MasukPOV: Claire Desmond
The digital clock on the dashboard flickered: 9:00 p.m.
The interior of the black Cadillac Escalade was a vacuum of hushed luxury, sealing us away from the silver drizzle slicking the Manhattan pavement. This wasn't the beat-up Volkswagen Golf Gareth usually drove.
Tonight, the man behind the wheel was shedding his layers.
The few hours of sleep he’d stolen this afternoon h
POV: Claire DesmondThe digital clock on the dashboard flickered: 9:00 p.m.The interior of the black Cadillac Escalade was a vacuum of hushed luxury, sealing us away from the silver drizzle slicking the Manhattan pavement. This wasn't the beat-up Volkswagen Golf Gareth usually drove.Tonight, the man behind the wheel was shedding his layers.The few hours of sleep he’d stolen this afternoon had worked wonders. Gareth looked refreshed, his sharp jawline prominent again, clean-shaven and lethal. Clad in a crisp, dark navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he radiated a quiet, terrifying charisma.It was hard to look away from him.In the back seat, Alana was humming a tune from a Disney movie, her small legs kicking back and forth to the rhythm of the low-fi jazz pulsing through the premium speakers.A vibration in my lap
POV: Claire DesmondGareth exhaled, a long, shuddering surrender. He finally let his body acknowledge that it was broken. He fell back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling as his chest rose and fell in a ragged rhythm."Sleep, Gareth," I whispered, leaning over him. "I’m not going anywhere."I climbed onto the bed, tucking my legs beneath me as I sat beside him.Watching the lines of exhaustion around his eyes finally begin to soften, I felt a genuine smile tug at my lips. I reached out, resting my hand on the crown of his head. With slow, rhythmic strokes, I began to run his fingers through his thick, dark hair.The effect was instantaneous. Gareth’s eyelids, which he had been forcing open by sheer will, grew heavy.He rolled onto his side, facing me, and hooked one powerful arm around my waist in a possessive, territorial arc. He pulled
POV: Claire DesmondEuphoria didn’t just arrive; it detonated.The Hamilton Cafe, which had felt like a vacuum of suffocating despair only minutes ago, suddenly surged with life. The air, once heavy with the metallic tang of anxiety, was now electric.Gareth’s grip on my hand tightened until it was almost painful.It was as if a massive dose of adrenaline had been slammed into his heart. His face, which had been a mask of grey exhaustion and bruised hollows beneath his eyes, was now flushed with a restless, frantic energy.He started moving before he even knew where he was going, straightening the crumpled collar of his shirt and slapping his pockets in a panic."Keys... where did I put the damn keys?" he muttered.His eyes, usually like cold obsidian, were darting across the reclaimed wood of the bar counter like a man p
POV: ClaireThis hug was more than just a gesture. It was an anchor, heavy and sure, keeping my soul from being swept away by the wreckage of the last few hours.Gareth’s breathing, which had been jagged and frantic seconds ago, finally smoothed out against the curve of my neck.The heat of his exhale was a physical brand on my skin. He smelled like he always did—rich espresso, cooling rain, and the faint, sharp scent of peppermint. The silence inside the Hamilton Cafe was thick enough to choke on.Nobody moved.Sam, Martha, and Shannon stood like statues in the periphery, holding their breath as if any sound would shatter the fragile peace we’d just built from the ruins. I squeezed my eyes shut, listening to the frantic rhythm of Gareth’s heart slowing down to match mine.This man—this titan who could probably crash a stock market with a sin
POV: Claire Desmond"Sorry?"I stepped forward, the distance between us feeling like a canyon I had to cross. The tears I’d been fighting since we left Queens finally broke, carving hot, salt-stung paths through the cold rain on my face."That’s it? You’re walking out on everything—on us—and all you have is 'sorry'?"My voice rose, cracking with a lethal mix of agony and fury.Gareth tried to speak, his hand reaching out instinctively before he pulled it back, as if he feared he’d burn me."Claire, listen to me. My being here... it’s a target on your back. I lied to you about who I was. I—""So this is your solution?!" I screamed, the sound raw and ugly.I didn't care that Sam and Martha were watching. I didn't care about the pride I’d spent twenty-six years cultivating."You're j
POV: Claire DesmondThe wiper blades screeched across the glass, a rhythmic, grating sound that set my teeth on edge. They struggled to shove aside the New York drizzle, but the city lights just smeared into a neon blur of gold and red.Shannon was driving like a woman who had nothing left to lose.She tore through the gridlock of Lower Manhattan, swerving around yellow cabs and ignoring the symphony of angry horns that followed us. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone.I gripped the seatbelt so hard my knuckles went white. My breath was shallow, hitching in my chest as if the very air in the car had turned to lead.In my mind, a single image played on a loop, agonizing and sharp. Gareth, pulling a suitcase through a terminal. Gareth, turning his back on the city, on Alana, on me. An apocalypse in a trench coat, vanishing in







