LOGINEMILYThe impact is a sound before it's a feeling. Metal giving way, a deep wet crunch, and then my body is airborne, the seatbelt locking across my chest as the car spins. Glass explodes inward. I don't think. I just grab. My arms find Mia and Mason and I curl around them like a shell closing, my back taking the spray, my head cracking against the window frame hard enough that stars bloom behind my eyes.We slide. We stop.The engine hisses. Steam vents from under the crumpled hood. My ears ring so loud I can't hear my own breathing, but I can feel it, ragged and shallow, catching on something sharp in my ribs.Under my arms, Mia trembles. A full-body shake I can feel through my chest. Mason is rigid, his small fingers clamped onto my wrist."Mama." Mia's voice is a wet whisper. "Mama, there's glass in your hair.""Stay down. Both of you. Don't move."I lift my head. The world tilts. Cole is slumped against the steering wheel, blood running from his hairline down the side of his face
NICKThe phone screen glows between us, casting harsh light over our faces. Alex's words sit there in the dark, smug and invasive. He knew about the moonlight. He knew about the third date, intimate details Emily shared with him years ago when he was someone she trusted. He's been hoarding those memories like currency, waiting to spend them the moment they would hurt her the most.Emily is sitting up in bed with the white sheets pooled around her waist. Her hand is still outstretched, frozen in the moment she handed me the phone. She keeps glancing toward the window where the moonlight falls across the pillow, the same moonlight Alex referenced in his message. Her chest is rising and falling too fast."He knows about the cabin," she whispers. "He knows things I only told him when I thought he was the one."I swing my legs off the bed and grab my jeans. "He knows what you told him, Em. That's a memory. It doesn't mean he's actually here.""He knew about the bedroom window." Her eyes ar
I should go to my room. Close the door, open the laptop, work.I walk to the kitchen.He's leaning against the counter with a glass of water, sleeves rolled up, forearms still damp from Mason's bath negotiation. He doesn't look up."Kids are down," I say from the doorway."Good.""Mason called lukewarm a non-committal temperature.""He's not wrong."I open the fridge, grab a water, close the fridge, and lean against the opposite counter. Maximum distance. Six feet."You can take the first shift," I say. "I'll sleep and relieve you at two.""I'm not doing shifts. I'm staying up.""All night?""Yes.""That's unnecessary.""It's protocol.""Protocol." I take a sip. "Your favourite word. Right behind drop it and goodnight."He looks up for the first time since dinner. His dark eyes find mine across the kitchen and something in my ribs tightens."Go to bed, Sage.""There it is. Three words, right on schedule.""It's not a dismissal. It's practical. One of us should sleep.""Then YOU sleep.
The first crisis happens fourteen minutes after Nick and Emily leave.Mia wants mac and cheese. Mason wants pasta with butter. I'm standing in the kitchen of the Blackwood estate holding a box of macaroni in one hand and a box of penne in the other while two children stare at me from the kitchen table like opposing counsel."They're both pasta," I say."Mac and cheese has CHEESE," Mia says."I can put cheese on the penne.""That's not mac and cheese. That's pasta pretending."Mason sits with his hands folded on the table. "I just want butter. Butter is easy.""I'M not being hard," Mia says. "I'm being SPECIFIC."Cole walks through the kitchen on his way to check windows, sees me holding two boxes and two children at war."Make both," he says without stopping."I'm not making two pots for two kids."He's already gone. His footsteps fade down the hallway and I stare at the empty doorway and add it to the list of things I want to throw at his head.I make both.Mia eats her mac and chees
He doesn't rush. His tongue moves through my folds slowly, circling my clit without touching it directly until my hips lift off the bed trying to find the pressure I need. He holds me down with one hand flat on my stomach and gives me his tongue in measured strokes that keep me right at the edge without letting me fall."Please," I say. "Nick, please."His tongue pushes inside me. My back bows off the sheets and my hand tightens in his hair hard enough that he groans against me. He fucks me with his tongue, slow and deep and curling, while his thumb finally finds my clit and presses in tight circles.I come with his mouth on me and his name breaking apart in my throat. My thighs clamp around his head and my hips grind against his face and he rides it out with me, his tongue never stopping, his thumb never stopping, drawing the orgasm out until my body is trembling and my hand falls from his hair to the sheets.He presses one last kiss against my inner thigh. Then he crawls up my body,
EMILYThe fire is already lit when we walk in. Orange light moves across the stone floor and the wooden ceiling beams and the walls that look exactly the way they looked when I was eighteen and believed the man beside me was going to save my life.I stop in the doorway. Nick's hand rests on the small of my back.The ceiling still slopes toward the back wall. The fireplace still dominates the left side. The wide-plank oak floor creaks in the same places it creaked six years ago, and my foot finds the one beside the door, the one I used to step on deliberately because the sound made Nick look up from whatever he was doing and smile.He's looking at me now. Not smiling."You kept the beams," I say."I kept everything I could.""The mantle is the same.""Same stone. I had it cleaned but the mason said it was too old to replace without taking the whole chimney down."I walk further in. My fingers trail the back of the couch, newer than the old one but positioned in the same spot facing the
EMILYNick walks into my studio carrying a backpack and a boy who isn't crying anymore but hasn't started talking yet either. Mason rides on his hip with his face pressed into his father's neck, arms locked around his shoulders. He's holding himself still. Dry-eyed. Breath shallow and even against
NICKCole is sitting across from me looking like a man who already knows how this ends.“Tell me again,” I say.“I set up the resort. Donated the trip through Reed Consulting. Structured it through the school competition.”“Without telling me.”“You wanted time with her outside the apartment. You s
NICKMason is finally asleep.It took forty minutes. He cried for the first twenty not loud, not the thrashing kind, just the kind that a five-year-old does when he’s too tired to sob but too upset to stop. He asked me three times if Mia was really his sister. I said yes three times. On the third o
I go downstairs.His door opens in three seconds. Sweats. T-shirt. Mason asleep on the couch behind him.“You knew I’d be at the gala.”He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t step back. He holds the door open wider and looks at me with the steady grey eyes of a man who’s been waiting for this.“Come in.”“I do







