Chapter 15 #2
I hesitate, fingers curling into the hem of his borrowed shirt.
The steam rises between us, carrying the scent of lavender and something deeper—his cologne, maybe, or just him.
My walls should be up. I should be analyzing every angle and every possible consequence.
Instead, I find myself reaching for the buttons.
The shirt joins his pants on the marble floor. His hand remains steady, waiting, and I take it. His palm is rough against mine as he guides me into the water. Before I can overthink it, he pulls me back against his chest, arranging me between his thighs.
“Breathe,” he murmurs against my ear.
The water embraces us, hot enough to pink my skin. His chest rises and falls against my back, and I find myself matching his rhythm without meaning to. His arms loop loosely around my waist, secure but not confining.
“This is strange,” I whisper, watching droplets slide down my knees where they break the surface.
“What is?”
“You. Being gentle.” I trace patterns in the water with my fingertips. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
His chest rumbles with quiet laughter. “I’m capable of gentleness, Eve.”
“Are you?” I turn my head slightly, catching his profile. “The Remy Harding I know deals in leverage and control.”
“Maybe you don’t know all of me.” His fingers trail along my arm, raising goosebumps despite the heat. “Maybe that’s the point of this truce.”
I sink deeper into the water, into him. “An hour without masks?”
“Mm.” His lips brush my temple. “Terrifying, isn’t it?”
“Completely.” But I’m melting against him, my body betraying how much I need this moment of peace. “I didn’t expect…”
“What?”
“To feel safe with you.” The admission costs me, but we promised honesty. “Even knowing what you are, what you do. What you could do to me.”
His arms tighten fractionally. “I won’t hurt you, Eve.”
“No?” I close my eyes. “You could destroy me without laying a finger on me. We both know that.”
“Yes,” he agrees simply. “Just as you could me.”
The honesty in his voice makes me shiver. His hand spreads across my stomach, steadying me, grounding me in this moment where pretenses fall away.
I let out a sharp laugh, the sound echoing off marble walls. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” His fingers traced idle patterns on my stomach.
“I couldn’t destroy you, Remy.” I kept my gaze fixed on the steam rising from the water. “You’ve built your empire on secrets and leverage. One journalist is hardly a threat to the great Remy Harding.”
“You underestimate yourself.” His voice carried that dangerous edge I knew too well. “Or perhaps you underestimate what you’ve already done.”
I shifted, water lapping at my breasts, but his arms held me steady against him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You walked into my life eight years ago and tore everything apart.” His words ghosted across my neck. “You think I forgot?”
“That was different.” I traced the surface of the water with my fingertips. “I was doing my job. Exposing corruption.”
“And nearly destroyed everything I’d built.” His grip tightened slightly. “You were magnificent. Ruthless.”
“Stop.” The word came out sharper than I intended.
“Why? Because it doesn’t fit your narrative?” His chest rumbled against my back. “The story you tell yourself about who has the power here?”
“I’m not that person anymore.” I stared at my hands beneath the water’s surface. “That Liv was naive enough to think exposing the truth would change things. Would matter. Would be easy.”
“But you’re wrong again.” His lips brushed my ear. “You’re more dangerous now.”
I stayed silent, fighting the urge to turn and face him. To challenge the certainty in his voice. Because he was wrong. I hadn’t brought down his empire eight years ago—he’d rebuilt, stronger than ever.
Eight years ago feels like a lifetime. Back then, exposing corruption had been straightforward—following paper trails, tracking shell companies, connecting the dots between dirty money and dirtier deals.
Even handling Remy had been manageable, a dance of careful words and calculated risks.
I’d been younger, bolder, believing that truth would triumph if I just dug deep enough.
God, I was naive.
The water ripples as I shift, remembering how simple it had seemed.
Find evidence, publish a story, and watch justice prevail.
But this? My father’s reach extends beyond anything I could have imagined.
His trafficking operation isn’t just about moving bodies across borders—it’s about power, influence, and the kind of wealth that buys silence in blood.
Roberto’s face flashes in my mind again.
The determined set of his jaw as he shoved me into that freezer was his final act of protection.
My throat tightens. How many others will die because I started pulling at these threads?
Every person who’s helped me, every contact who’s shared information, they’re all marked simply for knowing me.
And there’s no stopping now. The evidence on that USB drive isn’t just documentation anymore—it’s Roberto’s legacy, written in the sacrifice of everyone who believed in exposing the truth.
If I back down, if I let fear win, their deaths mean nothing.
But moving forward means more blood, more bodies, more lives destroyed because I dared to challenge Ano Montoni’s, my father’s empire.
My father. The man who was supposed to be my hero now sends killers after me. Its absurdity would be laughable if it weren’t so terrifying.
“Where did you go?” Remy’s voice cuts through my spiral, his fingers trailing along my arm. The gentle touch anchors me back to the present, to the warmth of the bath and the solid strength of his chest against my back.
“Nowhere good,” I murmur, shaking my head.
I can’t share these thoughts, not even during our temporary truce.
They’re too raw, too real—admitting them aloud would make their weight unbearable.
And how much can I trust Remy? What if everything is just a trap, a sadistic joke? A plan between Remy and my father.
I jolt back to the present at the pressure of Remy’s arms tightening around me, his breath warm against my ear.
“Clearly shouldering the weight of the world and then some.”
“Force of habit.” I try to keep my voice light, but it catches in my throat. The water laps at my skin as I shift, hyperaware of every point where our bodies connect.
I force myself to relax against Remy’s chest, though every nerve ending screams at the contact. His skin is hot against mine, muscles firm beneath wet skin. The lavender-scented water laps around us as I shift, trying to find a position that doesn’t send sparks of awareness through my body.
“Stop thinking so hard,” Remy murmurs, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my stomach. The touch isn’t demanding or sexual—just gentle circles that somehow make my muscles unwind despite myself.
“That’s rich, coming from you.” I let my head fall back against his shoulder, watching the steam rise in lazy spirals. “When do you ever stop plotting?”
“Right now.” His other hand slides along my arm, the calluses on his palm catching slightly on my wet skin. “One-hour truce, remember?”
I close my eyes, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back.
It’s disconcerting how natural this feels—being held by him, wrapped in warmth and temporary peace.
His touches remain maddeningly gentle, more like afterthoughts than intention.
A brush of fingers here, a slight squeeze there, as if he’s unconsciously checking that I’m still here.
“This isn’t what I expected,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Something more…” I wave a hand vaguely, sending ripples across the water’s surface. “Calculated. Seductive. The famous Remy Harding charm offensive.”
His quiet laugh rumbles through his chest. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually spend every moment orchestrating elaborate seductions or manipulations.”
“Could have fooled me.” But there’s no bite in my words. The hot water and his unexpectedly tender touches are melting away my defenses, leaving me languid and honest. “It’s strange seeing you like this. Almost human.”
“Almost?” His fingers trail up my side, but the touch remains soothing rather than provocative. “You wound me.”
“You’ll survive.” I trace patterns in the water, watching light play across the surface. “Though I have to admit, this is… nice. In a terrifying sort of way.”
“Terrifying?” His thumb brushes my hip, steadying.
“Everything about you terrifies me,” I confess, blaming it on the steam making me lightheaded. “But especially this. The gentleness. It makes me want to trust you.”
His arms tighten slightly, but he doesn’t speak. We float in the silence, my body betraying me by melting further into his embrace, closing my eyes. Every stroke of his fingers along my skin feels like acceptance, like permission to just exist in this moment without analyzing every angle.