Maya’s POV
Archie pulls me back to his apartment after dinner at a restaurant neither of us really tasted.
His hand is warm in mine, fingers threading through mine with the casual intimacy of someone who believes we have time.
We don't, but he doesn't know that yet.
Inside his apartment, he kisses me before the door fully closes. There's urgency in the way he touches me, but it's different from mine. His urgency is hopeful, building toward something lasting.
Mine is desperate, terminal. The frantic need to capture something before it's gone forever.
I kiss him back harder than necessary. My hands find his shirt, yanking it over his head with movements too rough to be gentle.
He makes a sound—surprise mixed with arousal—and his own hands move to my clothes.
We barely make it to the bedroom. Shedding clothes in a trail from the living room to his bed.
When we fall onto the mattress, I'm already on top of him, already reaching between us to guide him inside.
The first thrust steals both our breaths. I start moving immediately, fast, trying to memorize the way he fills me, the sound he makes when I clench around him, the exact angle that makes his eyes roll back.
I'm cataloging. Storing. Burning this into permanent memory because this might be the last time. Probably will be the last time.
Once I send that evidence, once I destroy his family, once he learns who I really am—there's no coming back from that.
So I ride him like I'm drowning, like he's oxygen. My nails dig into his chest hard enough to leave marks, my rhythm is desperate, uncoordinated, chasing something I can't quite name.
"Maya." His hands grip my hips, trying to slow me down. "Hey. Wait—"
But I can't wait, don't have time to wait. I lean forward, capture his mouth in a kiss that's too bruising to be tender, and keep moving.
When I come, it's sharp, almost painful. A release that feels more like breaking than pleasure. He follows seconds later, calling my name, his fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to bruise.
We collapse together, both breathing hard, both trembling.
But something's wrong. I can feel him sensing it. The way his hands move over my back are tentative. Questioning.
"Maya." His voice carries concern. "What's going on?"
"Nothing." The lie comes automatically. "Why?"
"That was..." He pauses, searching for words. "Intense. But not... you weren't really here."
Fuck. He's too perceptive. Knows me too well. Can read the difference between passion and desperation.
I roll off him, settling against his side, force my breathing to steady. "I'm just worried about Daphne. About Hope's delivery approaching. About all the ways things could go wrong."
It's not entirely a lie—I am worried about those things, just not in the way he thinks.
"The pregnancy has me thinking about fragility," I continue. "About how quickly things can be lost, how one moment everything's fine and the next..." I let the sentence trail off.
Archie's arm comes around me. Pulls me closer. "Hope is going to be fine. Daphne and Xander are stronger than their fears. Everything will work out."
The certainty in his voice makes my chest ache. He believes what he's saying. Believes in happy endings and survival against odds and love being enough.
I nod against his chest. Don't trust my voice.
"Come here." He shifts so he's looking down at me. His hand frames my face. "Let me take your mind off it."
He kisses me slower this time, gentle. His mouth moves across my jaw, down my neck, taking time with each touch. Building something different from the frantic encounter minutes ago.
I try to be present. To give him something real in this moment even if everything else is constructed from lies. To touch him like I'm saying goodbye without words because I can't say it out loud.
His hands map my body with reverent attention. Learning the places that make me sigh.
The spots that make me arch into him. He's worshiping rather than taking, and it breaks something in me that I didn't know was still intact.
When he finally moves between my legs, entering me with slow deliberation, I have to close my eyes against tears that threaten.
He moves slowly, each thrust measured, controlled. Like he has all the time in the world, like we're building toward a future rather than racing toward an ending.
His hand finds my sensitive spot, fingers working precise circles while he moves inside me. The dual sensation overwhelms—pleasure building in layers, each one more intense than the last.
"I love you." The words fall from his lips between thrusts. "God, Maya. I love you so much."
The orgasm hits like a wave. I cry out his name, my body clenching around him, my nails digging into his shoulders.
He follows seconds later—face buried in my neck, my name a prayer on his lips.
Afterward, we lie tangled together. His heartbeat gradually slowing against my ear, his hand stroking my hair with absent tenderness.
"I've been thinking," he says quietly. "About the future. About us."
My stomach drops. "Archie…"
"I want you to move in with me."
The words come out in a rush.
"I know it's fast, I know we're still figuring this out, but I hate the nights you're not here. Hate sleeping alone when I could be sleeping with you. I want mornings together and routines and all the boring domestic stuff that comes with actually building a life."
Each word is a knife between my ribs.
"I'm not talking about forever—I mean, I am, eventually, but I'm not pressuring you about that now. Just... move in. Give us a real chance instead of stolen moments between your shifts."
I should say something. Should respond. Should tell him the truth or at least manufacture a lie that gives us both an exit.
Instead I just press my face harder against his chest, let him interpret my silence however he wants.
"You don't have to answer now," he says gently. "Just think about it. Okay?"
"Okay." The word comes out barely above a whisper.
He falls asleep holding me. His breathing evening out. His arm heavy across my waist. Trusting. Secure.
I lie awake, counting his heartbeats. Memorizing the weight of his arm. The sound of his breathing.
The way his hand flexes slightly in sleep like he's holding onto something in his dreams.
This is the last time. I know it with absolute certainty. Once I send the evidence, once I destroy the Hale family's reputation and Xander's standing, once Archie learns the truth—there's no coming back from that.
He'll understand that every moment between us was built on deception. That I used him to get close to people I came to destroy. That the woman he fell in love with doesn't actually exist.
Lora will finally rest. The promise will be kept. Justice—or whatever I'm calling it now—will be served.
But I'll lose this. Lose him. Lose the only person who's made me feel human since Lora died.
Lose the future he's offering. Lose mornings together and boring domestic routines and the life I never planned for but somehow want desperately.
The choice sits in my chest like a stone. Heavy. Inescapable. Getting heavier with each of Archie's heartbeats under my ear.
I have the evidence. The patron is demanding action. The deadline I set myself is approaching.
Lora's voice screams in my head that I'm stalling, that I'm choosing him over her, that I'm betraying the promise I made.
And she's right.
I am choosing. Or I'm about to. Or I don't know which choice I'm making but I know I can't make both.
I can't keep Archie and complete my mission. Can't have justice for Lora and a future with the man I love.
Can't be both the sister who keeps her promises and the woman who builds a life from the wreckage of her revenge.
His heartbeat is steady under my ear. Strong and real. A reminder of what I'll lose if I choose Lora. What I'll gain if I choose him.
The evidence sits encrypted on my laptop. Ready to send. Ready to destroy everything.
And I lie here in the darkness, wrapped in Archie's arms, knowing I have to decide. Knowing the decision will break me regardless of which way I choose.
Knowing that by morning, I need to commit. To finishing the mission or abandoning it entirely. To being Lora's sister or Archie's future.
I can't be both.