I try to catch Caelen after the dance but he's gone. Vanished like smoke.
The ballroom's still silent. Every major player in New York watching me stand here alone while Kael hovers uselessly nearby.
Fuck the audience. Fuck the optics. I need to find him.
I search the gala—not in the ballroom where Alexander's shooting me concerned looks. Not on the terrace where smokers are pretending they didn't just witness my public humiliation. Not anywhere inside this goddamn museum.
Then I see him through a window. Getting into his car in the circular drive. Leaving.
No. Absolutely fucking not.
I run. Actually run in four-inch Louboutins and a dress that costs more than a used car. Through the museum, past startled security, out the massive entrance.
My ankle turns. Don't care. Keep running.
"Caelen!" His car's already moving. "Stop!"
He does. Barely. Brake lights flaring red in the darkness.
Doesn't get out. Doesn't look at me. Just sits there like a statue while I bang on his window hard enough to hurt my hand.
I yank the door open. Cold air rushing in. "What the hell?"
"Get in or don't. I'm leaving." His voice is pure ice. Colder than I've ever heard it.
I get in. Slam the door. He drives before my seatbelt's even fastened.
The silence is suffocating. Thick enough to choke on. I try three times to speak and can't get words past my throat.
He drives to his penthouse—not Alexander's building but his own. Separate. Bought with his own money, his own success. His space that I've only been to twice.
Parks in the underground garage. Kills the engine. Still won't look at me.
The silence stretches. Endless. Unbearable.
"Did you fuck him?"
The question cuts through the car like a blade. Clinical. Precise. Designed to draw blood.
"What?" Buying time. Pathetic delay tactic.
"Kael. In your office. An hour." His hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel. "Did. You. Fuck. Him."
I could lie. Should lie. Spin some story about the divorce papers, about closure, about anything except the truth.
"We kissed."
"Just kissed?" His jaw's clenched so tight it must hurt. Muscle ticking. "Just kissed."
"Yes." The lie tastes like poison.
"You wanted more."
Not a question. Statement of fact. Truth written all over my face in neon fucking letters.
I can't answer. My throat's closed. Words stuck somewhere between my brain and my mouth.
That's answer enough.
He gets out of the car. Doesn't slam the door—that would be too emotional, too revealing. Just closes it with careful precision that's somehow worse.
I follow him into the building. Up the elevator. Down the hall. Every step feeling like walking to execution.
His apartment's all clean lines and minimal furniture. Nothing like Alexander's ornate penthouse. This is Caelen—controlled, deliberate, no wasted space or unnecessary decoration.
The second the door closes, I'm on him.
"It was a mistake—"
"A mistake you'd make again." He finally looks at me. Eyes dark. Angry. Hurt bleeding through despite his control.
"No!" I'm shouting now. Volume control completely gone. "I love you! It was stupid and impulsive and meant nothing—"
"It meant enough that you can't stop thinking about it."
He's right. God, he's fucking right. I've been obsessing over that kiss for three days straight. Over why it felt familiar. Over whether I made the right choice.
Over muscle memory versus actual feelings. Kael versus Caelen. Past versus future.
"I'm not doing this," Caelen says. Voice flat. Dead. "I'm not competing with your ex for scraps of your attention."
He moves toward his bedroom. Leaving. Actually leaving this conversation.
I grab his arm. "Don't walk away from me."
"Why?" He turns. Finally shows emotion. Rage bleeding through. "You walked away from this the second you let him touch you."
"Fuck you!" My hand shoves his chest. "You don't get to judge me—"
"I'm not judging. I'm done."
But he hasn't left. Hasn't moved. We're standing there, close, angry, both breathing hard like we've been running.
The air between us charges. Electric. Dangerous.
I shove him again. Harder. He catches my wrists. Holds them. Not gentle—controlled.
"You want to know what pisses me off?" His voice is low. Rough. "It's not the “kiss”. It's that you didn't trust me enough to tell me. Even now you’re not telling the whole truth"
His voice breaks on the last word. The anger cracks like glass, shows pain underneath. Raw and bleeding and real.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. Tears threatening. "I was scared."
"Of what?" His grip loosens slightly. Not letting go but not hurting either.
"Losing you." The truth rips out. "Losing this. Losing the one honest thing in my fucked-up life."
Something shifts in his expression. The anger doesn't disappear but softens around the edges.
"You're not—" he starts.
I kiss him. Cut off whatever he was going to say with my mouth on his. Desperate. Real. Trying to show him what words can't articulate.
He doesn't respond immediately. Stands there frozen while I pour everything into this kiss—the guilt, the fear, the love I haven't said out loud yet.
Then his resistance crumbles.
His hands release my wrists, slide into my hair. Angling my head exactly where he wants it. Kissing me back like he's drowning and I'm air.
"Don't leave," I breathe against his mouth. "Please."
"You're staying with me?" His eyes search mine. Looking for truth. For certainty. "Not him. Me."
"I'm staying. I choose you." No hesitation. No doubt. "I choose you, Caelen."
"Prove it," he challenges. Voice serious despite everything. Despite the kiss, despite my declaration, despite the way we're both shaking.
I do.
My hands slide down his chest. Finding buttons, undoing them with trembling fingers. Too slow. Too much fabric in the way.
He helps. Shrugs out of his jacket. Pulls his shirt over his head. Then his hands are on my dress.
The zipper slides down. Red silk pooling at my feet. Standing there in diamonds and underwear and four-inch heels.
"Say it again," he demands. Hands on my waist. Eyes intense.
"I choose you."
"Again."
"I love you." The words I've been scared to say. "I love you, Caelen. Not him. Not anyone. You."
He kisses me. Hard. Possessive. Walking me backward until my legs hit his couch.
We fall. Tangle of limbs and desperation and three days of tension finally breaking.
His mouth on my neck. My hands in his hair. Frantic. Needy. Trying to prove with touch what words can't quite convey.
"Tell me you're mine," he says against my throat.
"I'm yours."
"Say it again."
"I'm yours. Only yours."
His hands slide lower. Patient despite the urgency. Building me up the way he does—deliberate, thorough, making me forget anything except right now.
I arch into him. Gasping. Already close from three days of tension and guilt and wanting him.
"Caelen—"
"I've got you." His voice is rough. Wrecked. "I've got you, baby."
Baby. The endearment that means everything. That separates him from Kael, possession from affection.
He proves it. Over and over. With hands and mouth and body. Makes me say his name until it's the only word I remember.
Makes me choose him with every touch. Every kiss. Every breathless moment.
When we finally come together, it's not just sex. It's commitment. Declaration. Proof that I meant every word.
"I love you," I gasp. Right at the edge. "God, I love you."
"I love you too." His forehead presses against mine. Eyes open. Present. "I love you, Maeve."
I shatter around him. Crying out. Nails digging into his shoulders. Choosing him with every nerve ending, every heartbeat, every breath.
He follows seconds later. My name on his lips. Holding me like I'm precious. Like I'm his.
Because I am.