Finally, Raphael broke it with the kind of observation that made my brain stutter.
"Not surprising that the youngest couldn't hold back." He shot Stephen a look that was 'of course you did, you beautiful disaster.' "It's in his nature. But Titus and I were waiting for you to speak first, to voice what you really wanted. Now that you have, we're happy to give you everything we can."
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
The way he said it—calm, matter-of-fact, like he was discussing architectural specifications instead of promising to collectively ruin me for all other men—made something in my chest explode like fireworks at a gender reveal party.
The realization hit me with the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the face. Even if I never saved Freeman Industries, even if my father decided I wasn't worthy of his legacy, I could still become something else. Something better.
I could become a goddess to the Sullivan brothers.
The thought should have terrified me. Should have sent me running for the nearest therapist or convent. Instead, it lit something feral and possessive in my chest that definitely required professional help to unpack.
"Our off-the-clock relationship stays secret," I said, channeling every ounce of CEO energy I'd been practicing in the mirror since I was twelve. "Non-negotiable. Whatever this is, it doesn't touch our professional lives."
Stephen's grin could have powered the universe. "So far, we've done a pretty fantastic job with that, sweetheart."
I shot him a look that said 'you literally fucked me in a car a couple of weeks ago' but he just winked. The audacity.
"And I'm open to your initiative," I heard myself saying, because apparently my mouth had decided to go rogue. "You don't always have to ask for permission."
The words hung in the air like a challenge, and I could already feel future-me wanting to slap present-me for that particular life choice.
Raphael nodded with the efficiency of a man who'd probably already mentally drafted a sexual encounter schedule. "Everything's clear then." He gathered his things with practiced ease, checking his watch. "I need to head out. Lily's babysitter can only stay until nine."
Right. He had a daughter. A whole-ass human who depended on him. The reminder that these weren't just sex gods but actual people with responsibilities made everything feel more real somehow.
Stephen bounced to his feet like someone had injected Red Bull directly into his veins. "I'm going to have the absolute best sleep tonight. After drinks with friends, obviously." He was practically vibrating with satisfaction as he headed for the door. "Try not to have too much fun without me."
And then there were two.
Titus hadn't moved from his spot, his dark eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. The office suddenly felt too small, too quiet, too full of possibilities I wasn't sure I was ready to explore.
I started gathering my things, desperate for the safety of my apartment where I could process this clusterfuck in peace.
"Are you heading out?" I asked, because apparently my survival instincts had taken the night off.
Titus tilted his head, studying me like I was a particularly complex blueprint. "Want to go to a bar with me instead?"
The invitation hit different coming from him. Stephen would have made it charming, Raphael would have made it commanding, but Titus just... asked. Simple. Direct. Terrifying.
"Secrecy agreement still stands," I reminded him, because I needed some kind of barrier between us and complete chaos.
"Obviously." He stood, and fuck, I'd forgotten how tall he was. "There's a place I know. Quiet. Discrete."
Something about the way he said 'discrete' made my pulse skip.
I thought about my empty apartment, my vibrator that was probably filing for workers' comp, and the way Titus had touched me that night—careful but intense, like he was memorizing every response.
"Skip the bar," I heard myself saying. "Your place?"
The smile that crossed his face was small but devastating. "Even better."
An hour later, I was standing on Titus's terrace with a glass of wine that probably cost more than my car payment, trying not to gape at the view. New York sprawled below us like a circuit board made of light, and the air smelled like rain and possibility.
"This is incredible," I said, because stating the obvious was apparently my new hobby.
"I bought it for the view," Titus said, joining me at the railing. "Helps me think. See patterns."
"In the city?"
"In everything." He took a sip of wine, and I watched his throat work, which was definitely a normal thing to fixate on. "I see patterns everywhere. In buildings, in systems, in people. It's why I'm good at what I do. Also why I'm terrible at it."
"That doesn't make sense."
"I can see what people need," he explained, his voice quieter now. "What they want, what drives them. But I can't... translate it. Can't make the connection between understanding and communicating. I say what I observe, and it comes out wrong. Too blunt. Too harsh."
The vulnerability in his voice made my chest tight. This was Titus without his walls, and it was like looking directly at the sun.
"You're not harsh," I said. "You're honest. That's rare."
He laughed, but it sounded rusty. "Honest is just another word for 'asshole' in most social situations."
"Not to me." I turned to face him fully. "You want to know what I see when I look at you?"
His eyes met mine, dark and intense. "Tell me."
"I see someone who cares so much it physically hurts. Someone who watches and calculates and tries so fucking hard to get it right. Someone who builds walls because feeling everything, all the time, would break you."
His breath caught. "Dakota—"
"I see someone brilliant and beautiful," I continued, because apparently wine made me poetic. "Someone who deserves to be understood, not just tolerated."
The silence stretched between us, heavy with things unsaid. Then Titus set down his wine glass with careful precision.
"You terrify me," he said simply.
"Good," I replied, and before I could talk myself out of it, I was in his lap, my hands framing his face. "That makes us even."
I kissed him, and it was nothing like our first night.
This was slower, deeper, full of questions and promises I wasn't sure either of us could keep. He tasted like wine and possibility, and when his arms came around me, I felt anchored in a way that should have scared me more than it did.
"Dakota," he breathed against my lips. "I need you to know—I'm not good at this. At casual. At sharing."
"Who said anything about casual?" I asked, and felt him shudder beneath me.
We stayed like that, wrapped around each other on his terrace, while the city pulsed below and the future loomed uncertain.
Tonight I had this—Titus's hands in my hair, his heartbeat under my palm, and the terrifying possibility that I was falling for three men who could destroy me in completely different ways.
Future-me was going to be so pissed.