Chapter 35 Victor
VICTOR
My heartbeat pounds in my ears as I pace the length of my apartment, checking my phone every thirty seconds like a lovesick teenager. I shouldn’t have texted him. I shouldn’t have gone to Eclipse. I shouldn’t have walked away.
I’ve done nothing but make mistakes with Theo.
The soft knock at my door stops me mid-stride. He came. After everything, he actually came.
I drag my hand across my face, take a deep breath, and open the door.
Theo stands in the hallway, backlit by the harsh fluorescent lighting. His eyes are guarded, arms crossed over his chest. The air between us feels charged with all the things we’ve never said.
We stare at each other, seconds stretching into what feels like hours. His jaw is tight, that familiar stubborn set to his chin. I drink in the sight of him—the messy curls I’ve run my hands through countless times, the full lips I’ve claimed in the dark.
“Was that payback?” The words scrape from my throat before I can stop them.
His eyebrows shoot up, a flash of anger replacing the careful neutrality of his expression.
“For what? For existing?” Theo shoots back. “For making you feel something you’re too scared to acknowledge?”
The truth in his words is so impactful. I step back, wordlessly inviting him inside rather than continuing this in the hallway where my neighbors might hear—exactly the problem that brought us here in the first place.
Theo hesitates, then steps past me into the apartment. His familiar scent—sandalwood and something uniquely him—washes over me as he passes. I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching for him.
The door clicks shut behind us. The silence stretches, dangerous and fragile, until it snaps.
“That guy at the club—” I start.
“Don’t.” Theo’s voice cuts through the air like a blade. “You don’t get to question who I talk to when you spent eight months pretending I don’t exist outside your bedroom.”
“I wasn’t pretending—”
“No?” His laugh is bitter. “What would you call it then?”
The dam breaks. All the tension between us erupts at once.
“You want to own me in private but pretend I don’t exist in public. You want all of me but won’t give me anything real in return.” Theo’s voice rises, his eyes flashing with a hurt I’ve never seen before. “Do you have any idea what that feels like? To be someone’s dirty secret?”
“It’s not that simple!” I slam my palm against the wall. “You think this is just about me being ashamed? You have no idea what I’ve built, what I stand to lose.”
“Then explain it to me!” Theo throws his hands up. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like cowardice.”
“I came from nothing, Theo!” The words tear from my throat. “Nothing. No money, no connections, no safety net. Everything I have, I built with my bare hands. My reputation, my business—it’s all I have.”
I pace the floor, unable to look at him. “The fight world is... it’s not like your clubs. My investors, sponsors, fighters—they have expectations. I was afraid—” My voice catches. “I was afraid I’d lose everything I worked for.”
Theo stares at me, his expression unreadable. “So instead you decided to walk away from me. To lose me because… what? I’m expendable, inconsequential when compared to your business?”
The quiet devastation in his voice guts me.
I can’t meet his eyes, focusing instead on the space between us—vast despite the few feet separating our bodies.
My throat feels like sandpaper. Eight months of having this man in my life, in my bed, and I’ve never felt more exposed than I do now, fully clothed in my own living room.
“I didn’t want to lose you.” The words come out rough, barely audible. “I just—I didn’t know how to have you without risking everything else.”
Theo takes a step closer, his dark eyes searching mine. “Is that what you think this is? Some kind of transaction where you have to give up one thing to have another?”
I run my hand over my face, feeling the stubble rasp against my palm. “You don’t understand what it took to build what I have—”
“I built my own empire from nothing,” he interrupts, that familiar fire flashing in his eyes. “From salvaged equipment when I was fifteen, remember? Don’t talk to me about building something from scratch.”
He’s right, and we both know it.
“I’m not asking you to lose anything,” Theo says, voice breaking. “I’m asking you to choose me. To choose us.”
All he wants is honesty between us. No games, no manipulation—just the plain truth of what he needs. What we both need.
I sink down onto the edge of my couch, staring at my hands. Hands that can break a man’s jaw, that grip barbells loaded with hundreds of pounds, that have touched every inch of Theo’s body—and I’ve never felt more powerless.
“I don’t know how,” I admit, the words tearing out of me. “I don’t know how to be this person.”
The confession hangs between us—the truth I’ve been running from since the night of the Hunt. I don’t know how to be a man who loves another man openly. I don’t know how to reconcile the Victor Kaine everyone knows with the man who comes alive in Theo’s arms.
Theo steps toward me, his expression softening. I stand, meeting him halfway. When our lips finally touch, it’s not the desperate clash of teeth and tongue that usually marks our encounters. It’s tentative, questioning—his way of asking for something that we’ve not yet put a name to.
My hands frame his face, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones. He sinks into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed. The vulnerability in his expression undoes me.
“I missed you,” I whisper against his mouth, the words I’ve been holding back for three weeks.
He answers with a kiss that speaks volumes—hurt and hope and hunger all at once.
We move together with a gentleness that’s almost obscene in its intimacy, bodies remembering each other’s contours even as something new sparks to life between us. I guide him toward my bedroom, not pulling or demanding as I once might have, but leading with veneration.
Clothes fall away, each layer revealing more than just skin.
When we’re finally bare, I lay him on my bed and hover above him, taking in every detail I’ve memorized in the nine months of knowing him—the constellation of freckles across his shoulders, the small scar at his collarbone, the way his eyes darken when I trace my fingers down his chest.
“Let me see you,” he murmurs, pulling me closer, his hands mapping territory they already know by heart.
I sink into him slowly, our bodies joining with none of our usual urgency. For the first time, I’m not chasing release or control. I’m seeking connection, trying to tell him with each careful thrust what I struggle to say aloud.
Theo’s legs wrap around my waist, his hands tangled in my hair, guiding my face to his. Our foreheads press together, breaths mingling as we move. The intensity builds not from roughness but from intimacy—from looking into his eyes and letting him see parts of me I’ve kept buried.
“I’m here,” I whisper, a promise in my voice. “I’m right here.”
A tremor runs through him. I feel the wetness on his cheeks before I see it, tears tracking silently down his face. Instead of looking away from the first real emotion we’ve shared, I kiss them away. The sight of him so vulnerable—for me—makes my chest tighten.
The pressure builds at the base of my spine, pleasure coiling tight as we move together. Everything feels different—not just the sex but the way Theo looks at me, like he can see straight through to parts of me I’ve spent decades fortifying.
“Theo,” I gasp, his name a confession on my lips.
When the release hits, it’s not just physical. Something inside me fractures, breaks wide open. My entire body shudders as I come deep inside him, and to my horror, a sob tears from my throat. Then another. I can’t stop them.
Tears stream down my face as I collapse against him, my body still pulsing inside his. I try to turn away, hide this weakness, but Theo’s hands frame my face, forcing me to look at him.
“Victor,” he whispers, eyes wide with shock.
I’ve never cried during sex. I’ve never cried in front of anyone since I was a child. The vulnerability is excruciating, terrifying—and somehow freeing.
Theo pulls me down, kisses me with such tenderness that more tears fall. His thumbs brush them away, even as his own eyes grow wet. Our kiss tastes of salt and surrender.
My chest aches with emotions I’ve never allowed myself to feel, let alone express. The truth crashes over me in waves I can no longer outrun or outfight.
I love him.
I fucking adore him.
Even when my life, my reputation, my carefully constructed identity wouldn’t allow it, my heart has been revolving around him as if he were my center of gravity. I’ve been fighting against an orbit I was already caught in, pretending I could escape when I’ve been his since that first night.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper against his lips, not even sure what I’m apologizing for—the tears, the months of hiding, all of it.
Theo kisses me again, deep and claiming, his body still wrapped around mine like he’s afraid I’ll try to run again. He doesn’t need to worry. I’m done running.
Afterward, we lie tangled together in my bedroom.
The space has always felt like an extension of my public self—dark furniture, plain gray walls, a few framed photos of my biggest fights.
No art, no color. Just function and reminders of my strength.
Now, with Theo’s smaller frame pressed against me, the room suddenly feels like it belongs to a stranger.
My fingers trace the marks I’ve left on his skin, gentler than I’ve ever been. The tears have stopped, but the ache remains—like I’ve been cracked open, everything I’ve kept locked away now exposed. I feel exposed in ways I’ve never allowed myself to be before.
“I’m terrified,” I whisper into the darkness, the words escaping before I can stop them.
Theo shifts beside me. “Of what?”
My throat tightens. I’ve spent a lifetime hiding fear, transforming it into aggression in the ring, into dominance in business, into control in bed. But here, with the taste of my own tears still on my lips, I can’t hide anymore.
“Of you. Of this. Of who I become when I’m with you.”
The man I am with Theo bears no resemblance to Victor Kaine, fight club owner, the man who’s never shown weakness, never backed down, never surrendered control. The version of me that exists in this bed, in his arms—he’s a stranger I’m only beginning to know.
Theo turns to face me, his eyes reflecting the faint city light filtering through my blinds. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing across my lower lip. There’s a gravity to his touch that anchors me when I feel like I might float away from myself entirely.
“Then learn,” he says, voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. “Learn to be scared and do it anyway. Or let me go now, before I fall any deeper.”
But we both know Theo’s already fallen. We both have.
The realization sits heavy in my chest, terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. There’s no going back to who I was before him. That man is gone, transformed by every touch, every glance, every moment I’ve let Theo see parts of me no one else ever has.