LOGINMila Cross spent five years loving a man who slowly taught her how to hate herself. Every joke at her expense. Every apology that somehow became her fault. Every lie dressed up as honesty. So when her longtime boyfriend demands an open relationship, something inside her finally shatters. She doesn’t plan the night that follows. She doesn’t plan the stranger with tattooed hands and dangerous eyes who makes her feel wanted instead of tolerated. She especially doesn’t plan on sleeping with him and him being Ryan Wilder… her brother’s best friend, a man wrapped in violence and loyalty, the undisputed president of the Night Reapers MC.
View MoreMila The first thing I learned about happiness is that it does not arrive loudly.It doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t fix everything at once. It just… settles in, quietly, like light returning to a room you forgot was ever bright.Ryan’s penthouse… the one where our story first began… was still too large for how full it felt now.Not because of furniture. Not because of the view stretching over the city like a second horizon.But because Leo’s presence had changed the geometry of everything.Tiny socks where weapons used to be. A soft blanket draped over the arm of a chair that once held only tension and silence.And Ryan… Ryan was different in ways I didn’t expect to survive.He still carried weight. I could see it in the way he stood sometimes, like his body remembered battles even when the room was safe. But the sharp edges that once made him feel untouchable had softened just enough for the world to reach him again.I watched him one morning by the window, Leo balanced careful
MilaI wrapped my arms tighter around him, feeling the way his body shuddered against mine like a dam finally giving way after holding back a flood for far too long. The rain outside kept falling in steady sheets, drumming against the roof like a heartbeat we’d both forgotten we still shared. Ryan’s forehead stayed pressed to my shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against my neck, and I could feel every fractured inhale as if it were my own.“Ryan…” I whispered, sliding one hand up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his wet hair. He made a low, broken sound in response and his arms tightened around my waist until I could barely breathe. But I didn’t want to breathe. I wanted to drown in this.He lifted his head slowly, and when our eyes met, the raw hunger there nearly undid me. A year. A whole year of thinking I was lost. A year of carrying pain and guilt and the weight of an empire that had tried to swallow him whole. His eyes were dark, stormy, and complete
RyanI waited for the disgust.I waited for the exact moment her heart would harden, for her to take a step back and look at me the way Amelia had at the river. A monster.I stood pinned against the freezing plaster of the hallway. My chest was heaving fast, bracing for the execution I absolutely deserved.But Mila didn’t flinch. She didn’t step back.The silence in the narrow corridor stretched out, thick and heavy with the sound of the rain lashing against the brick outside. She just looked at me. Her eyes traced the wet lines of my face, the exhaustion carved deep into my jaw, taking in the full, ugly weight of my confession.“Amelia…” She repeated softly. The name sounded completely foreign in her mouth.I closed my eyes, unable to bear watching her process it. “I am so sorry.” I rasped, the words feeling weak, like useless scraps of an apology.“Ryan…” She called quietly.I opened my eyes.Mila shook her head slightly. Not forgiveness. Correction. “You said you heard everything
MilaThe moment I heard the floorboard creak, every instinct inside me sharpened. I had laid Leo carefully into the playpen without even thinking about it.But the figure standing beyond Justin’s office wasn’t one of my father-in-law’s soldiers.It was Ryan.He stood motionless at the far end of the hallway, his back turned toward me. He looked like he had walked through a storm just to end up here.And somehow, he looked worse than the weather outside.It wasn’t just the soaked clothes or the cold clinging to him that made my chest tighten.It was his posture. The Ryan I knew never folded into himself. Even at his lowest, even when he was breaking, he still occupied space like he refused to be erased.But now his shoulders were drawn inward, as if he was trying to physically shrink out of existence. His hands were clenched at his sides. Like holding still was the only thing keeping him upright.He looked like a man standing in front of something he couldn’t survive.“Ryan?” I asked






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