[Rory’s POV]
The drive home is a masterclass in paranoia.
Every headlight in my rearview mirror is a potential threat. Every car that takes the same turn sends my pulse into cardiac arrest territory. I vary my route three times—doubling back through neighborhoods I've never seen, taking side streets that probably lead to nowhere good.
Leo's warning echoes in my skull like a broken record. He knows her routine.
The apartment complex parking lot is blessedly empty when I finally pull in. I check every shadow before climbing the stairs, keys clutched like a weapon sharp enough to do actual damage if needed.
The door opens. Locks. Double-checks.
Milo sleeps peacefully in his room, dinosaur nightlight casting prehistoric shadows across his ceiling. I stand in his doorway watching his chest rise and fall, and something in me loosens just enough to breathe.
The bathroom becomes my decompression chamber.
The wig comes off first—bobby pins scattering like tiny metal casualties across the counter. Then the false lashes that always feel like spider legs attached to my eyelids. Makeup wipes work through layers of foundation and contour, revealing the exhausted woman underneath.
Contacts out. Glasses on. Sweatpants that have seen better decades. Old t-shirt with a mystery stain I've given up trying to identify.
Finally, mercifully, myself.
I'm reaching for the bathroom door when pounding explodes through the apartment.
"VIOLA! I know you're in there!"
My blood turns to ice in approximately point-three seconds.
Nathan. At my door. Screaming a name that shouldn't exist here, in this space, where Rory lives and Milo sleeps and nothing about Viola should penetrate.
He followed me. Tonight. Before. Maybe both. The realization hits like a freight train made of bad decisions and restraining orders waiting to happen.
"VIOLA!"
His fist rattles the hinges hard enough I hear wood protest. Milo whimpers from his room—that small sound that means he's waking up, confused and scared.
I cross to the door on legs that feel like they're made of wet paper, peering through the peephole.
Nathan's face is distorted by the fish-eye lens—wild eyes, jaw still bruised from Leo's punch, tie askew like he's been wrestling demons and losing spectacularly.
I open the door two inches, chain engaged like that'll actually stop him if he decides to go full Hulk.
"Where is she?" Nathan pushes against the wood. "I followed her car. Where the fuck is Viola?"
"Keep your voice down." My voice is surprisingly steady considering my internal organs are staging a mutiny. "My son is sleeping."
He barely registers me. Just keeps scanning behind me like Viola might be hiding in my coat closet. "Get out of my way. Where is she?"
Something inside me snaps.
Not breaks—snaps. Like a rubber band stretched too far, too long, finally giving up and deciding violence is the answer.
"I'm Viola, you fucking idiot."
Nathan freezes mid-push.
"I'm Rory. The woman you dumped when she got pregnant. The woman you said nobody would ever want." I laugh, and it sounds slightly unhinged even to my own ears. "Surprise, asshole."
Understanding dawns on his face like the world's cruelest sunrise.
"You?" Contempt drips from the word like poison. "Pathetic little Rory is the goddess I've been chasing?"
"Every photo, every pose you obsessed over? That was me, Nathan. Me in a wig and contacts and enough confidence to make you forget I existed."
His laugh is cutting, vicious. "Just some sad office mouse playing dress-up. I should've known no real woman would actually want me—only some desperate nobody in a costume."
But there's something manic in his eyes. Something unhinged that makes my survival instincts scream.
"You got me fired." His voice drops dangerous. "You ruined my fucking life."
"I ruined your life?" My rage finally catches up to his. "You abandoned your pregnant girlfriend! You cornered me in a bathroom! You stalked someone for months!"
"You lied! You manipulated—"
"I existed!" The words tear out of me. "I made myself visible because men like you made me invisible! You called Viola perfect. That was me. The same woman you said would be saggy and unwanted—turns out you wanted her so badly you lost your job stalking her."
"You're pathetic," he spits. "A desperate woman who created a fake persona because the real you wasn't good enough."
"And you're a stalker who got outsmarted by an office mouse." I step closer to the crack in the door. "Get out before I call the police and explain how my ex-boyfriend is harassing both versions of me."
He lunges. I slam the door hard, catching his fingers. He howls, stumbling back.
"This isn't over! You fucking bitch, this isn't—"
His voice fades down the hallway. Retreating footsteps. Silence that feels more threatening than the shouting.
I sink to the floor, shaking so hard my teeth chatter.
My phone. Where's my phone? I find Leo's contact and tap call with trembling fingers.
"Rory?" His voice is instant, alert. "What's wrong?"
"Nathan. He found me. He knows." The words come out broken. "He was here. At my door. Screaming."
"I'm coming. Don't move. Lock everything. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"Okay."
"Rory? I'm already in my car."
I don't remember the next twenty minutes. Just sitting on my floor, back pressed against the door, listening to Milo's quiet breathing from his room.
The knock that comes is gentle. "It's me. Leo."
I open the door and fall into his arms, sobbing against his chest while he holds me like I might shatter.
"Tell me everything," he murmurs, guiding me to the couch.
So I do. Through tears and shaking breaths—the confrontation, the revelation, Nathan's crumbling ego and manic eyes.
"You were so brave." Leo cups my face, thumbs wiping tears. "So incredibly brave."
"I was terrified."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive." He pulls me closer. "You protected yourself and Milo. That's what matters."
His mouth finds mine—soft at first, questioning. I answer by pulling him closer, threading fingers through his wavy hair, kissing him with everything I've been holding in.
The need is urgent. Not just desire but safety, comfort, the desperate craving to feel something other than fear.
We stumble toward my bedroom, mouths never separating. He lifts me easily, kicks the door shut, locks it with one hand while the other grips my hip.
"Need you," I gasp against his mouth. "Please, Leo—"
Clothes shed in frantic pulls. His shirt tears at the collar from swollen knuckles. My sweatpants pool around ankles. We crash onto sheets, skin to skin, his weight pressing me into the mattress like an anchor.
His mouth devours mine, tongue deep and claiming. I arch beneath him, nails raking his back—olive skin marked red with proof I'm here, alive, safe with him.
He trails fire down my throat, sucking at my pulse point hard enough to bruise. His hands map my body with reverent urgency—cupping breasts, thumbs circling nipples until I whimper.
"So beautiful," he breathes against my skin. "Every version of you."
His mouth closes around my nipple, sucking while his hand kneads the other. Teeth graze sensitive flesh and I cry out, muffled into a pillow for Milo sleeping down the hall.
"Leo—please—"
He spreads my thighs, settling between them. His breath ghosts over my center before his tongue makes one long, devastating lick.
I nearly levitate off the bed.
"Fuck—Leo—"
"Just me." His voice vibrates against me. "All me. You're safe now."
His tongue circles my clit with maddening precision while two fingers slide inside, curling to find that spot that makes stars burst. The pressure builds impossibly fast, coiling tight in my core.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Let go. I've got you."
The orgasm crashes through me, walls clenching around his fingers, thighs shaking against his shoulders. He doesn't stop, licking me through every pulse until I'm boneless.
When he rises, his cock is thick and hard, tip glistening. "You sure?"
"Yes." I pull him down. "Need you inside me. Now."
He positions himself, rubbing through my wetness, then slides in with one smooth thrust. The stretch is perfect, the fullness overwhelming. We groan together as he bottoms out.
"So tight," he gasps. "So perfect for me."
He sets a rhythm—deep, steady strokes that hit exactly right. His hand finds my clit, circling with the same precision his tongue used, and I'm already climbing again.
"Love this," he rasps, picking up pace. "Love you like this. Real, messy, mine."
The words tip me over. My second orgasm rips through, clenching around him as I cry his name.
"Rory—fuck—" His rhythm falters. "Where—"
"Inside." I wrap legs around his waist. "Want to feel you."
Three more thrusts and he's gone, pulsing deep as he shouts into my shoulder. We collapse together, sweat-slick and breathing hard.
"Stay," I whisper into the darkness.
"Always." He kisses my forehead. "Tomorrow we tell Julian and Grayson. Get proper security. Nathan's done terrorizing you."
In the afterglow, wrapped in Leo's arms, fear finally ebbs. Tomorrow we fight back.
Tonight, I'm safe.