Forty Two

Forty Two
Vivian's Pov

The first thing I felt wasn’t the light creeping through the curtains, but warmth. Not the kind sunlight gives, but the steady, rhythmic heat of someone breathing beside me. His chest rose and fell against my back, slow, unhurried… intimate.

And then, reality crashed in like cold water.

My breath caught. Every fragmented moment from last night rushed through my mind, the touch, the words, the way everything blurred until reason disappeared. I blinked hard, trying to steady myself, but my heart was already racing.

Carefully, I eased away, moving inch by inch so I wouldn’t wake him. The sheet rustled softly as I slid out from under it.

“Kade,” I whispered, the name barely leaving my lips. It wasn’t even meant for him to hear, just a quiet disbelief hanging in the air.

But he stirred. His arm shifted before I could fully escape, tightening around my waist, pulling me back against him.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, warm against my ear.

I froze, my entire body going rigid. “We shouldn’t…” My voice wavered, splintering around the words. “We shouldn’t have…”

His lashes lifted slowly, eyes still heavy with sleep as they met mine. For a second, confusion clouded his expression, then something else, something unreadable, settled there. “You really think I regret it?”

“I think you should,” I replied quickly, the words spilling out before I could soften them. I slipped free of his grasp and stood, grabbing the first piece of clothing I could find, his shirt, of course. It smelled faintly of him. I hated how it made my pulse jump. “You know why I’m here. Your grandfather—”

“Mr. Falcone doesn’t have to know everything,” he cut in sharply, sitting up. His tone carried that familiar edge, the one that always clashed against my restraint. “Vivian, last night wasn’t some mistake.”

“It was.” I turned to face him, clutching the shirt close. My voice steadied even though my chest ached. “There were lines crossed, Kade. Too many of them.”

He let out a low sound, half sigh, half frustration, and ran a hand through his messy hair. “You keep saying that,” he muttered, his gaze locking on mine, intense and unrelenting, “but you don’t mean it.”

“Don’t tell me what I mean,” I snapped quietly, the sharpness in my tone surprising even me.

He stood, the sheet falling from his waist, and in two steps he was in front of me again. The distance between us vanished, replaced by heat and tension that made breathing harder than it should be.

“Then tell me you feel nothing now,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Look me in the eye and say it.”

My throat tightened. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. “You’re impossible.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s not an answer.”

I looked away, gathering my thoughts, my balance. “You think this is some romantic rebellion, but it’s not. I’m supposed to follow your grandfather's instructions, remember? I’m supposed to keep you and your brother in line, not—” My voice broke. “Not to fall for one of you.”

His face softened. “Then don’t report it. Keep this… ours.”

I laughed, sharp and humorless. “You think it’s that easy?”

“I think it could be if you let it.”

He stepped forward again, and I backed away until my legs hit the desk. “Kade, stop. You can’t fix this with charm.”

“Then tell me what to do,” he said quietly. “Because pretending last night didn’t happen? That’s not something I can do.”

Something in his voice cracked the wall I’d spent months building.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat refusing to go away. “You think you know what you want, but you don’t. I’m not—” I hesitated. “I’m not one of those girls who orbit around you waiting for attention.”

His gaze dropped, then rose again. “I know exactly who you are.”

“No, you don’t.” My chest hurts now. “You know the version you want to see.”

“Then show me the real one.”

The words I wanted to say tangled somewhere between fear and longing. I turned away, pretending to straighten the papers on my desk just to keep my hands from shaking.

“I should go see your grandfather,” I said finally, my voice flat, carefully stripped of anything that might sound like emotion. My hands twisted at the hem of the shirt I wore, his shirt. “He’s expecting an update.”

Kade exhaled slowly, his gaze sharpening. “You mean a report.”

“Yes,” I said simply. There was no point pretending it was anything else. That’s what I was here for. That’s what this was supposed to be.

He tilted his head slightly, studying me, and when he spoke again, his tone had darkened, low and steady like a warning. “So that’s all I am to you? An assignment?”

I looked away. “Don’t make it sound cruel.”

“It is cruel,” he said. He took a step closer, and I could feel the weight of him, the frustration rolling off his body like heat. “Because I can take your anger, Vivian. I can even take your silence. But don’t—” his voice broke, rough at the edges, “don’t pretend I mean nothing.”

The way he said it, so steady, so raw, made my chest tighten painfully. I forced a breath, blinking hard to stop the sting behind my eyes. I couldn’t let him see that. Not now.

“You should get dressed,” I said instead, forcing my voice to sound even. “Someone might see you here.”

He didn’t move. His jaw clenched, eyes fixed on mine. “You’re running.”

“Maybe,” I whispered, the word trembling even as I tried to make it sound calm. I met his gaze, finally letting him see the exhaustion, the conflict. “But it’s better than falling.”

For a long, breathless moment, neither of us moved. His eyes softened for just a heartbeat, and I thought, hoped, he might walk away quietly.

Instead, he stepped back, reaching for his shirt, the same one still hanging loosely on me. A faint, crooked smile touched his lips. “Guess I’ll have to come back for that.”

I tore it off and threw it at him, the fabric hitting his chest before sliding to the floor. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckled, the sound low, more sad than amused. “Still not an answer,” he murmured, bending to pick up the shirt.

He slipped it on slowly, buttoning it halfway while his gaze stayed locked on me. I folded my arms tightly across my chest, trying to keep my heartbeat steady, trying not to let the tremor in my hands show.

He reached for the door, but just before stepping out, he turned back.

“You can keep pretending, Vivian,” he said quietly. “But I’m not giving up.”

The door shut behind him with a muted click, leaving the room impossibly still.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, fingers pressed to my temples. The scent of him still clung to the sheets, warm, dark, undeniable.

I wanted to hate him for making me feel this way.

Instead, I hated myself for wanting him again.