Page 148 of Stolen Harmony

I left him sitting in that windowless room, probably calculating how much of his life he could salvage from the wreckage of his own making. The walk back through the club felt different, lighter somehow, like I'd been carrying a weight I hadn't even realized was there.

Outside, New York pulsed with its usual energy, all sirens and car horns and the constant motion of people who had places to be and things to accomplish. I hailed a cab and gave the driver Rowan's address, settling back into the worn vinyl seat as the city flowed past the windows.

My phone buzzed with a text from my lawyer:

Papers filed. Official statements will be released tomorrow morning. Well done.

It was over. Victor's influence, his ability to hurt Rowan or manipulate either of our lives, was finished.

The real work was just beginning. Convincing Rowan to trust me again, to believe that my feelings for him were real and not just guilt over the damage my brother had caused. Learning how to love someone without the shadow of obligation or the weight of protecting them from threats they didn't even know existed.

Building something real in the space Victor's removal had created.

Chapter 29

Home Again

Rowan

The smell of coffee nudged me awake. I cracked an eye open to sunlight slanting through cheap blinds and over a cityscape that buzzed with the endless promise of chaos outside.

The other side of the bed was empty but still warm, sheets rumpled where Elias had been sleeping when I'd stumbled in after the gig. I'd found him curled on his side, face soft in the dim light from the street, one arm stretched across the space where I usually slept like he'd been reaching for me even in dreams. I'd slipped in beside him as quietly as I could, not wanting to wake him but needing the comfort of his presence after a night of playing music that felt hollow without him there to hear it.

In the kitchen, I could hear movement—soft footsteps, the click of a cupboard, and Elias humming under his breath in a way that made the place feel more like home than it ever had when it was just me.

I padded in, still in yesterday's clothes, wrinkled andsmelling faintly of cigarettes. Elias was standing at the counter, sleeves pushed up, working the French press with the careful focus he brought to everything. He was in a sweater I'd never seen before—soft gray, too big in the shoulders—and something about that small detail made me want to wrap myself around him and never let go.

He glanced over his shoulder, sensing me before I spoke. “Morning.”

I grunted, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and let myself drift close. He poured coffee into two mugs and handed me one, our fingers brushing. I wrapped my hands around the warmth, letting the first sip hit my system like a benediction.

“You always make it this strong?” I teased, voice still rough from sleep.

He arched an eyebrow, mouth twitching. “You’re the one who said real coffee should taste like regret and broken promises.”

“That does sound like me,” I admitted, stepping up behind him and looping my free arm around his waist, pressing my face into his shoulder. He was warm, solid, and he leaned back into me without hesitation.

His hand found mine, lacing our fingers together over his stomach. “You always get this clingy before caffeine?”

“Only when you’re in my kitchen,” I said, pressing a lazy kiss to the nape of his neck. “Otherwise I’m a real bastard before noon.”

He snorted, shifting just enough to turn in my arms. I let him, not quite ready to give up the contact, and he rewarded me with a soft kiss—slow and unhurried, the kind that spoke of too many words left unsaid. My mug bumped against his hip, and I grinned against his mouth.

“Careful,” he murmured, lips brushing mine. “That’s hot.”

“I could say the same about you,” I shot back, and the easy laughter that followed felt like sunlight in my chest.

He kissed me again, deeper this time, one hand coming up to cradle the back of my head. I let the mug clatter onto the counter and wrapped both arms around him, pulling him flush against me, soaking up the warmth and certainty that only he ever seemed able to give. He tasted like coffee and hope and something I’d been craving for longer than I could admit.

Outside, a siren wailed, but inside everything stilled—just Elias’s breath against my mouth, the gentle brush of his thumbs at my jaw, his heart beating steady against my chest. We broke apart only to breathe, foreheads pressed together, his fingers still tangled in my hair.

“I took care of Victor,” Elias said finally, voice carefully neutral, but I could feel the tension vibrating through his body.

I drew back just enough to search his eyes, my hands still firm on his waist. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he won't be a problem anymore. For either of us.”

The words should have brought relief, but instead they sent a chill through me. Victor had been many things, most of them terrible, but he’d also been the kind of man who didn’t go away quietly. My pulse picked up, and Elias felt it—his arms tightening, anchoring me.