36. Chapter 36
Theo
"It was like I was dying," Jace says, tense and low. "I've never felt anything like it."
I glance toward the bathroom where the shower's running, then back at Jace. His eyes have a haunted look.
"So she just left you there?" I sound both impressed and alarmed. "With the headset still on?"
"I couldn't move for like ten minutes afterward. I thought I was going to lose my mind."
"Holy shit."
Jace runs his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up in all directions. "She just... took what she wanted and walked away. Didn't let me finish. Didn't let me see her." His voice drops even lower. "I've never been so turned on and so completely wrecked at the same time."
I try to process what he's telling me. Wren—our sweet, quiet Wren—rode Jace until she came, then left him desperate and blindfolded. The mental image is so hot I have to shift in my seat to adjust myself.
"So that's how she's going to play this," I murmur, more to myself than to Jace. I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. If Wren wants to punish us by taking control, by making us feel what it's like to be kept in the dark, I'm more than willing to let her.
Hell, I'll happily grovel if that's what she wants. I'll do whatever she demands, give her all the control she needs. After what we did, we deserve it. And watching her reclaim her power this way is fucking magnificent.
"You okay with this?" I ask Jace, who's still looking slightly shell-shocked.
He nods slowly. "More than okay. I just wasn't expecting..." He trails off, then meets my eyes directly. "She spoke to me, Theo. Multiple times. Not a lot of words yet, but her voice—" He breaks off, swallowing hard.
Something hot and possessive uncurls in my chest. "What did she say?"
"No. Mine. You don’t get to come until I say." Jace's fingers tap against his thigh. "Her voice was... God, Theo, it’s the sexiest thing I've ever heard."
I'm about to respond when the bathroom door opens. Wren emerges in a cloud of steam, her pink hair damp at the ends but kept dry so her stitches don’t get wet.
She’s wearing nothing but a towel. She catches us watching her and raises an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
"Morning," I say, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. "Sleep well?"
She nods, then signs with one hand while holding her towel with the other: " Very well."
Her eyes flick between us, taking in Jace's disheveled appearance and my obvious fascination. There's something different about her today—a quiet confidence, a subtle shift in the way she holds herself.
She disappears into the bedroom to dress, and I turn back to Jace.
"You're right," I say quietly. "This is going to kill us both."
"In the best possible way," he agrees, a rare smile cracking his serious expression.
Thirty minutes later, Wren emerges dressed in jeans and a simple blue top that makes her eyes look like the ocean. Her hair curled slightly at the ends. She looks beautiful, but more importantly, she looks strong. Present. Alive in a way I haven't seen since before the hospital.
"Ready for our date?" I ask, offering my hand.
She takes it, her fingers warm against mine, and nods.
"Have fun," Jace says, already settling in front of his laptop. "Don't worry about rushing back. I've got a full day of coding ahead."
I lead Wren down to my car, holding doors for her not because she needs me to, but because I want to. Because small gestures of care matter, especially now.
"So," I say as I pull out into traffic, "I was thinking breakfast first, then a little shopping. That sound okay?"
She signs " Yes " with one hand, her other hand resting lightly on my thigh. The casual touch sends electricity through me.
I'm grateful I took the day off. Matthews had been on my ass about those quarterly reports for weeks, but I finally got them to him while Wren was in the hospital.
He still whined about them being late, of course, but at least that asshat is off my back for now.
Today is just about Wren and me. No work, no stalkers, no drama—just us, reconnecting.
"How's your head feeling?" I ask, careful to keep my tone casual. I promised myself I wouldn't smother her today, wouldn't treat her like she's fragile.
" Better ," she signs. " Just a dull ache now ."
"Good. Let me know if it gets worse, okay? We can always cut the day short."
She nods, then turns to look out the window, watching the city pass by. I drive us to a small café I discovered months ago—not Wren's workplace, but a cozy spot with incredible pastries and coffee that would make even Jace's snobby taste buds happy.
The hostess seats us at a quiet table by the window. Wren's eyes widen appreciatively as she takes in the place—all exposed brick and reclaimed wood, with lush plants hanging from the ceiling and soft jazz playing in the background.
"Their croissants are life-changing," I tell her as we look over the menus. "And the coffee is almost as good as yours."
She smiles at the compliment, then points to a breakfast sandwich on the menu.
"Good choice," I say. When the server comes, I order for us both, making sure to specify exactly how Wren wants her food prepared.
While we wait, I reach across the table to take her hand. "I know I already said it at the hospital, but I want to say it again when you're not drugged and in pain. I love you, Wren. I have for a while now. And I'm so sorry we betrayed your trust."
She studies me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine. Then she pulls her hand free to sign: " I understand why you did it. But understanding isn't the same as forgetting."
"I know," I say quietly. "I don't expect forgiveness right away. Or ever, if you can't give it. But I hope you'll let me try to earn it back."
Our food arrives, momentarily pausing the conversation. Wren takes a bite of her sandwich and closes her eyes in appreciation. I can't help but smile at her reaction.
"Good, right?"
She nods emphatically, then signs: " Almost worth being lied to."
I laugh, relieved by the hint of humor. "Almost, huh? Guess I'll have to work harder."
We eat in companionable silence for a while.
I watch her covertly, cataloging the subtle changes in her demeanor since the hospital.
There's a new resolve in her eyes, a determination that wasn't there before.
Whatever she remembered about her attack, whatever she discovered about herself—it's changed her.
We won’t pressure her to tell us what it was, we have no right to demand truths and secrets.
After breakfast, I drive us to the upscale shopping district downtown. Wren gives me a curious look as I park.
"I thought you might want something new to wear to the launch party next week," I explain. "My treat."
Her eyebrows lift in surprise. " You don't have to do that," she signs.
"I want to," I tell her. "Consider it part of my groveling."
She rolls her eyes but smiles, allowing me to lead her into the first boutique. It's high-end without being pretentious—exactly the kind of place where Wren might find something special without feeling overwhelmed.
A saleswoman approaches immediately, her practiced eye taking in Wren's pink hair and my casual attire.
"Can I help you find something?" she asks, her tone politely skeptical.
"My girlfriend needs a dress for a tech launch party," I say, emphasizing the word 'girlfriend' just to see the flicker of surprise on Wren's face. "Something elegant but comfortable."
The saleswoman's eyes narrow slightly. "I see. And what's your budget?"
"Sky's the limit," I reply, enjoying the way her expression shifts from dismissive to eager. I don't usually flaunt my money, but for Wren, I'll Pretty Woman the shit out of this situation.
"Of course," the woman says, suddenly all smiles. "Let me show you our newest arrivals."
She leads us through the store, pulling dresses that make Wren's eyes light up. I settle into a comfortable chair outside the fitting rooms, prepared to be patient.
"How's your head?" I ask when Wren emerges in a sleek black dress that hugs her curves.
" Fine ," she signs, turning to examine herself in the mirror. She shakes her head slightly. " Not right for the event."
"Take your time," I tell her. "We've got all day."
Three boutiques later, Wren finds it—an off white shimmery slip dress with a handkerchief hem that flows around her like liquid moonlight.
There are small sections that are almost sheer while other sections look almost double layered.
When she steps out of the fitting room, I actually lose my breath for a moment.
"That's the one," I say, my voice rougher than I intended.
She turns to look at herself in the mirror, and I catch a glimpse of her expression—thoughtful, calculating, with a gleam in her eyes that tells me she's had an idea. I know she won't tell me what it is, but the secretive little smile playing at the corners of her mouth makes my heart race.
"You like it?" I ask, moving to stand behind her.
She nods, signing: " It will work nicely."
There's something in her eyes that makes me think she's not just talking about the dress, but I don't press. Whatever she's planning, I'm sure I'll find out soon enough.
"We'll take it," I tell the hovering salesperson, who beams at the commission she's about to make.
While Wren changes back into her regular clothes, I pull out my credit card, ignoring the eyebrow raise when the saleswoman sees the black card. Money has never impressed me much, but the look on Wren's face when she saw herself in that dress—that was priceless.
"Ready to head home?" I ask when she emerges from the fitting room.
She shakes her head, signing: " One more."
She leads me to a lingerie boutique a few doors down. My mouth goes dry as I follow her inside, watching as she browses through delicate lace and silk. The knowing look she throws over her shoulder nearly stops my heart.