Mag-log inChloe’s POVAt two in the morning, unable to sleep, I finally called Alina.I’d been putting it off for days. Weeks, maybe. Too ashamed to admit I was living the exact situation I’d judged her for.She answered on the second ring, sounding wide awake. “Chloe? What’s wrong?”“I need to talk to you.”“Okay. Hold on.” I heard movement, a door closing. “Okay, I’m in my office. Elena’s asleep, and I’ve got all night. Talk to me.”Where did I even start?“Remember when you got involved with Jaxon, Maddox, and Ronan?” I asked. “Remember how I said it was crazy and inappropriate and you should choose one?”“I remember. You were very vocal about it.”“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” My voice broke. “Because I get it now. I understand why you couldn’t choose. Why you needed all
Chloe’s POVI was reading on Lucian’s couch when my phone rang with a FaceTime call from Jake.My younger brother. The one person I’d been successfully avoiding for months.I almost didn’t answer. But guilt won out.“Hey, Jake.” I tried to sound normal, casual, like my life wasn’t a complete disaster.His face filled the screen—twenty-two, still baby-faced despite his attempts to grow a beard, wearing his college hoodie.“Finally!” He looked relieved and annoyed simultaneously. “Do you know how long it’s been since we actually talked?”“I know. Sorry. Work’s been crazy.”“Too crazy to text your brother back?” He narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on? And don’t say ‘nothing’ because Mom said you sounded weird last time she called.”“I talked to Mom?”“Weeks
Lucian’s POVI knocked on Dominic’s loft door at exactly eight AM, as scheduled. The rotation had Chloe moving to my place for the next two days, and I was early because I’d missed her.Pathetic, really. I’d seen her three days ago. But those three days felt like weeks.Dominic answered, shirtless and rumpled, clearly just woken up. “You’re early.”“Traffic was light.” I looked past him. “Is Chloe ready?”“She’s packing. Come in.”I stepped into the loft, immediately noticing the changes. Chloe’s things scattered around—her laptop on the table, her jacket on the couch, coffee mug in the sink. She’d made herself at home here in a way she hadn’t at my place.Something unpleasant twisted in my chest.“Coffee?” Dominic offered, heading to the kitchen.“Sure.”He moved around the space wit
Dominic’s POVI pushed inside her—slow, inch by inch, feeling her stretch around me. Her mouth fell open. A sound came out, something between a gasp and a moan, and her nails dug into my shoulders hard enough to draw blood."Fuck," she whispered. "Dominic… you're so…""Am I hurting you?""No. God, no. Don't stop. Please don't stop."I bottomed out inside her, and we both stilled for a moment, breathing each other's air, foreheads pressed together. Her walls fluttered around me, adjusting to my size. She was so tight. So warm. So perfect."You okay?" I asked."More than okay." She kissed me, soft and sweet. "Move. Please."I did.I pulled out slow, then pushed back in, setting a rhythm that was deep and deliberate. Each thrust made her gasp. Each withdrawal made her whimper. Her legs tightened around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I groaned against her neck."Like that?" I asked.
Dominic’s POVChloe had been staying at my loft for two days, and I was losing my mind.Not because she was difficult or demanding. Because she was there—in my space, wearing my clothes when she ran out of clean ones, curled up on my couch reading while I painted, making coffee in my kitchen like she belonged there.And God, I wanted her to belong there.It was past midnight on her second night. She sat on the floor near my easel, watching me work on a new piece. I’d offered her the couch, but she preferred being close.“Can you teach me?” she asked suddenly.I looked down at her. “To paint?”“Yeah. I want to try.”I shouldn’t have said yes. Painting was intimate for me—putting my trauma on canvas, processing emotions through art. Teaching someone meant sharing that vulnerability.But I grabbed a fresh canvas anyway.“Come here.”She stood, and I positioned her in front of the blank space. Handed her a brush.“What do I paint?” she asked.“Whatever you feel.”“I feel scared.”“Then pa
Marcus’s POVRonan called me back forty-eight hours after our last conversation.“Got your intel,” he said without preamble. “You’re not going to like it.”I was in my apartment, monitoring security feeds from Chloe’s location. Currently at Dominic’s loft, safe, sleeping based on the lack of movement.“Tell me.”“Three Vulture remnants operating in Seattle. Orion Kozlov, Dorian Volkov, and Nikolai Petrov. All former enforcers, all loyal to Iron Mike Morrison even after his imprisonment.”“Morrison. The one who killed Alina’s mother.”“The same. He blamed Alina for his life sentence, and by extension, anyone close to her. These three are looking for revenge through proxy.”“Their plan?”“From what my sources gathered, they want to grab Chloe, use her as bait to lure Alina to Seattle, then kill both of th
Ronan’s POV - One Week LaterMorrison’s lawyer arrived at the compound flanked by heavy security. He seemed out of place in his fancy suit amidst a world filled with leather and tattoos. “My client wants to talk about a possible deal,” the lawyer said as he sat down across from me, Jaxon, and Madd
Alina’s POV - One Week LaterLife at the compound had settled into a strange routine. The immediate threats were gone. Hart was in prison. Morrison was in prison. Tommy was in prison. The Vultures were scattered and broken. We’d won.So why did everything feel so weird?
Ronan’s POV - Later That EveningI found Alina in the library—a quiet place we made at the compound for anyone looking to escape the chaos around us. She was cozied up in a big chair, staring off into space, deep in thought.“Mind if I sit here?” I asked from
Alina’s POV - Three Days LaterThe courtroom was overflowing—every seat was taken, and people filled the back, while others watched on screens in nearby rooms. This wasn’t just any trial; it felt like a dramatic show. The fall of Commissioner Marcus Hart, brought down by his own daughter, played o







