Chapter Eleven
Juliet
Noah is absolutely perfect.
He never complains when I stay out late, never asks where I’ve been, never pries when I get home with ink smudged on my fingers and someone else’s secrets tucked away in my notebook.
He listens intently as I tell him everything I’ve found out about Orion Grayson.
Orion Grayson.
The name fits. Strong. Heavy. Solid.
Like him.
I set the mac and cheese on the table, baked, golden, crispy burnt corners. Just the way Noah likes it.
“You know he likes mac too?” I hum, settling into my seat. “But he never makes it this good. Just rushed, store-bought crap because he’s always too busy, at the gym or at work.” I shake my head, sliding the serving spoon toward Noah. “You men really need to be taken care of.”
Noah watches me, his fork poised midair. There’s something behind his eyes. Something creeping closer every day.
The question.
I know he wants to ask it.
Did you study me too?
Did I track him? Take notes? Learn every little habit, every tiny flaw, before I made my move?
Of course I did. He knows that without asking.
Noah is sweet, but he’s not stupid.
I don’t like stupid men.
But he doesn’t ask.
Instead, he takes a bite, swallows, and shifts gears. “What’d you find out about his girlfriend?”
I smile.
Oh, baby.
“First of all, she’s his ex,” I correct, twirling my fork through my food. “Second, she, Tammy, was never his type. That’s why it didn’t work.” I pop the bite into my mouth, chewing, savoring. “She’s a mouthy bitch,” I add casually. “And she cheated on him. He dumped her.” I shake my head, setting my fork down with a soft clink. “Can you imagine?” I murmur, lifting my gaze to Noah’s. “Cheating on a man like that?”
Noah frowns. He doesn’t like cheaters.
That’s why I would never hurt him. That’s why I tell him everything.
(Almost everything.)
Noah doesn’t know I stole her phone.
Or that I used it to text Orion, just to collect data.
Does she miss him? She messaged a friend, saying, Fuck, yes. He fucks like a beast. I think about him every damn night.
I bet she does.
But that doesn’t matter.
Because she cheated on him. And now? He’s mine.
I adore every little thing about Orion. It’s not just his body, which is perfect.
He’s never late to work. Never misses a day at the gym. Keeps his house tidy. Doesn’t snore.
He’s too sweet to tell his ex to fuck off, but he says it in subtle ways.
I sip my drink, watching Noah over the rim of my glass.
He clears his throat. “Did you get your class schedule?”
“Yep,” I perk up. “I start next week.”
He smiles, but I don’t think he realizes how much I love him for that.
For not pushing.
For not questioning.
For trusting me completely.
I reach across the table, brushing my fingers over his wrist.
“I can’t wait until we’re painting together,” I say, voice soft, full of real excitement. “I’ll teach you everything I learn.”
Noah’s smile melts my damn heart.
God, I love him.
I already turned one of the spare rooms into an art space.
Light streaming through the windows. Supplies stacked neatly on the shelves. Blank canvases, waiting.
We’re going to make something beautiful.
We’re going to have messy, breathtaking, unforgettable body-paint sex.
All three of us.
Me, Noah… and Orion.
I don’t waste the next week.
Because details matter.
Every little habit, every preference, every piece of information, I need it all.
I find out, Orion has a sweet tooth.
You wouldn’t expect it, not from a man built like a fucking war god, but it makes sense. With a body like that, his metabolism must burn through anything he eats.
Noah is a health-food type, but me and Orion?
We’ll feed each other sweets.
I can picture it.
The two of us in my kitchen. Flour dusting the counter, chocolate smeared at the corner of his mouth, my fingers sliding through the batter.
Feeding him.
Letting him feed me.
I shiver.
Soon.
But first?
The Tammy problem.
She won’t let him go.
I knew she was pathetic, but now it’s almost embarrassing.
She’s pushing him. Hard.
Texting. Calling. Showing up at his house. Begging.
At times, I think he might break.
Not because he wants her. But because she’s relentless.
Almost blackmailing him.
And that? That doesn’t sit right with me.
That and…
She kept something important to him.
His military tags.
Who the fuck does that?
No. No, no, no.
That will not do.
Because Orion is strong. A man like him shouldn’t have to deal with some desperate, manipulative ex playing keep-away with something sacred.
That’s so wrong.
So fixable.
And I fix things for the people I care about.
Her place is a shitty little apartment, the kind with thin walls and neighbors who don’t give a fuck about what happens next door.
It’s the kind of place you can break into if you know what you’re doing.
And I do.
So I do.
Tammy’s lock is a joke. One cheap piece of metal standing between me and what belongs to Orion.
I let myself in, quiet as a whisper, careful with my steps.
The air inside smells like cheap perfume and even cheaper vodka.
There are clothes on the floor. Dishes in the sink. A mess of shoes and makeup and general disarray.
God.
She’s exactly what I expected. Sloppy. Thoughtless.
Not like me.
I respect the things I own.
And Orion?
He’s mine.
I make my way through the apartment, my fingers skimming surfaces, my mind sharp and focused.
His tags. That’s all I need.
It doesn’t take long.
Tammy isn’t exactly a criminal mastermind.
They’re in the top drawer of her nightstand, tangled in a mess of old receipts and half-melted chapstick.
Pathetic.
I pluck them free, running my fingers over the worn metal, the smooth weight of them in my palm.
These don’t belong here.
I imagine Orion’s throat, the way they should be resting against his skin, the way they should be hanging where they belong.
I fix things.
And this?
This is fixed.
But I’m not quite done.
I glance toward the bathroom.
Then, slowly, I smile.
She needs a reminder.
A warning.
Something she won’t forget.
The bathroom is just as bad as the rest of the apartment.
Makeup scattered across the counter. A cheap, curling iron tossed in the sink. A tube of lipstick sits on the edge.
Bright. Obnoxious.
Red.
Because of course she wears something like that.
Too harsh. Too bold.
Orion deserves someone softer.
Someone who will contrast his hard edges, not clash against them.
I pluck the lipstick from the counter, twist it up, watching the waxy tip rise.
Then, I press it to the mirror and write: LEAVE HIM ALONE.
I drag the letters slowly.
Then, for good measure, I dot the i in ‘him’ with a heart.
Because I can.
Because it’s mine now.
Orion. His loyalty. His peace. His fucking tags.
All of it.
Mine.
I cap the lipstick, place it neatly back on the counter, and admire my work.
A part of me wonders if she’ll cry when she sees it.
A part of me hopes she does.
Because Orion is done with her.
She just needs to understand.
I step back, take one last look, then turn on my heel and slip out the door.
Silent. Satisfied.
By the time she finds the message, I’ll already be home.
And Orion? He’ll never even know I was here.
But he’ll feel it.
Because tomorrow, when his tags are in his gym bag, he’ll think it was her idea.
He’ll think she finally saw reason.
And he’ll think…
He’s free.
Because of me.
Because I fix things.
And I always take care of what’s mine.
The next day, work is a nightmare.
Not because of deadlines. Not because of coworkers.
Because I’m too damn busy to slip out early, and the tags?
The tags are still in my purse. Still not with Orion, where they need to be.
I hate when things aren’t where they belong.
And on top of that?
Tammy has been messaging Orion all day.
Stupid bitch.
She never even shut off her stolen phone.
So now I get to watch her descent into panic.
Text after text, unraveling in real time.
Who the fuck is she, Orion?
You got a crazy whore breaking into my house?!
She took your tags.
That one.
That one gets me.
She ruined it.
I wasn’t ready for him to know they were missing.
Whatever.
I’ll fix it. I’ll get them back to him. Place them where he’ll find them.
And he still won’t know it was me.
Not until after he realizes he loves me.
After he understands I did it because I love him.
She really has the audacity to ask who the fuck I am?
I exhale slowly, pressing my nails into my palm.
Who the fuck am I?
I am his fate.
That’s who.
I’m about to head out, ready to finally take care of this, when the phone vibrates in my purse.
Not mine. Hers.
I pull it out, smirking as I glance at the screen.
It’s Orion.
My Orion.
Messaging that witch.
Are you drinking?
Leave me alone, Tammy.
I laugh.
Right?
She’s a nut job, and he sees it.
It’s happening.
He’s letting her go.
Since Tammy ruined my plan, I’ll have to leave his tags at his house.
It’s small. Not an apartment, but too tiny to be called a real house.
Sure, it’s enough for a single man, and will do until he moves in with me and Noah.
Good thing I already have a room ready for him.
I use Tammy’s key to let myself in.
She absolutely didn’t need access to his place anymore.
I handled that when I stole her purse to get to her phone.
Orion never bothered replacing the key for her.
Because he’s done with her.
She doesn’t belong here.
But I do.
The second I step inside, I pause.
The air is warm, still, settled. It smells like him.
Like burnt wood and something darker underneath.
I inhale slowly.
Close my eyes.
Let it settle deep inside me.
God.
This is how it will feel when he brings me here.
This scent on my clothes. This space wrapped around me.
Him. Everywhere.
I walk through, slow, deliberate.
His living room is clean. Sparse furniture. Nothing cluttered. No useless trinkets.
He doesn’t need things to fill his space.
I love that.
I love that he isn’t like Noah.
Noah needs softness, warmth, a cozy, well-loved home.
Orion?
He needs something else entirely.
I step into his bedroom.
His bed is made. Tidy. No messy sheets. No discarded clothes.
Just simple. Controlled. Perfect.
I love that.
A man who doesn’t let chaos touch him.
I crawl onto his bed.
Slow.
Sink into the firm mattress, the crisp sheets.
Close my eyes.
Imagine him here.
Waking up, stretching, muscles flexing, rolling out of bed before dawn to hit the gym.
I picture him shirtless, every ridge of his body cut from discipline.
I bite my lip.
Fuck.
I should go.
I should just leave his tags and be done with it.
But instead…
I let my fingers skim over the spot where he sleeps.
I roll onto my stomach, press my cheek to his pillow.
Breathe him in.
God, Orion.
I imagine him coming home after a long shift, exhausted, dropping onto this bed, groaning, stretching out those perfect arms.
And then?
I imagine him jerking off.
Right here. Right where I’m lying.
I bite back a whimper, my hand sliding between my thighs.
What does he think about when he touches himself?
Some faceless woman?
Some nameless distraction?
Not for long.
Not after he meets me.
I let my fingers dip lower, teasing, imagining it’s him.
Imagining his rough hands, his calloused fingers, the way he’d hold me down, the way he’d growl against my skin as he takes me apart.
I press my face into his pillow, moan softly against the fabric, and fuck…
It hits like a freight train, and I whimper his name as I come hard.
Jesus, if just the thought of him does that, I can’t wait to see what the actual him does.
I slide off the bed, smooth the sheets, and leave my gift.
A single white rose on his pillow.
And beside it?
His tags.
I picked white because this is about his peace. About the purity of our love.
It’s a promise to never hurt him.
Not like that bitch did.
I trail my fingers over the tags, soft, reverent.
Then, before I leave, I take a detour to the bathroom.
Because I need one more thing.
His cologne.
I find it on the counter, simple, expensive.
I pick it up, press the nozzle, let a small spritz land on my wrist.
I close my eyes, breathe it in.
Oh. Oh, it’s perfect.
Masculine but not overpowering. Dark. Smooth.
Just like him.
I note the brand in my phone because men like gifts too.
And when I give it to him? When I press it into his hands like it was just a random thought?
He’ll think it’s coincidence. He’ll think it’s fate. He’ll never even question it.
I smile to myself. Then, I slip out the door, locking it behind me.
I’ll be back.