"Baby."
The word echoes in my head all next day. Caelen called me baby like it was natural, and the difference between his affection and Kael's possession matters more than I realized.
Butterflies explode in my stomach every time I remember his soft concern, and I am completely, utterly fucked.
When did I fall for him? The question turns over and over while I eat breakfast I don't taste.
Was it the office? When he looked at me like I was brilliant instead of broken? When he taught me corporate warfare without making me feel stupid?
Was it the engagement party? That kiss that made me forget Kael existed? The way his hand felt possessive in all the right ways?
All of it. None of it. Somewhere between teaching me hostile takeovers and making me laugh at terrible jokes, he became essential.
Real. Someone I'd choose even without the revenge plot. Even without the strategy. Even without Alexander orchestrating everything.
Just him. Just Caelen.
And I fucked it up yesterday. Spectacularly. In ways I can't take back.
Work drags. Every meeting feels endless. Alexander keeps giving me concerned looks I pretend not to see.
"You alright?" he asks during lunch.
"Fine." The lie tastes like ash. "Just tired."
He doesn't believe me. Doesn't push either, thank God.
Evening comes slowly, then all at once. I'm home, getting ready for bed when my phone buzzes.
Caelen: "Coming over. Need to talk to you about something."
My heart pounds. Literally hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
Does he know? Can he tell? Did someone see Kael leaving my office yesterday?
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Ten minutes later, he's at my door. I let him in, trying to act normal.
Failing spectacularly.
"What's wrong?" He notices immediately. Of course he notices. The man misses nothing.
"Nothing." My voice sounds hollow even to me.
"Bullshit." He closes the door behind him. Studies my face with those dark eyes that see everything. "You've been weird all day. Alexander noticed. I noticed. What happened?"
Everything's wrong. My entire world feels tilted sideways.
"I feel like—" The words stick in my throat. Tears threatening. "I can't—"
I can't finish. Can't articulate the mess inside my head.
He pulls me close without asking. Solid. Safe. Everything I don't deserve.
"Talk to me," he says against my hair.
"I feel like everything in my world is wrong." The words tumble out. Raw. Unfiltered. "Like I'm wrong. Like I don't know how to make a single good decision."
I'm rambling now. Nearly crying. Breaking down in ways I haven't let myself since leaving Kael.
"Hey." He tips my chin up. "You're the most magnificent woman I've ever met. Nothing about you is wrong."
The words crack something in my chest, a direct hit against the self-loathing. He actually means it.
And that's what makes me kiss him. It's nothing like Kael yesterday; it's slow, controlled, building instead of exploding.
Not trying to destroy each other—trying to build something. Create instead of demolish.
His hands frame my face. Gentle. Patient. Like he's got all the time in the world.
"Stay," I breathe against his mouth.
His eyes go dark. Pupils blown wide with want. "You sure?"
No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know anything except I need this.
Need him. Need to replace yesterday's mistake with something real.
I kiss him deeper. Pull him closer. Answer enough.
We move to my bedroom. Not rushed—deliberate. Every step intentional.
My apartment. My bed. My choice.
He takes his time undressing me. Hands that know how to be patient. That don't rush or grab or take.
Buttons undone slowly. Fabric sliding off shoulders. Every touch reverent instead of desperate.
"You're beautiful," he murmurs against my collarbone.
I almost laugh. Almost make some self-deprecating joke. But the way he's looking at me stops the words.
He actually means it. Sees something in me I can't see in myself.
Then his mouth is on my skin. Learning me slowly—what makes me gasp, where to linger, how to build me up until I'm shaking.
Not the frantic urgency of yesterday. This is exploration. Discovery. Taking time to map every inch.
His hands slide down my sides. Thumbs tracing patterns that make me shiver. Mouth following the path his fingers create.
"Caelen—" His name comes out breathy. Needy.
"Patience," he murmurs against my stomach. "We've got time."
Time. What a luxury. What a fucking revelation.
He learns my body like it's a language he's determined to master. Every touch deliberate. Every kiss purposeful.
Finds the spot behind my knee that makes me gasp. The place on my ribs that makes me arch. The sensitive skin of my inner thighs that makes me whimper.
And fuck—he's better. Patient. Thorough. Taking his time in ways Kael never did.
His mouth moves lower. Breath hot against my skin. Tongue tracing patterns that make my brain short-circuit.
When he finally touches me where I need it most, I nearly come apart.
"Please," I'm begging already. "Please—"
"Shh." His voice is dark promise. "I've got you."
Then his mouth is on me and I forget how to form words. Forget everything except the sensation of his tongue, his fingers, the way he's taking me apart piece by piece.
He builds me up slowly. Deliberately. Like he's got a blueprint and he's following it perfectly.
One finger inside me. Then two. Curling to hit that spot that makes stars explode.
His mouth working magic. Patient. Relentless. Driving me higher and higher.
I'm close. So fucking close. Hands fisted in his hair, hips lifting, chasing the release he's building.
"That's it," he encourages. "Let go. I've got you."
I shatter. Come apart completely, his name on my lips like prayer.
He works me through it. Gentles the touch as aftershocks roll through me. Makes it last until I'm boneless and trembling.
Then he's moving up my body. Kissing me. I can taste myself on his tongue and it's obscene and perfect.
"Inside me," I manage. Voice wrecked. "Now. Please."
He positions himself. Slides in slowly. Giving me time to adjust, to feel every inch.
Different from Kael. Everything's different. The pace, the intention, the way he watches my face like my pleasure matters more than his own.
He moves. Slow, deep strokes that make me feel everything. Make me present in my body instead of trying to escape it.
"You're perfect," he breathes against my neck. "Fucking perfect."
I wrap my legs around his waist. Pull him deeper. Meeting his rhythm.
It builds slowly. Deliberately. Wave after wave of sensation that doesn't crash—it swells.
His hand slides between us again. Finds that bundle of nerves. Circles in time with his thrusts.
The combination is devastating in the best way.
"Look at me," he says. Voice rough. "Want to see you."
I open my eyes. Meet his gaze. Dark and intense and so fucking present.
That's what breaks me. The eye contact. The intimacy. The way he's actually here, actually with me.
I come again. Harder this time. Clenching around him, crying out, nails digging into his shoulders.
He follows seconds later. Face buried in my neck. My name on his lips. Holding me like I'm precious.
We stay like that. Breathing hard. Hearts pounding. Connected.
He holds me like I'm precious. And for the first time since this nightmare began, I don't feel like I'm falling. I feel... safe.