do I have to stand here while the neighbors speculate about why I’m at your door at this hour?"

It’s such a Knight thing to say—that edge of arrogance masking uncertainty—that I almost laugh. Almost .

"I haven’t decided yet. If this is another attempt at?—"

"Getting shot was easier than this." He surges forward and pushes past me into the apartment, without waiting for an invitation. "At least bullets follow predictable trajectories."

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

I close the door, then turn. He’s pacing the length of my living room, looking like a caged animal searching for escape. One sweep. Two. I don’t move from my spot by the door.

"You know why I’m here." He stops abruptly, his back to me.

"I really don’t." My voice is steady, but my heart is racing. "Why don’t you enlighten me?"

He turns. "Because I’m tired of running from this. I don’t want to carry on pretending I didn’t make a mistake. I know that avoiding being here is easier than facing you and risking …” He shakes his head and turns away again.

His words shock me. Knight doesn’t do vulnerability. Doesn’t admit fear.

"What do you think you’re risking by being here?"

" Everything ." He spins again. "My control. My defenses. Every wall I’ve built to keep people out."

"That’s a lot of words to avoid saying what you really mean."

A muscle pops in his jaw. "You make it sound simple."

"It's easier than spending weeks stalking me through security cameras instead of showing up yourself."

He stares at me, drags a hand through his hair, then sighs. "I deserved that. I deserve every ounce of anger you have. But I’m here because watching isn’t enough anymore."

I push off the doorframe, closing some of the distance between us. "You said that already. What I want to know is why."

"Because I can’t keep doing this." His fingers curl into fists at his sides, and he turns toward the door.

For a second I think he’s going to leave. But instead, he pulls something from his pocket and tosses it onto the coffee table. It hits the glass with a thud.

"Non-technical entry to my elevator," he says, his voice rough. "No codes needed. Direct access with no override to stop it working."

I stare at the small unassuming-looking key, and understanding floods through me. For someone like Knight, this isn’t just a key. It’s the dismantling of his need for control. A surrender of the distance he’s always kept.

"Why?" I ask again, my voice is quieter now.

"Because I need you to understand what you mean to me." His gaze locks on mine. "I’m willing to risk everything I’ve built, everything I am, even though it terrifies me."

I should throw him out. At the very least, I should make him work harder for this. But something about the intensity in his eyes keeps me rooted in place.

"I want to show you something." He whirls again, and stalks over to where my new laptop is sitting on a small side table. Flipping it open, he taps at the keyboard. "Your login password is terrible."

"Thanks for the critique," I deadpan. "Is there a point to that?"

"No. But you’ll thank me when I upgrade your system."

Lines of code fill the screen as his fingers fly over the keys. I have no idea what I’m looking at. They’re just lines of numbers and symbols that mean nothing to me. But the way he’s standing there, the way he’s typing rapidly, it’s clear that whatever he’s trying to show me is important to him.

"What am I looking at?"

"This is the first time I saw you through my cameras." His voice is quieter now. "The moment you walked into my building carrying that phone. This is how it looks in code."

More lines appear, streams of it filling the screen.

"This is every time you’ve been in my system since then. Every camera angle. Every access log. I documented all of it, trying to reduce you to data I could analyze. I needed to turn you into something I could grasp and manage." His laugh is bitter. "Because that’s what I do—turn everything into code so it feels safer."

"Knight—"

"But it doesn’t work." He straightens. "You can’t be reduced to data points. I can’t control you through algorithms. And you most definitely can’t be kept safely out of my way through screens. Trust me, I’ve spent weeks trying."

Understanding washes over me. This isn’t just meaningless strings of code on my screen. Not to him. It’s a roadmap to what he’s unable to put into words. Each line is him grappling with feelings he doesn’t know how to process. It’s an attempt to fit me into a structure he understands, and a record of his failure to do so.

"What exactly is this?" I gesture to the space between us. I need to hear him say it out loud.

"You want the truth? Fine." He stands there, his body almost vibrating with barely restrained tension. "I love you. Pretty sure I have done since you stood in my workspace refusing to let me ignore you."

The words steal the air from my lungs. I swallow, licking my lips, searching for the right response.

"If that's true, then you have to stop running.” I take a breath, trying to keep my composure, but my voice still shakes a little. “You have to stop retreating every time something feels out of control.”

"I know." He spins, coming toward me so quickly I back up. My back hits the wall. He braces his good arm beside my head. “But I need to know you want it too.”

The closeness of him, the heat radiating from his body, the sheer intensity in his gaze, leaves me breathless.

"Tell me to leave," he whispers. "If you don’t want this—if you don’t want me—just say the word. I’ll go. I will cut all the feeds. I’ll stop sending you money. I’ll?—"

I grab the front of his shirt, my hands tightening in the fabric as I pull him down to me. His mouth crashes against mine, and it’s not soft or tentative—it’s a collision of everything we’ve held back, a month of distance and frustration igniting into something uncontrollable.

"Eva." My name emerges rough as his mouth blazes a path down my neck.

“This doesn’t fix everything. I’m still mad at you.”

He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Good. You’re hotter when you’re mad.”

“You’re impossible.” But the words don’t carry the bite they should.

“It’s been said.”

“Don’t get cocky.” My fingers are already moving to the hem of his shirt. “I haven’t decided if I’m throwing you out or not yet.”

His eyes darken as I push the fabric up, and then he tenses when I reveal the faint scars from his injuries. His sharp inhale doesn’t go unnoticed when my fingers stroke over the edge of the scar on his side.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Sometimes. It’s more irritating than anything else.” His lips quirk up. “An unwelcome reminder.”

“Of what?”

“That I should have kept my head down and my mouth shut.” His smirk doesn’t quite land this time. “Or at least invested in better body armor.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it.” His fingers brush against mine, his smile fading as he holds my gaze. “This wasn’t exactly part of the plan.”

“Do you even have a plan?” I manage between breaths as his mouth finds the curve of my neck.

“Not really.” He kisses a path up to my jaw. “But winging it seems to be working.”

“Knight—” My breath hitches as his fingers dip beneath my top to stroke over my stomach. “You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re beautiful.”

My hands move to his chest, pushing him back slightly so I can meet his gaze. His hair is a mess, his shirt rumpled, and his eyes are completely unguarded for once. The faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but there’s something softer underneath it.

“I’m not letting you go again.”

“Good.” I lift my arms to loop around his neck. “Because I don’t think I’d let you.”

His head tilts, eyes gleaming, that insufferable smirk dancing around his lips. “That settles it, then.”

I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “You’re impossible.”

“You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.” His expression shifts, his voice dropping. “I’m not walking away. Not this time.”

I stare at him, then slowly, holding his gaze with mine, I press my lips to his.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“Not a chance.”