Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
For the first time in my life, forever doesn’t scare me.
Even though Rina shakes her head, the resistance in her body has eased.
I tighten my hold on her. “You don’t have to believe me yet. You just have to let me try.”
It’s not a demand, but a promise.
Her shoulders hitch with a deep inhale before sinking on the exhale. “I don’t need you. I can do it on my own.” The protest is weak, a shield held up more out of fear than conviction.
Maybe she really can do it all on her own.
Rina’s one of the toughest women I’ve ever known.
She’s fierce and capable.
Independent.
She’s the kind of woman who’d fight the world without blinking. That strength is part of what drew me to her in the first place.
But none of that changes what’s true for me.
I need her. More than I’ve ever needed anything or anyone.
The future feels jagged and terrifying, yet the only certainty I have is that I want her in it.
“I’m afraid you’ll just end up hurting me,” she admits quietly.
“I know. But I’m going to do everything I can to prove you wrong.”
When her shoulders collapse, I scoop her up, cradling her as if I can keep her from falling apart. Her fists press against my chest, nails raking the fabric of my shirt, but she doesn’t push me away. Her tears soak through the cotton as her body trembles like it’s trying to shake the truth loose.
She fits against me in a way that makes my ribs tighten with protectiveness. I can feel the quick flutter under my palm, the small stutter of movement against my neck, the fragile warmth of her, as if she might vanish the second I loosen my hold.
The hallway is dimly lit as I carry her to the bedroom, each step measured and steady. It’s almost a surprise how calm I am. There’s not even a flicker of panic trying to break through.
“Pack your bags.” The words are simple, blunt, but they land with all the weight I mean them to. “Or I’ll pack them for you.”
It isn’t a threat.
It’s a promise.
For the first time in my life, I know exactly what forever looks like.
Now I just have to make her see it too.
25
Rina
The elevator glides to a stop, and when the doors slide open, my stomach does a small flip. Oliver steps out first, all easy confidence, like this is just an ordinary night with another woman he’s brought home.
Except it’s not.
And we both know it.
I trail behind him, my movements slow and hesitant. The moment I step into the penthouse entryway, my gaze skims over the luxurious interior. Black leather couches, arranged with a decorator’s meticulous eye, sit atop gleaming hardwood floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows give a stunning view of the city. There’s not a tossed magazine or rogue sock in sight.
I’ve never felt more out of place.
I clutch the strap of my bag until my knuckles ache, standing like a tiny island in a sleek, unfamiliar sea.
What the hell am I doing here?
Why am I letting him drag me deeper into a world that feels dangerous and inevitable all at once?
This situation has disaster written all over it.
I know it even if he doesn’t.
Oliver turns his head, one brow lifting in that infuriating way of his. Without asking, he reaches for my overnight bag. His fingers brush against mine. The contact is as quick as it is electric, and a shiver races down my spine. Before I can say anything, he takes the duffel and turns down a long stretch of hallway.
It takes a moment to jump-start my brain. “So, do I get my own room?”
He disappears before returning a beat later, empty-handed, a smug smile playing around his lips. “Abso-fucking-lutely not.”
I bristle. “I’m sorry?”
“You heard me.” He erases the space between us until I can feel the heat radiating off him. It’s a physical presence that seems to draw all the oxygen from the penthouse. “You’re sleeping in my room. In my bed. In my arms. End of story.”
His mouth looms over mine, and my body tenses in both anticipation and dread. A traitorous warmth blooms beneath my skin even as my brain screams at me to resist. For one dizzying moment, it’s tempting to give in to the urge. I imagine the weight of him beside me. His steadiness, the security of his arms wrapped around me, before straightening my spine and shoulders.
“You make this sound permanent.”
His eyes burn steadily into mine. “That’s because it is.”
The response slams into me. It’s quiet yet sure.
Unshakeable.
My mind lurches, whirling until it’s hard to think straight.
I need space.
Something solid to cling to before I drown in him completely.
My gaze catches on a bookshelf tucked into one corner of the open living room. I move toward it like it’s a lifeline. Most of the items there are predictable. Books with uncracked spines, a few modern sculptures, a bottle of bourbon that probably costs more than my rent. But there’s one thing that doesn’t fit. A small, framed photograph with worn edges and faded color. It’s the only thing in the entire penthouse that looks personal.