52 Kimmy
I'd spent the last three hours on the couch, hunched over my iPad, reading stories about the Valmont scandal until my eyeballs ached from the strain. Seven was gone—handling business, or maybe not coming back at all—and the city outside the windows was nothing but a colorful smear.
I'd spoke to Brynn earlier because there had been a long string of texts from her on my phone that needed to be addressed before she cut me off. She'd asked me when I'd be back to the land of the living. I'd told her soon, but in reality, I didn't know.
She'd tried to pry more information from me, casually mentioning Valmont's downfall and calling it a freaky coincidence.
I hadn't commented.
The only light in the loft was the glow of the iPad's screen. My face looked sickly in the reflection. The leftover bruises on my cheek and neck were almost gone, but not quite yet.
Every news outlet and every social media platform had a different angle on the scandal.
Some tried to keep it clinical.
Investor Caius Valmont Accused of Serial Sexual Assault
Others made it a tabloid.
Billionaire Freak Show Revealed! Exclusive Footage from Inside "The Room"
A few went even further.
Is Caius Valmont the New Jeffrey Epstein? Shocking Parallels Revealed
I read all of them, even the gross ones. I couldn't help it. It was replaying the same song that made you sad, just to see if it still worked.
A lot of women were coming forward. Some used their real names. Some didn't. There was a comment thread with thousands of people guessing who the mystery girl from the leaked video was. So far no one had matched it to me. And they never would. There'd be no trace.
Underneath the headlines, the readers were rabid. Most of them were on my side, or at least on the side of the victims. Some were sick with rage. Some went out of their way to find a way to hate us for being gold-diggers. I read those, too, even though they stung worse than the rest.
I scrolled and scrolled, until the battery died and I was left holding a blank rectangle in the dark.
A noise from the hallway snapped me upright. Not a bang, but a tiny mechanical whine—the sound of the keypad unlocking the front door. My heart seized, then started running.
He was back.
I stood, legs stiff, every muscle tight with hope and dread. I didn't know whether he'd actually come. Maybe he'd just ghost me because the job had been completed.
But the lock disengaged, and the door swung open.
Seven stepped inside, moving like he always did—slow, predatory, as if the world was one giant trap.
His jacket was zipped to the neck, and the black bandana was back, covering the lower half of his face.
He had a duffel bag with him. His eyes were more intense than I'd ever seen them.
He looked even more dangerous than I remembered.
He closed the door with his heel and took a quick look around. His gaze landed on me. The room was so quiet I could hear my own breathing, fast and shallow.
"Did you…get it all done?" I asked.
"I did," he replied, taking a step in my direction.
It felt like the entire universe had finally exhaled.
He dropped the duffel bag on the floor, removed his gloves, and then reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and retrieved a small blue pouch. First, I couldn't tell what it was in the dark, but when he offered it to me, I realized it was a pack of ChocoNuts.
I didn't know what to do. "You brought me candy?" I asked, dumbfounded.
He tipped his chin. "Mmm."
"You're not staying long, are you?"
He paused and unzipped his jacket. I couldn't see his mouth, but his eyes flickered. "I was hoping you'd want me to."
I lost it then—crossed the gap and threw my arms around his neck. He was solid and hot under the clothes, and he went perfectly still as I pressed my face to his shoulder. I didn't even care about the fabric still covering his face. I wanted to smell him, to feel the thump of his pulse.
He hugged me back. One arm, hand occupied with candies, banding my rib cage, the other hand cradling the back of my head. We stood like that for a long time, until my shivers subsided and the world felt a little less fragile.
I pulled back just enough to see his face.
He reached up and tugged the bandana down. Himself. His mouth was a tight, uncertain line. He looked at me like he was braced for impact.
"I take it that's a yes," he murmured. "You don't mind my sticking around for a while?"
I nodded frantically.
He dipped his head and kissed me, just once, but it was enough to restart the electricity in my veins.
My hands clutched the front of his shirt.
I kissed him back, and this time he let it go deeper, more urgent, like he'd been starved for weeks and needed a recharge even though we'd been together just a few days ago.
He tasted like salt and adrenaline and something very male and very mine. And I wanted to do things with him, things I'd never dared to do, things I'd been imagining ever since our night. He'd awoken something wild in me I didn't know existed.
When he finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against mine and handed me the candies.
"I don't want you to leave," I choked out, accepting the pack.
"I won't." His thumb stroked my cheek gently. "I'm on vacation."
I blinked. "What?"
"I'm taking some time off work," he supplied.
"Can you?"
"Why not?"
"Wait, you—" I started, then clamped my mouth shut. It was too much to process. "Is that even allowed—seeing me? "
"Of course."
"You're not joking."
"I'm not."
I stared, searching his face for a lie. There wasn't one. "You really mean it?"
He nodded, then slid his hand under my chin. "I don't know how to do this, Kimmy. The regular life," he said, almost apologetic. "But if you're willing to teach me, I'll give it a shot. I'll do it with you."
There were so many things I should have said. Things about trauma, about not being fixed, about all the baggage I'd carry forever. But none of them mattered, because he already knew. He had his own baggage and his own trauma.
And that made us perfect for each other.