All Chapters of Undercover Hearts: Chapter 141 - Chapter 146

JamieNoah’s apartment smells like roasted chicken and potatoes when he opens the door, and for some reason that almost undoes me more than any kiss could.“Hey,” he says, leaning on the frame like he has all the time in the world. His hair’s damp, curling a little at the edges, like he just showered. His shirt is soft gray, sleeves rolled up. Domestic, unfairly gorgeous.“It smells amazing in here,” I manage, stepping inside. My heart’s tap-dancing in my throat. I’ve been on dates before, had flings, hooked up in ways I’d rather not detail. But this feels different. This feels like standing at the edge of something big.The table’s set with candles, actual cloth napkins and two glasses already half-filled with chilled white wine. A loaf of crusty bread sits between us like it’s starring in its own Food Network special.“You’re unbelievable,” I tell him, dropping onto a chair. “It seems unfair that you can cook as well as you bake.”He grins, sliding into the seat across from me. “Did

SophiaThe verdict follows us like a shadow all the way home. Elena’s mask has finally cracked, and the jury cut her down piece by piece. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.Marcus’s hand stays clamped around mine as if letting go would undo it all. Even as we step into his apartment, the air heavy with silence, he doesn’t release me. His suit jacket drops to the chair, his tie half-loosened, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t ease.Neither does mine.I know what he’s thinking. What we’re both thinking. This is the end of Elena’s reign, but probably not the end of her shadow. Still, for tonight, I don’t want shadows. I want him.I tug on his hand and lead him toward the bedroom without a word.He stops in the doorway, eyes storm-dark, voice rough. “Sophia…”I don’t let him finish. My lips press to his, hungry, needy, dissolving everything in the heat. He groans into my mouth, one hand cupping the back of my head, the other spreading over my lower back.The kiss deepens frantically, like we’

MarcusThree weeks is just enough time for the adrenaline to drain from your veins and leave only the ache behind.The courthouse looks the same as it did during the trial. Columns like stone sentries, the hum of cameras outside, the smell of disinfectant that clings to your clothes. But today is different. Today isn’t testimony or strategy. It’s judgment.Elena sits at the defence table in a charcoal suit, hair pulled sleek, eyes forward. She doesn’t look at me, not once. Maybe she knows if she did, I’d see the cracks. Maybe she doesn’t want me to.The judge’s words are measured, deliberate. Twenty-five years to life. The gavel strikes, and the sound echoes like a door slamming shut.Elena doesn’t flinch. Not outwardly. But I see the minute twitch of her jaw. It’s the performance of a woman who’s lost everything but refuses to give the audience the satisfaction of seeing her break.My hands are locked together in my lap, the pressure of my fingers digging into my palms. Relief crashes