Chapter 18
Izzy
I woke up like I’d been dropped from a height.
Everything hurt.
My limbs felt weighted, bruised from the inside out. My lip burned when I tried to move it. My head pulsed in slow, punishing waves, like someone had wedged a drum behind my eyes and was testing the rhythm.
For a moment, I didn’t move.
I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together where I was and why my body felt like it didn’t belong to me.
The mattress was softer than mine.
The air smelled faintly of clean linen and something darker beneath it—wood, smoke, something distinctly male.
Raze.
The memory hit in fragments.
The door slamming open.
The men.
The attack.
The threats.
We’ll be back.
Then him. The way he’d filled the doorway. The way he’d lifted me like I weighed nothing.
I turned slightly and winced. The bedroom around me came into focus slowly. Thick drapes. Dark furniture. Too much space. Too much calm.
I was back at his house.
A strange, conflicted feeling tightened in my chest. Relief. And something sharper.
What if he didn’t want me here?
He’d been so quick to take me home before. So decisive. So firm about it being “the right thing.” What if bringing me back here was just… temporary? Damage control.
What if I was trouble now? Not just inconvenient. What if I’d dragged chaos to his door?
My stomach twisted. I tried to push myself up and immediately regretted it. A hiss escaped my mouth before I could stop it. My muscles protested. My head swam.
The door opened softly.
I froze.
Raze stepped inside.
He moved slowly, as though trying to be careful not to wake me. His eyes swept the room once before settling on me.
“You’re awake.”
His voice was low. Rougher than usual.
“I feel like I’ve been hit by a ten-tonne truck,” I croaked.
His mouth tightened. He crossed the room in a few long strides. “You’re going to be sore for a few days, a week maybe.”
I blinked at him. “You look worse than I do.”
That made him pause. There were faint shadows under his eyes. A tightness around his jaw that hadn’t been there before.
“Did you even sleep?” I forced out.
He didn’t answer immediately. That was answer enough.
He moved to the side of the bed and sat down without ceremony. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight. He leaned back against the headboard and stretched his legs out, one hand going behind his head. Relaxed.
It startled me. I’d never seen him like that. Unguarded. Not anticipating violence to walk through the door at any moment. Just… there.
It felt strangely natural. Like he’d always belonged on that side of the bed.
I watched him without making a sound. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was relentless, but not strained.
His gaze drifted to the bruising on my collarbone. Then my lip. Then my temple.
His jaw tightened again.
“I’m so fucking sorry I sent you back there, Izzy.”
The apology landed between us and stayed there.
It took me a second to process it.
“It’s not your fault.”
“It kind of is.”
“It kind of isn’t.”
He let out a short, humorless breath.
I ignored the ache. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is.” His voice was flat, adamant.
He turned his head to look at me, and there was something raw in his expression that made my chest tighten.
“I made the decision.”
“And Nathan made his,” I countered. “He’s the one who brought the devil to my door.”
A muscle ticked in Raze’s jaw. He studied me for a long moment.
“Actually,” he said mildly, “that was you.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Sneaking around in a deserted warehouse in the middle of the night.”
Despite the pain, I huffed out a breath. “I wasn’t sneaking. I was… investigating.”
He raised a brow.
“You kidnapped me,” I reminded him.
“You trespassed,” he corrected.
“On public property?” I stared at him.
“You are unbelievable,” he mused.
“So I’ve been told.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth despite myself.
The tension eased slightly.
He moved beside me, shoulders relaxing for the first time since he walked in.
“You didn’t deserve what happened to you, Izzy.”
I swallowed.
“No,” I agreed. “But I didn’t deserve a lot of things that happened.”
Silence fell again. I studied his face.
“Have you ever trusted the wrong person?” I wanted to know.
He didn’t answer. That told me enough.
“I didn’t see them,” I confessed. “The red flags. The lies. I just—” My voice faltered. “I thought if I loved him enough, he’d do better.”
His expression softened into something dark, something knowing.
“That’s not how men like him work.”
“Or men like you?” I whispered softly.
His eyes flicked to mine.
A charged beat passed.
“I’m not Nathan,” he pointed out.
“No,” I agreed. “You’re not.”
Another silence.
He let out a sharp breath, then shifted further down the bed. His shoulders slid lower against the headboard. The hand behind his head dropped.
He looked exhausted. Worn. Not just physically, but emotionally.
“You need to sleep,” I told him.
He shrugged slightly. “I have things to do.”
“You look like you lost a fight with a mirror.”
That earned the faintest smirk.
“I won.”
“Debatable.”
He huffed. Then, almost unconsciously, he changed his position again. Not away from me, but closer.
His shoulder brushed mine.
Neither of us moved to correct it.
His body heat was steady. Solid. Grounding.
I became acutely aware of how small I felt next to him. How easily he’d lifted me. How easily he’d stepped into my chaos and made it his problem.
“You don’t have to stay,” I said.
“I know.”
“But you’re going to, anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he adjusted slightly, sliding down until he was half-reclined. His arm rested along the mattress near my hip.
The space between us disappeared gradually. He just… settled. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to be there.
My shoulder brushed his chest now.
His breathing slowed.
I turned my head slightly to look at him.
His eyes were closed.
“You can’t just fall asleep mid-conversation,” I murmured.
No response.
I waited. Nothing.
His breathing deepened.
I blinked.
He was out. Just like that.
The most dominant, hyper-aware man I’d ever met had slouched into my side and fallen asleep like he trusted the space between us. Like he trusted me.
Something inside my chest cracked open.
He hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t announced it. He’d just… stayed.
And somewhere between apologies and arguments and shared exhaustion, he’d let himself relax.
I lay there carefully, afraid to move and wake him.
My body still hurt. My head still throbbed. But for the first time since the door slammed open in my apartment, I didn’t feel like I was bracing for more violence.
I felt held. Not by his arms. By his presence.
And that scared me almost as much as the men who’d come looking for Nathan.
Because this time, the danger wasn’t outside the door. It was the small, fragile hope forming in my chest. And I wasn’t sure I knew how to survive that either.