Chapter 232

Micah

Miss me, everyone? I know. It’s been a minute.

In my defense, I’ve been through a lot.

Also—quick public service announcement—thank you to all my adoring fans who apparently threatened my creator after my accident and demanded my survival.

So, to all of those, here I am!

Alive.

New and improved.

Well.

Kinda.

I’m still me. Mostly. The personality’s intact. The mouth definitely is. The body, however, is currently running on a trial version with limited features.

Turns out having brain surgery didn’t magically turn you back into your usual fearless, unfiltered, borderline inappropriate self overnight.

Or, like Noah had put it, I was in therapy to recover traits I’d had before—and shame, apparently, was never one of them.

Rude.

Jokes aside, healing had been… slower than I expected. Rehab. Appointments. Doctors wagging fingers at me like I was five. Being told things like “No, Micah, you cannot be suspended from the ceiling yet.”

Tragic.

I’d been spending most of my time rotating between the other two musketeers, Noah and Lexie, and the occasional forced rest day where Hale pretended not to hover but absolutely did.

Especially, I’d spent a lot of time with Lexie.

We’d been… domestic.

And I hated how much I didn’t hate all that nonsense couples do and I used to call lame—aka all things non-sexual, vanilla, or not involving whips and chains, a favorite kink of mine according to Aiden and Hale…

We took long walks in her garden. Short ones, when I got tired. Sitting by the beach at night, listening to music, not saying much. Staying in—her place or mine—watching movies with a giant bag of sour gummies, playing board games, video games, cooking something questionable, and talking for hours.

Who knew I could hold a conversation longer than five minutes without making it sexual?

Rude again.

I could be serious.

Lately, I kind of had to be.

We were all a little messed up after everything. Noah and Aiden were trying to rebuild a future that had almost been ripped away from them. Lexie was learning how to exist without her father—while also becoming the heir to a ridiculous empire.

Court dates. Lawyers. Media. Everything moving in slow motion, like the universe had hit pause but forgotten to warn us.

And then there was me.

I remembered who I’d been. Bold. Loud. Unfiltered.

But my body and my head were still catching up to those memories.

Hale had invited me back to the club that weekend. Just to sit. To watch.

I was terrified I’d hate it.

Even more terrified I’d love it and not be able to jump back in.

That was what I’d been thinking about when Lexie absolutely destroyed me at Final Fantasy for the third time in a row.

“Oh, come on,” I groaned, dropping the controller. “You’re cheating.”

“I am not,” she said, smug and gorgeous, curled up on the couch beside me. “You’re just bad.”

I stared at her. “I used to dominate men twice my size.”

She raised a brow. “And yet you can’t beat me.”

Cruel woman.

We laughed, easy and soft, the kind of laughter that didn’t hurt afterward.

Then she nudged my knee. “So… when are you going back to the club?”

I hesitated. “Hale asked me to come Saturday.”

Her eyes flicked to me. “How do you feel about that?”

“Nervous,” I admitted. “Like I might not connect with it anymore, which will totally break my heart.”

“C’mon… Public spankings, restraints, sensory deprivation… What’s not to connect with?” She laughed. Then she said, “I’d like to go someday. To watch. When I feel more… whole. Maybe, after the hearing.”

That hit harder than I expected.

“Yeah,” I said gently. “I’d like that too… How are you doing with that?”

She shifted, tucking her legs under her. “Not too well. I’ll have to testify soon.”

“I know,” I said. “I will too.”

She swallowed. “I’m scared.”

I turned toward her fully. “Hey. I’ll be there. Every step.”

Her voice wavered. “I don’t know how to do this. Running everything. Taking over what he left behind. I’m terrified I’ll become him.”

I reached for her hands. “Look at me.”

She did.

“You’re not like your father,” I said firmly. “If you ever take over that business, you’ll be incredible. You already treat people better than he ever did.”

She frowned. “I was mean to you.”

I snorted. “Yeah. But then you dropped everything to sit in a hospital room with me. You stayed. You cared. Because that’s who you are.”

She hesitated. “Well… not entirely.”

I tilted my head. “Oh?”

“I came because you did this to help us and got hurt,” she said quietly. “I came because you were alone and needed us. And I—” She looked up. “I came because I kinda… liked you.”

My brain short-circuited.

“Liked me,” I repeated. “Or like me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Like you.”

Oh.

Oh.

I smiled before I could stop myself. “Good. Because I was hoping you’d say that.”

She leaned in slowly, giving me time to pull away.

I didn’t.

The kiss was soft. Careful. Warm.

Not dramatic. Not rushed.

Just… right.

When we pulled back, she rested her forehead against mine.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “So maybe I’m not the same Micah I was before.”

She smiled. “Maybe you’re better.”

Yeah.

Maybe I was.

Saturday came faster than I expected.

I almost backed out three times.

Once while getting dressed. A term that—believe me when I say this—could not be used any more loosely…

Once, while Hale waited by the door pretending not to watch me pace.

And once when the bass from the club hit my chest the moment we stepped inside.

I didn’t, though. Which, frankly, deserved a medal.

I wasn’t dressed how I used to be. No glitter this time. No straps. No intentional provocation. Just the obvious attention anyone would get when wearing a white silk tank top and a matching thong with a white satin tail.

You would think, "Omg," but at a place like the Dominion… invisible.

Able to browse, check everyone out, and breathe—rather than becoming the center of attention. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed that option.

Hale noticed everything.

He didn’t touch me. Didn’t rush me. Just stayed close as we walked through the club, his presence steady and unmistakable at my side. His hand hovered near my back more than once—not possessive, not claiming—just… there.

And him? God, he was unfair.

Tight black leather pants, bulging arm muscles on display from his sleeveless leather top… Commanding. Every inch of him radiated control as he supervised scenes, corrected posture, issued quiet instructions that made people melt on the spot. His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t have to. People leaned in when he spoke, bodies responding before their minds caught up.

I hated how turned on I was, knowing I was only there to watch. I hated it even more that it felt familiar. The situation and the emotions, both.

Watching him like that—confident, precise, utterly dominant—lit something deep in my chest. Jealousy flared sharp and possessive when I saw submissives respond to him, and then immediately softened into something warmer when I realized how closely he watched me the entire time.

Protective. Attentive. Mine.

I wanted him to order me to kneel. Wanted him to pull me into a scene, demand I service him right there, in front of everyone, and remind me exactly who I was to him.

And that terrified me.

Because I wasn’t ready. And he knew it.

Of course he did.

Hale never pushed me at all, and every time he kissed me, he was claiming me, reminding me and everyone else that I was the chosen one—and God, I adored him for that. I wanted to look at all those boys with puppy eyes for him and say, "On your face…He’s mine."

Of course, I didn’t…

As we moved from room to room, sound and sensation washing over me, I realized something unexpected.

I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t panicking or spiraling.

I was… awake. Present. Still healing, still cautious—but not broken. And standing there, surrounded by bodies and desire and the familiar hum of the club, I found myself missing people I wish were there too.

Lexie.

Aiden.

And yeah—fine—even that obnoxious Noah.

My people.

My family.

I leaned slightly closer to Hale, just enough for him to feel it. He glanced down at me, eyes sharp, questioning without words.

“I’m okay,” I said quietly.

His hand brushed my lower back—brief, grounding. “I know.”

And for the first time since the accident, I believed it. I wasn’t who I used to be, but maybe that wasn’t a loss.

Maybe it was just… me about to blossom.