Chapter 4 – Morgan
Chapter Four
Post-Traumatic Horniness and Other Extreme Sports
Morgan
I couldn't stop shaking.
My mind kept replaying the scene. Lance's arm locked around that man's throat. The cold, calculated way he'd moved. Like violence was as natural as breathing. My father was not an anomaly, or a desperate, misguided need to protect me. This was his nature, and the idea of it wrecked me.
The blood on his knuckles.
The empty look in his eyes I'd never seen before.
It was like watching a mask slip away. The man who'd kissed me with desperate hunger minutes before had transformed into someone I didn't recognize. Someone whose hands could kill with practiced efficiency.
Those same hands that had traced patterns on my skin with reverent tenderness. That had held me through nightmares. That knew exactly how I liked my coffee in the morning.
The contradiction was tearing me apart.
But what haunted me most? How close I'd come to giving myself to him again.
Even now, after seeing what he was capable of, my body remembered his touch. Craved more. My lips were still swollen from his kisses. My skin still tingled where his hands had been. The scent of his cologne lingered on my clothes from when he'd pressed me against that door.
How fucked up was that? I'd just witnessed him nearly kill someone, and I was still thinking about the way his mouth had moved against mine. The way he'd groaned my name.
I stood in the corner of Gwen's hospital suite, arms wrapped around myself. Atticus had called a car to take Clarissa back to her hotel, so I didn’t have to contend with hiding the shock I was going through.
She would have asked so many questions. I’d make it a point to see her tomorrow before she went back to Portugal.
But I was at peace knowing she was coming back and going to be at home where she belonged.
Through the partially open door, I could see the night nurse gently bathing Ava. Her soft humming provided a stark contrast to the tension filling our room. The baby's tiny cries were so innocent, so pure. A reminder that life could be beautiful and simple.
Unlike mine, apparently.
Gwen was propped up in bed, exhausted but radiant.
Dark circles shadowed her eyes, but she glowed with that new-mother bliss I'd only seen in movies.
Atticus hovered nearby, his expression shifting between new-father joy and something darker.
Every few seconds, his gaze would drift to the door, shoulders tense.
The hospital room felt like a sanctuary and a prison all at once. The monitors beeped steadily.
That's when Lance walked in.
I couldn't look at him. Couldn't reconcile the tender man who'd touched me like I was precious with the stranger who'd nearly strangled someone in a stairwell.
But my body had no such reservations—goosebumps prickled across my arms at his nearness, at the memory of him groaning, “Spitfire.” In my ear.
And I pressed myself further into the corner, trying to escape the magnetic pull I couldn't control.
Somehow, I knew he'd never hurt me. That knowledge sat heavy in my stomach, undeniable and confusing. Even after everything, even with the blood on his knuckles and the cold efficiency with which he'd handled that man, I felt safer when he was in the room.
But I'd never really known him at all.
The realization hit me hard. How many mornings had I woken up beside him, thinking I understood who he was?
How many times had I traced the scars on his body, never thinking to ask how he'd gotten them?
I'd been in love with a fiction. A carefully constructed version of Lance that he'd allowed me to see.
"Alright, listen up." Pierce's voice cut through the room.
I felt Lance's gaze on me from across the room, a heat that made my skin tighten.
When I finally risked a glance, his dark eyes were fixed on my mouth, and I had to bite my lip to keep from making a sound.
Even in crisis, even surrounded by danger, my body responded to him like a tuning fork struck against metal.
He stood at the foot of Gwen's bed, all business. His ever-present vigilance had shifted into overdrive. "We had two attempted infiltrations tonight."
My blood turned to ice. Two? As in multiple people had tried to get to us. But why?
"Two?" Atticus stepped forward, his protective instincts kicking in. His hand moved to Gwen's shoulder automatically.
"I handled one in the stairwell," Lance said, his voice eerily calm. Like he was discussing the weather, not attempted murder.
I flinched at his words. Handled. Such a clinical word for what I'd witnessed.
Pierce nodded, consulting his phone. "Rowan got the other in the bathroom."
Rowan looked up from his own device, his expression grim. "Wasn't difficult. Amateur hour." He paused, fingers still moving across his screen. "But amateurs can still get lucky."
"What does that mean?" I found my voice, though it came out smaller than I'd intended. "Who were they? What did they want?"
Pierce and Lance exchanged a look. A whole conversation seemed to pass between them in that glance.
"We're working on identifying them," Pierce said carefully. "But the important thing is keeping everyone safe."
Atticus ran a hand through his hair, his CEO mask sliding into place.
I'd seen this transformation before—the shift from doting husband to ruthless businessman.
Cold. Efficient. Dangerous in his own way.
I used to call him a robot when he got like this.
Gwen hated it, but it was accurate. "This ends now. We're moving to the private floor."
"Atticus—" Gwen started, shifting uncomfortably in the bed.
"No discussion." His tone brooked no argument. "You just had a baby. Someone infiltrated the hospital. We're not taking chances." He moved to the window, checking the locks. "I should have done this from the beginning."
Pierce pulled out his tablet, fingers flying across the surface. "Round-the-clock security for both women. Full detail. I'll coordinate with hospital security for the move. We’ll restrict movement and outings until we fully understand the nature of this threat and have it under control."
My stomach dropped. The walls of the room seemed to close in. "Wait, what? No."
"Morgan—" Atticus began, his voice gentling slightly.
"I have a life," I snapped, panic rising. "A job. Goals. I can't be under constant surveillance." I thought of my design sketches scattered across my desk at home. The collection I was working on for Adele Beekman. My classes. My friends. "You can't just lock me away."
"You can't be dead either," Lance said quietly.
His words hit hard. I still couldn't look at him directly, but I felt the weight of his stare. It was uncomfortable but impossible to ignore.
"Where did you put the guy from the stairwell?" Pierce asked, looking up from his tablet.
"On-call room," Lance said simply. "Tied up."
"Tied up with what?" Gwen asked, because apparently even in labor recovery, my sister's curiosity knew no bounds. Her voice was tired but tinged with something that might have been amusement.
Lance's mouth quirked. "My tie."
Despite everything, a tiny laugh bubbled up from Gwen. "Your Hermès tie?"
"The navy one with the silver pattern."
"Damn shame," Gavin muttered from his position by the door. "That was a good tie. Looked great on you."
Micah snorted. "Only you would be concerned about fashion accessories at a time like this."
"Hey, quality matters," Gavin replied with a shrug. "That tie probably cost more than my rent."
The absurdity of the moment broke some of the tension, but not for me. I was still processing. He'd used his tie to restrain someone. How did someone even know how to do that? Was it the kind of thing you learned in self-defense classes, or was it something darker? Something more specialized?
The questions multiplied in my head, each one worse than the last.
"We'll sweep the entire wing," Pierce continued. "Full security review. Background checks on all staff who haven't been vetted. No one gets close without clearance."
"And we're moving to the state suite, Maximum security," Atticus added.
I blinked. "This is already a private room."
"Private room on a VIP floor," he corrected. "The state suite is different. Bulletproof glass. Controlled access. Think of it as a panic room that happens to have medical facilities."
My gaze drifted to Ava sleeping peacefully in her bassinet. So small, so innocent. I thought about what could have happened if Lance hadn't been here. If he hadn't stopped that man in the stairwell. Whatever else I felt about him right now, he'd protected my sister and niece when it mattered.
"Also," Atticus continued, "I only trust the people in this room. So whenever possible, if you can be with one of these guys, in addition to security, do that."
My gaze flew to Lance before I could stop it. He was already looking at me, something unreadable in his dark eyes. I looked away quickly, saying nothing.
"That'll be difficult," Pierce said, frowning at his tablet. "But we'll see what we can do."
“Do I really need to be under constant watch? Do we even know anyone was after me? This is going to be a pain in the ass.”
"You'll live," Atticus said simply, his tone brooking no argument. "That's all that matters."
His words were final, absolute. The voice of a man who'd built an empire and wasn't used to being challenged. I wanted to argue. To rail against the cage they were building around me. But I wasn't stupid.
I was scared.
Terrified, if I was being honest. The idea that people were actively trying to hurt me or someone close to me felt surreal. People in movies. Not twenty-year-old fashion students from Queens.
Lance stepped closer, and my pulse spiked. Every cell in my body was aware of his presence.
"Morgan—" His voice was soft, careful.
My chest tightened. "Don't." I backed toward the wall, my shoulder blades hitting the cool surface. "Just... don't."
His jaw clenched, but he stopped. Something flickered in his eyes. Hurt? Frustration? I couldn't tell anymore. Those dark eyes that used to be so easy to read now seemed locked, hiding secrets I'd never even known existed.
Pierce cleared his throat. "We'll brief you both tomorrow on protocols. For now, get some rest."
Rest . Right. Because I'd be sleeping anytime soon. I could already feel the nightmares waiting for me. Not the old ones about my father, but new ones. Ones featuring Lance's hands around someone's throat. Ones where I didn't know which version of him would be waiting for me when I woke up.
People started filing out. Gavin squeezed my shoulder as he passed, a gentle gesture that almost made me cry. Micah whispered something about bringing me coffee in the morning, his way of showing he cared. Rowan nodded at me, his quiet presence oddly comforting.
Lance lingered, his gaze burning into me. I could feel him wanting to say something, the words hanging between us.
"Go," Gwen said softly, her voice exhausted. "All of you. I need to feed my daughter."
Lance hesitated, his eyes searching my face. Then he followed the others out, his footsteps echoing in the hallway.
I stayed rooted in place, watching through the window as he disappeared down the corridor. Even with my back to Gwen, I could feel her studying me.
"Morgan." Her voice was gentle but knowing.
I turned to find her watching me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. Sympathy mixed with something else. Understanding, maybe.
"Whatever you're thinking," she said quietly, "whatever you're feeling about him... just remember that people are complicated. They're not just one thing."
"What if I never knew him at all?" The question escaped before I could stop it, raw and honest.
Gwen shifted in her bed, wincing slightly as she adjusted her position. The pain medication was probably wearing off, but she didn't complain. She never did.
"Then maybe it's time you did."
"I don't know if I want to." The admission hurt. "What if I find out he's someone I can't love?"
"Or what if you find out he's someone you love even more?" she countered gently. "Morgan, I've seen the way you two look at each other. Even tonight, even after whatever happened, there's still something there."
I wrapped my arms around myself tighter. "You didn't see him in that stairwell, Gwen. The way he moved. It was like... like violence was second nature to him."
"And that scares you."
"Terrifies me," I admitted. "But what scares me more is that some part of me isn't surprised. Like I always knew there was something dangerous about him and I chose not to see it."
Gwen was quiet for a moment, studying my face. "Can I ask you something?"
I nodded.
"Under what circumstances could you forgive him?"
The question caught me off guard. "What?"
"You're angry. You're hurt. I get that. But underneath all of that, I can feel the chemistry between you two. It's still there, Morgan. So I'm asking—what would it take? What would he have to do, or say, or show you, for you to even consider giving him another chance?"
I opened my mouth to say there was nothing, that it was over, that I could never trust him again. But the words wouldn't come.
Because deep down, past the fear and the betrayal and the confusion, there was still something. Still that pull toward him that I couldn't explain or ignore.
"I don't know," I whispered finally. "And that's what scares me most of all."