Chapter 122 Chapter 121
Harper POV
The noise finally dies.
The hall empties slowly — donors leaving, chairs scraping, volunteers laughing like nothing monumental just happened.
But something did.
And it’s still vibrating under my skin.
Logan hasn’t let go of my hand.
Not once.
We slip out a side exit to the quieter corridor near the locker rooms. It’s dimmer here. Cooler. The air smells faintly like polished floors and something metallic from the ice below.
It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
The adrenaline is fading now.
Which means reality is settling in.
He stops walking first.
I turn to face him.
For a second, neither of us speaks.
It’s strange — after all that public chaos, this feels bigger.
More dangerous.
“You silenced your dad,” I say softly.
His jaw tightens.
“Yeah.”
“You never do that.”
“I know.”
The weight of that hangs between us.
He looks at me differently now.
Not like I’m a distraction.
Not like I’m something reckless.
Like I’m something he’s choosing.
And that terrifies me more than the auction did.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I whisper.
“Yes, I did.”
His voice is low.
Certain.
I swallow.
“You spent five thousand dollars on me.”
“I know.”
“You let me outbid someone for you.”
His mouth curves slightly.
“You think I was going to let you sit there and watch me walk off with someone else?”
Heat creeps up my neck.
“I hated it,” I admit quietly.
“Hated what?”
“Watching them bid on you.”
The words feel raw leaving my mouth.
His eyes darken.
“Good.”
I blink.
“Good?”
“Yeah,” he says, stepping closer. “Because I hated watching them look at you like you were up for grabs.”
My breath catches.
The space between us shrinks.
There’s no crowd now.
No paddles.
No applause.
Just the echo of everything we didn’t say.
“You don’t get to be possessive unless you mean it,” I whisper.
His hand comes up slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face.
The touch is deliberate.
Careful.
“I mean it.”
The air feels heavier.
I search his face.
“Logan… this can’t just be adrenaline. Or ego.”
“It’s not.”
“Then what is it?”
His thumb lingers near my jaw.
“You,” he says simply.
That shouldn’t be enough.
But the way he says it—
Like it costs him something—
It makes my pulse stumble.
I exhale slowly.
“You scare me,” I admit.
A flicker crosses his face.
“Why?”
“Because you make me forget how careful I am.”
His lips hover inches from mine now.
“You think I’m careful?” he murmurs.
I almost laugh.
“You run.”
His forehead dips closer.
“Not right now.”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can feel it.
His hand slides to my waist.
Not greedy.
Not rushed.
Just… there.
Grounding.
“Say it again,” he says quietly.
“Say what?”
“That you’ve liked me since middle school.”
Heat floods my face.
“Logan—”
“Say it.”
His voice is softer now.
Not teasing.
Needing.
“I’ve liked you since middle school,” I whisper.
His eyes close briefly like it does something to him.
“God,” he breathes.
His other hand settles at my lower back, pulling me closer — slow enough that I can step away if I want to.
I don’t.
Our bodies align.
The heat between us is immediate.
Familiar.
Dangerous.
“You have no idea what that does to me,” he murmurs.
“Enlighten me.”
A small, reckless smile curves his mouth.
“You think I ignored you because you weren’t my type?”
My throat tightens.
“You didn’t exactly chase me.”
He leans down, lips brushing just barely against mine.
“I didn’t chase you,” he whispers, “because you weren’t safe.”
My breath catches.
“Safe?”
“You weren’t someone I could forget.”
That hits deeper than any compliment ever could.
His mouth presses to mine — slow at first.
Testing.
The kiss isn’t frantic like before.
It’s deliberate.
Intentional.
His hand tightens at my waist, pulling me closer as my fingers slide into the front of his jacket.
The warmth between us sparks instantly.
My breath leaves in a soft sound against his mouth.
He responds immediately — the kiss deepening, not rushed, but hungry in a controlled way that makes my knees feel weak.
“Logan,” I whisper against him.
He exhales my name like it’s something sacred.
His hand trails slowly up my side — not crossing lines, but close enough that every nerve wakes up.
The restraint makes it worse.
Makes it hotter.
My back meets the wall softly.
He braces a hand beside my head, not trapping me — just close.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
I don’t.
Instead, I pull him back to me.
The kiss turns heated, breathless.
My fingers tighten in his shirt.
His grip at my waist flexes.
The air between us feels electric.
This isn’t confusion.
This isn’t panic.
This is choice.
And it’s terrifying how right it feels.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, breathing hard.
“I’m not walking away from you again,” he says.
My chest rises and falls too fast.
“You don’t get to say that unless you mean it tomorrow.”
His forehead rests against mine.
“I’ll mean it tomorrow.”
My lips brush his once more, softer now.
Intent.
“I’m holding you to that, Shaw.”
His mouth curves slightly.
“Good.”
And when he kisses me again, slower this time — deeper, like he has nowhere else he needs to be —
I realize something dangerous.
For the first time…
I believe him.