CHAPTER 8
PIERCE
He says my name like it hurts him.
“Pierce…?”
I watch the realization hit him in real time—the confusion, the shock, the way his entire body seems to tense like he’s trying to decide whether to run or stay.
I expected this. I prepared for it.
Still… seeing it on his face does something uncomfortable to my chest.
“I know,” I say quietly.
“This isn’t exactly how you expected to see me again.”
That’s an understatement. He’s staring at me like I just rewrote his entire reality. Like I took something familiar and twisted it into something unrecognizable. Maybe I did.
“I understand you’re shocked,” I continue, keeping my voice steady.
“You didn’t expect it to be me.”
His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.
“Come on,” I say after a beat, softening my tone just a fraction.
“We should get breakfast. And we’ll talk. You’re probably starving just as much as I am, especially… after the night we had.”
I don’t give him time to argue. Instead, I step closer to the bed, watching him carefully.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“Still pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream?”
“And coffee. Black. Two sugars.”
Something flickers across his face. Soft. Almost… fragile. And then I see it. That small, familiar smile. The one I remember too well.
“You still remember…” he whispers.
Of course I do. I remember everything.
“You can take a shower,” I tell him.
“I’ll have the chef start on breakfast.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m already seated at the kitchen island when I hear footsteps. I look up. And for a second—
I just watch him.
He’s wearing my shirt. Nothing else. It hangs off him, oversized, the fabric brushing mid-thigh, exposing just enough skin to make my jaw tighten. His hair is still slightly damp from the shower, falling messily around his face.
Jesus fucking Christ. He never looked more beautiful in his life. He truly is an angel.
I force my expression to stay neutral.
“What?” he asks, a little self-conscious under my gaze.
“I couldn’t find anything to wear,” he adds quickly.
“So I just… took this. Is that okay?”
He gestures down at the shirt.
“And I mean—it’s not like I have any of my clothes here.”
I let out a quiet breath.
“It’s fine,” I say simply.
He has no idea what he looks like right now.
“After breakfast,” I continue, pushing the thought aside, “we’ll go shopping. Get you whatever you need.”
I pause.
“And don’t worry about your things. I already had them moved here.”
That gets his attention.
“You what?”
“I had people pack everything up and bring it here,” I repeat calmly.
“You won’t be missing anything.”
He stares at me for a second like he doesn’t know whether to be impressed or concerned.
We eat for a few minutes in silence. It’s not awkward. There’s too much history sitting between us. Too much unsaid. And then—
“Why?”
I look up. He’s watching me now.
“Why did you do it?” he asks.
“The auction. Buying me.”
“Why not just call me? Text me? Ask me to come over?”
“Why go through all that?”
I set my fork down slowly.
“Because this was the only way,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“We haven’t seen each other in years, Harley.”
“And the last time we were together…” I let the sentence trail off.
He looks away for a second.
“You think I didn’t consider reaching out?” I continue.
“You think I didn’t think about calling you?”
“But I also knew you.”
“You would’ve hesitated,” I say.
“You would’ve questioned it. Wondered why I was suddenly back.”
He doesn’t deny it. Because we both know I’m right.
“And after everything that happened…” I add more quietly, “I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then his hand moves, resting on top of mine.
“I would’ve,” he says.
I look at him. His eyes are steady now.
“I’m glad I got to see you again,” he adds.
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
Something tightens in my chest, Especially when he continues—
“After everything… after the last time.”
“But I still don’t get it,” he says, pulling his hand back slightly.
“Why the auction?”
“You were never meant to belong to anyone else.”
“Buying you was the only way to guarantee that.”
His breath catches slightly.
“And now,” I continue, quieter, “we can finally be together.”
The way we were supposed to be. The way we always—
He swallows, then shifts slightly in his seat.
“There’s… something else,” he says.
“About what?”
He hesitates again, and I know exactly where this is going.
“About sex?” I say calmly.
“What about it?” I continue.
“Did you not like it? Did I do something wrong?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“I liked it.”
And then he adds, almost under his breath—
“It was… better than I imagined.”
I don’t react, not outwardly. I just take another sip of my coffee like I didn’t hear it. Like it didn’t just confirm everything I already knew.
But when I look back at him—
He’s smiling. And I find myself doing the same.
Because finally—
After all these years—
He’s finally mine.
And this time…
He’s not going anywhere.