Dominic was watching him closely.“You think I don’t know what this feels like?” he asked softly. “To be the one left behind? The one who stood in the rubble while someone else got to walk away with the fairytale?”Reid looked at him then, truly looked, and saw not just a manipulator, but a man who had once tasted that same bitterness. The ache of being almost loved.“I don’t want to hurt him,” Reid repeated, though the words didn’t hold as firm as before.Dominic didn’t smirk this time. He simply walked back over and poured them both a drink.“Then don’t,” he said, handing Reid a glass. “Just help me tip the scale.”Reid didn’t drink. He held the glass between both hands and sat down at the long table.“I still dream about him,” he admitted quietly. “About when we were deployed together. The nights we talked about the future. About who we could be after the war. I thought…”Dominic tilted his head. “You thought he’d wait for you.”Reid nodded once.“I thought I’d have a chance,” he m
Reid reached down and picked up the photo again, the one with Asher smiling into Luca’s kiss. The same lips that used to whisper his name years ago in a humid barrack room with sand beneath their boots and hell in their eyes.Reid’s throat closed up. His hand trembled.It was supposed to be me.He stood abruptly, kicking the coffee table. The force sent the bottle of whiskey clattering to the ground, shattering into amber splinters and glass. He didn’t care. Let it burn.Let it all fucking burn.He collapsed onto the couch, rubbing both hands over his face, trying to block the memories out, but they came anyway.The barracks.That first night. That first kiss, pressed behind supply crates.The promise. “When this is all over, maybe we’ll try… for real.”But they never did.And now he was watching the man he’d loved, still loved, kiss someone else like Reid had never even happened.The phone buzzed again on the table.He ignored it.Then it buzzed again. Then again.Sighing, Reid picke
The knock was too soft to be urgent, too calculated to be casual.Reid Hartwell barely glanced up from the whiskey bottle in his hand. He’d spent the last hour doing absolutely nothing but scrolling through his phone, and ignoring every headline that had Luca Virelli’s name tagged beside Asher’s.He didn’t need to look. He could feel it. The storm that had hit the internet when the former CEO and his infamous security handler finally made their debut as lovers. Twitter was a battleground. Instagram was a shrine. The world loved the scandal.But Reid?Reid was suffocating in it.The knock came again. A pause. Then the faint slide of something pushed beneath his door.He set the bottle down, slowly stood, and approached. For a moment, he hesitated, then picked up the thin black envelope. His name was printed across the front in that cold, serif font. There was no return address.He opened it.Inside were photographs. Not digital. Not emailed. Physical. Thick, glossy prints that curled e
Mrs. Hartwell's chest rose and fell in shallow, tight breaths.She had spent her entire life building walls of elegance, discipline, and control. Her house was perfect. Her clothes impeccable. Her children, well, child, was supposed to be the shining example of Hartwell tradition.But Serena?Serena had always been the wild card.She was beautiful, yes. Smart, of course. But soft. With that strange quiet fire she never fully understood. And now, the rumors weren’t just rumors. Serena was with Vivienne Strauss. And she had left, fled, actually, in the middle of a family firestorm. No warning. No proper exit. No shame.And she had known.She had known.Late night calls. Whispered “sleepovers.” That one time she found Serena’s phone open with Vivienne’s contact name surrounded by hearts.She’d told herself it was a phase.Told herself it would pass.Told herself it wasn’t worth the confrontation, not when Paolo Virelli was already shaking the family’s legacy with his son’s scandal.But n
Dominic picked up his espresso and took a measured sip.“Now, make the call. Arrange the meeting.”“To Reid?”“To Serena’s mother,” Dominic corrected, eyes glinting. “The Hartwells are Paolo’s old partners. If they feel cornered, they’ll beg for help from someone who knows how to bleed a Virelli.”“And Reid?”“We’ll give him exactly what he wants.”The man paused. “Asher?”“No,” Dominic said smoothly, rising from the table and straightening his cuffs. “A future where Asher regrets ever choosing anyone but him.”And as he walked out of the terminal into the waiting black car, the shadows seemed to follow.Dominic Caldera was back.And this time, he didn’t want control.He wanted ruin..............................Reid hadn’t slept in days.Not truly.He lay on his apartment couch, still half dressed from the night at The Cobalt Room, replaying it all, again and again.The music.The way Luca had looked at Asher.The way Asher had looked back.The kiss.The slow undoing of everything R
Morning found them tangled together, half buried under crisp hotel sheets and the scent of each other.The golden sunlight poured through the half drawn curtains in streaks, falling over the curves of bare skin and mussed hair.Luca stirred first.He blinked into the light, disoriented for a split second, until he turned his head and saw Asher.Still asleep.Still here.Still his.His breath caught at the sight, the way Asher’s lashes cast faint shadows across his cheek, the way one strong arm was draped possessively over Luca’s waist. Like instinct. Like reflex. Like home.He smiled.Not a sharp, corporate smirk.A real one.Slow. Soft.Unfamiliar in his own face.Carefully, he shifted so he was lying on his side, fingers brushing against Asher’s jaw. “You fake sleep like a five year old.”Asher didn’t move.Luca leaned closer. “You even snore like one.”Still nothing.So Luca pressed his lips to his ear and whispered, “I’m stealing your coffee and making a deal with your supplier.”