Page 85 of Velvet Corruption

God, if Rosie were here…what would she think? I was supposed to protect her.

I was doing a terrible fucking job.

The mirror over the sink caught my reflection, and I barely recognized myself. My hair hung in wet, tangled, dark oily strands over my shoulders, mascara smudged under my eyes, my lips still tinged pale from the shock of the water.

I stared, trying to reconcile the woman in the mirror with the one who had walked out the door that morning. The one who had plans and purpose, who hadn’t felt like she was falling apart. This woman, the one staring back at me, looked like she’d been dragged out of the river. Like she’d barely made it back to shore.

I looked down at the phone, at Rosie's smiling face on my phone’s background. At least I had gotten to talk to her. She was feeling better, Julian would be bringing her home tomorrow. And then maybe everything would go back to normal.

But not yet.

Things weren’t normal yet.

I needed to get warm, I needed to wash tonight off me, and most of all, I needed to forget. By the time I stepped under the spray, my body had finally started to shake.

The adrenaline had carried me through the drive home, through fumbling with my keys with my hurt hand, through peeling my soaked jacket off with stiff fingers.

But now, standing there, letting the scalding water chase away the last traces of salt, grime and cold, I felt it all at once.

The exhaustion, the fear, the weight of what had almost happened. And the worst part? I wasn’t even sure what part of tonight scared me more—falling or knowing Kieran would have followed me straight down if I hadn’t surfaced.

I braced my hands against the tile, breathing through what felt like an oncoming panic attack.

Maybe I needed to make time for therapy.

Just a shower. Just hot water. Just a moment to reset. I could do that much.

And then the doorbell rang.

I went completely still, heart lurching up into my throat.

It was too late for a visitor. Too early for an explanation. My mind raced through the possibilities, but my gut already knew the answer before I even shut the water off and stepped out onto the mat.

Had Kieran followed me? Had the enforcer—Danny, I think? Maybe he thought Tristan was more scary than Kieran and...

Fuck.

I grabbed my phone and looked at my doorbell camera as I stepped out of the shower, my hurt hand soaked, my bandages still dirty.

Alek. Of course it was Alek. We had plans to meet later, but he was already here.

“One second!” I said as I turned off the shower, aware he probably couldn’t hear me.

I moved quickly, wrapping myself in a towel as I padded barefoot across the hardwood, dripping the whole way. Alek was already standing on the stoop when I opened the door, arms crossed, jaw tight—like he’d been bracing for an argument the entire ride over. His gaze flicked down, catching on the towel and the damp strands of hair stuck to my collarbone. For half a second, his expression faltered—first with confusion, then with sheer exasperation. Then he pulled it back together, lips pressing into a thin line as if to say,Of course. Of course you’re answering the door like this.

"You could've used your key," I said.

"I was trying to be considerate," he replied. “Last time I waited for you in your house, it was awkward.”

I shook my head, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "Okay. Give me five minutes to not look like something that crawled out of Boston Harbor.”

Alek scowled, stepping inside. He had a box in one hand, balanced carefully, and a thermos in the other. “I mean…did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Crawl out of Boston Harbor.”

I winced. “Let me get back to you on that.”