Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
This is not just a kiss.
It’s a war.
And I surrender.
When we finally part, I’m breathless. Dazed.
“Why now?” I whisper. “Why tonight?”
He rests his forehead against mine. “Because I couldn’t stay away.”
I reach for his face, but he pulls back. Mask already sliding down again. Hiding.
“Wait—please—”
He presses a gloved finger against my lips.
“I can’t,” he says.
My throat tightens. “Who are you?”
He brushes a gloved knuckle along my cheek. “The one trying to keep you alive.”
Then he disappears.
And I stand in the alleyway, lips swollen, heart racing, lungs full of the only name I wish I could say out loud.
Mask.
Whoever he is…
He’s mine.
And I want more.
SIXTEEN
GAGE
She kissed me.
God help me, she kissed me first. She tasted like Misfit Mint and sunshine.
Later in the evening, I’m sitting in my apartment, staring at the frozen feed on my third monitor like I’m trying to bring her image back with sheer willpower.
But the CCTV feed loops. Safety protocol. The street where we kissed. It’s gone.
She’s gone. And I can’t watch it again.
Can’t relive the way she looked at me—like I was someone worth trusting. Someone worth wanting.
My lips still tingle.
My hands are still clenched into fists because if I don’t hold myself back, I’ll be out that door and across the city just to catch one more second of her skin under my hands.
I never should’ve gone.
It was a reckless, selfish choice.
But when she said my name last night—Mask—in her sleep, all soft and breathy and sweet, like I was some kind of dream instead of a walking security risk, I cracked. I shattered.
That one word rewired every line of code I’ve built to keep myself away from her.
I told myself I’d just watch. Make sure she was okay.
I told myself I wouldn’t touch her.
Liar.
I touched her like I was drowning. Kissed her like it was the only way I’d survive the night. And I’d do it again. God, I’d do it again.
I bury my face in my hands.
My phone buzzes.
RIVER: Are you okay?
I stare at it.
No.
No, I’m not okay.
I kissed you in the shadows and then bolted like a coward.
I type out five different replies before I finally settle on the one that won’t give too much away:
ME: Are you?
Her reply is instant.
RIVER: I can’t stop thinking about you.
I groan.
This is torture.
She’s in her room right now, probably curled up with her knees pulled to her chest, still wearing the same hoodie she wore to work today. I know because I saw her walk in wearing it and had to force myself not to stare at how soft she looked.
She thinks she kissed a stranger.
And she doesn’t even realize it was me.
The guy who took her coffee this morning. The guy who hovered in meetings just to make sure no one looked at her sideways. The guy who’s been running firewall patches like a madman and triple-verifying code commits just to keep her safe.
She has no idea how much of her life I’ve touched.
But the thing is… I’ve touched it all carefully. Ethically. As cleanly as I can.
Until tonight.
Tonight I let her kiss me. I kissed her back. I took something from her—something I’ve wanted for so long I forgot what it felt like not to crave it—but I did it without giving her the truth.
And that? That’s unforgivable.
I push away from the desk, pacing my apartment like a caged animal.
My phone buzzes again.
RIVER: I want to see you again. I know you said soon, but I need to.
I lean my forehead against the wall.
She needs to.
Hell.
What happens when she finds out the guy helping her behind the screen is the same one watching her across the office?
What happens when she realizes I’ve been splitting myself in two—one part her awkward coworker who pretends not to care, and the other part her masked protector who cares way too much?
I don’t know.
But I’m already in too deep.
And the longer I wait, the harder it gets.
The truth is clawing its way out of me, piece by piece.
The guilt. The longing. The truth that every time she talks to me at work, I’m listening with both versions of me. That when she asked if we’d met before, it almost broke me. Because her voice was soft and uncertain and too damn close to the truth.
I thought the voice changer would protect me.
It didn’t.
Because deep down, she knows me.
She always has.
I grab my hoodie and gloves.
I can’t stay here. Not with her messages staring me in the face and my body still aching from her kiss. I need air. Space. Anything.
But when I hit the alley behind my building, I see her everywhere.
In every shadow.
In every soft gust of wind.
In the echo of her whisper in my ear: Mask…
God.
I’m unraveling.
And I don’t know how much longer I can keep my identities apart.
Because one side of me is in love with her.