62

THEA

He walks in slowly, like he’s stepping onto a minefield, his black tank top clinging to his well-built body

His eyes scan the damage—the table, the broken glass, the fallen lamp—and then they flick back to me. He says nothing, but I see it. The guilt. The regret. The apology that doesn't make it past his lips.

I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly aware of the way my shorts cling to my thighs, the loose tank brushing my bruised skin like memory, my hair that looks like a nest. I look away, too proud to flinch.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, not looking at him.

He sighs, making his way in. “I told you I'll be back.”

“But the last time I checked, common courtesy demands me calling you before you show up at my home at 6:54 am,” I say flatly, the words scraping my throat.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Must be nice,” I snap, turning toward the broken pieces on the floor. “Having insomnia as a luxury instead of a symptom.”

Ezra moves closer. Too close. He always does this—invading quietly, like a whisper at the back of my neck. I step away.

“I’m not here to fight,” he says carefully.

“Too late.”

That's the only way I know.

“Thea—”

“No, Ezra. I… you know what?” I say, turning to him. “I know you are just pretending about all this.”

His brows furrow, jaw clenching as his eyes search mine. “I’m not pretending.”

“You destroyed my home.” And my soul. And the walls I've built around myself.

“That’s why I left the—”

“ —And.” I interrupt, the gears in my brain turning trying to find another excuse. “I still haven't forgiven you for marking me.”

Liar.

“I’m sorry, dammit!” he snaps. “You think this is easy for me? Feeling you more… intensely, watching you shut me out every time we get close?”

I stare at him, chest heaving. “Don’t. Don’t you dare turn this around.”

He runs both hands through his hair like he’s trying to ground himself. “Why do you keep doing that?” he says, quieter this time. “Why do you keep pushing me away every time I reach for you?”

“Because I love you, damn it!”

The silence that follows could split mountains.

I freeze, eyes widening. My lips part like I can drag the words back. But they hang in the air—bare, ugly, raw.

Ezra’s entire body stills. The muscles in his jaw shift like he’s trying to process if he heard me right.

I take a shaky step back. “No. I didn’t mean that. I—I was joking.”

His eyes meet mine, the frustration dissipating, replaced by amusement and something else I can't name. “You weren’t.” He says, taking a step closer to me.

I shake my head quickly, taking one back. “I didn’t mean it I swear. I was upset. I was angry. People say crazy shit when they’re angry, right?”

“Thea—”

“I don’t love you,” I lie, voice breaking around the syllables. “I don’t. God, I’d be insane to love you.”

Newsflash? I'm insane.

He closes the gap between us in a second and pulls me to his chest, pressing my head to his chest.

“I don’t know if what I feel is love,” he starts, voice low, vibrating against my ear. “But I’ll kill for you, Thea.”

I freeze, one hand curling into fist beside me.

He pulls me back, holding my gaze.

“I’d bleed for you. Burn for you. Burn everything down for you.”

He inhales deeply and takes a step back to run a hand through his hair again, frustration crackling off him like static. “See, I don’t know how to be what you need. I don’t know how to do the right thing around you, Thea. You make me forget every version of myself I’ve ever been. I’ve tried to stay away. I've really tried. But I can’t. I don’t want to.”

I bite my lip, trying to hold back a sob. God. This man.

“I think about you all the time,” he continues. “Even when I hate you. Even when I hate myself more for… not hating you enough to go crazy because of you. I still think of you. I still fucking want you.”

My cheeks burn.

He steps closer, voice breaking now. “You say you love me like it’s a mistake. Like it’s poison in your mouth. And maybe it is. Maybe I’m poison too. But you’re the only cure I’ve ever wanted. And I don't know what love is supposed to feel like, Thea, but if it’s this constant ache in my chest when you’re not near me... if it’s the way my world falls apart when you look at me like you did just now or if it's the way I always want to punch fuckers like Nathan Elowen...”

He exhales, his tone dark. “Then I swear to God or whatever is above—I love you.”

Silence stretches, taut and brittle between us.

My mouth parts. “I—”

I swallow hard, my gaze locked with his.

God. This man. I don't even know what to say.

There’s no second thought. No pause.

I close the distance in a single breath and jump into his arms, grabbing his face and crashing my lips onto his like I’m trying to breathe him in. My tears spill, hot and angry, streaking down my cheeks as my kiss steals the breath from both of us.

His hands move on instinct, gripping my thighs to hold me up, grounding me even as everything else spins.

I kiss him like I’m breaking. Like he’s the only thing holding me together.

Our mouths clash—desperate, messy, wet with every word we’re too wrecked to say. His lips taste like sin, salt, and salvation. And I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

Not until I’m gasping against him, my forehead pressed to his.

Panting. Shaking. Alive.

His grip tightens on my thighs as he holds me there, steady, even while everything else in me trembles.

He doesn't speak right away. Just stares up at me like he's memorizing the cracks in my soul.

Then his voice drops, rough and steady. “This... us... it can’t be a game anymore.”

I blink down at him, still trying to catch my breath, arms surrounding his neck for support. “What do you mean?”

He sets me down gently but doesn’t let go. “No more fake dating. No more blurred lines and loopholes. I’m done pretending this is temporary.”

“Ezra…”

“I want this to mean something,” he says, voice quieter now. “I want you to be mine. Not for a night or two or three. Not for a headline. For real.”

I stare at him, heart thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to break free. “You’re asking for… a label?”

He nods. “Yes.”

“A relationship?”

His eyes darken, intense and unwavering. “Yes. A real one. With you. No exits, no disclaimers. I don’t care how messy it gets, especially with this Aureate issue. I want all of it.”

I laugh, but it’s shaky. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“I don’t need to know everything,” he says, stepping in until we’re almost nose to nose again. “I just need to know you’re not walking away.”

Silence stretches. I’m terrified. I’m tempted. I’m torn.

But I’m also tired of pretending I don’t want him.

“I don’t know how to be someone’s girlfriend,” I whisper.

“You don’t have to be someone’s anything,” he replies. “Just be mine. All of you.”