All Chapters of Undercover Hearts: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

SophiaThe hours stretch like taffy. Dust in the air, the low hum of the system, Marcus crouched at one junction box after another with his flashlight clenched between his teeth. I pace. I curse. I imagine every possible way this could end and none of them involve me walking out alive.He mutters something under his breath, yanks another wire. Sparks crackle. I flinch like the sound is gunfire.“Please tell me you know what you’re doing.” My voice is too sharp, too brittle.He doesn’t even look up. “Define know.”I let out something between a laugh and a groan. “Fantastic. I’m trapped in a steel coffin with a federal agent who thinks sarcasm counts as reassurance.”He flashes me a quick grin, small and sideways, the kind that shouldn’t make my heart jump in the middle of being trapped, and goes back to the panel.Minutes drip into an hour. He tests wires, traces circuits, resets breakers hidden behind drywall seams. I want to scream at him, I want to crawl out of my skin, but I stay.

MarcusI should be satisfied. I should be calm, drifting in the afterglow of tenderness. But I’m not.Sophia’s sprawled across me, damp hair sticking to my chest, her thigh slung heavy over my hip. She smells like sweat and salt and something sweeter, and it lights me up instead of calming me down. Because the truth is, the tenderness cracked me open, and now every wall I’ve ever built is rubble. What’s left is hunger.When she shifts against me, the soft brush of her thigh skimming my still-hard cock, the last thread of restraint snaps.I roll her beneath me, caging her body with mine before she can breathe a question, and kiss her like a starving man. It’s rough, teeth and tongue, and she gasps against my mouth, but then she’s clawing at me, yanking me closer, answering me with that same wild need.“Marcus,” she pants, nails dragging down my back. “What-”“Can’t stop.” My voice is ragged, low. “I’ve waited so long.” I fist a hand in her hair, tilt her head back, and take her throat

SophiaThe world outside Marcus’s apartment looks almost normal, which feels like a cosmic joke. Cars threading through traffic. A woman jogging past with neon sneakers and a golden retriever. A kid dragging his backpack like it weighs a hundred pounds.None of them know that last night I was trapped behind steel shutters, convinced the man I…. What? Lust after? Trust against my better judgment? Maybe feel the L word for? was the threat. None of them know that somewhere in this city, Marrin is still a shadow with teeth.And none of them know I’ve been living in a triangle sharp enough to cut me open.Marcus leans in the doorway behind me, dressed in that impossible mix of casual and put-together. Jeans, gray T-shirt that stretches across those wide shoulders that deserve a Renaissance painting. His voice is low and careful. “We don’t have to rush this. We can move slow.”Slow. My laugh is short and brittle. “Marcus, do you see our lives? Slow isn’t on the menu. We slept together just a

MarcusI find Elena in her office at Platinum, her desk half-buried under folders and gleaming screens, light from outside throwing fractured shadows across the glass wall behind her. She doesn’t look up immediately when I step inside, which is her way of making people remember she’s busy and you’re the interruption.“Elena,” I say.Finally, her eyes flick to mine, cool and sharp as cut metal. “Marcus. You’re not usually the one knocking on my door without warning.”I shut the door behind me. Keep my voice level. “We need to talk.”That gets a smile. “About business?”“No. About Sophia.”The silence between us shifts, like a hinge creaking. Elena sets down her pen with deliberate care, her fingers splaying lightly on the desk as if to ground herself. “What about Sophia?”“I’m with her,” I say. No hedging, no softened edges. “It’s not temporary. I’m not hedging my bets with a client. She’s…it. My soulmate. The love of my life, whatever you want to call it.”For a second, the mask holds.

JamieIt’s not an accident. Not even a little.I tell myself it is, of course. That I was in the neighborhood. That the subway spat me out at the wrong stop, or that fate really wanted me to pick up a coffee two blocks east instead of west. But when the little brass bell over the bakery door jingles at exactly 10:17 p.m. and Noah glances up from a mixing bowl, I know better.And worse, so does he.“You again,” he says, deadpan. His forearms are dusted in flour, his apron smeared like he lost a fight with a bag of powdered sugar. There’s something deeply unfair about how good he looks sweaty and covered in kitchen debris.I sling myself against the counter, as casually as possible. “Total coincidence. I was just… in the neighborhood.”He raises an eyebrow. “At ten at night?”“Hey, neighborhoods exist at all hours. Don’t time-shame me.”Noah snorts, shaking his head. “You’re transparent, Jamie.”Normally, that would set off my flight response. Nobody’s supposed to see past the glitter.