CHAPTER 73
Nothing will ever be the same again.
The second the door slams shut behind me, I’m moving.
A blaze through the house.
A hurricane of fury that won’t be bottled, can’t be reasoned with.
My jacket hits the floor.
My boots pound a reckless path through the hall.
I’m not thinking.
I’m hunting.
I want to look the motherfucker in the eye—the arrogant, selfish bastard who took what was supposed to be mine.
Who kissed her.
Who stole the first fucking taste of her lips.
Mine.
That was supposed to be mine.
I shove the bathroom door open so hard it nearly tears off the hinges.
The light flickers on, and my target stares back at me.
Smirking.
Mocking.
Daring me.
My fist is already swinging before I realize it—rage burning so hot it blinds me.
Something cracks, but I don’t even fucking feel it. A sharp, brutal impact as the bathroom mirror shatters.
Glass rains down in glittering shards, the spiderweb of fractures splintering my own reflection into a thousand broken pieces.
I stand there, chest heaving, staring at the blood blooming across my knuckles, dripping onto the floor.
The man staring back at me is wrecked.
Wild-eyed.
Haunted.
Not the brooding detective everyone sees.
Not the man who plays by rules he wrote for himself.
This?
This is the monster she kissed.
I brace both palms on the sink, the porcelain cold under my hands, and lean in until my forehead almost touches the glass.
“You kissed her,” I snarl at my reflection. "You kissed her. Not me.”
The words crack the air between us.
Me and the man that looks back at me from the cracked mirror.
I shove off the sink, pacing a savage line across the tiny room.
I turn back and point, like the man in the mirror is someone else entirely.
“You’re the one she wants,” I spit. “In the dark. Behind the mask. The fucking fantasy.”
The bitterness curdles in my throat, choking me.
“You made her like this. You could’ve stopped this any fucking time you wanted.”
My hand moves before I even register it.
A sharp crack splits the air—skin on skin—as I slap myself across the jaw, stumbling a step from the force of it.
The sting blooms instantly.
Hot. Humiliating. Real.
I stare at myself, panting, shaking.
What the actual fuck am I doing? Beating the shit out of myself like I’m in fucking Fight Club.
“Get your shit together.”
I blow out a huff.
This didn’t start with the mask.
It started a year ago.
I was testifying in one of her cases.
One of a dozen I’d done that month.
I didn’t even know her name at first—just a file number, a list of facts. Another ADA trying to spin a clean narrative out of a pile of shit evidence.
But then she walked in.
And fuck.
She owned the courtroom.
Commanded it without raising her voice.
No theatrics. No grandstanding.
Just sharp intellect, sharper eyes, and a voice that made everyone sit up straighter.
Including me.
I told myself I stayed to see justice play out.
To make sure the asshole got locked away.
But the truth?
I wanted a few more minutes to watch her.
So every day, I came back.
Took the same seat behind her.