Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bea passed her UR driving test on the first try. She attributed it in part to Gage waiting outside like a silent overseer.
She’d never admit it to him, but knowing he was there, parked just beyond the glass, had made her more nervous than the actual exam. She hated failing in front of people. Failing in front of him felt unthinkable.
When she stepped outside, he was exactly where she expected—leaned against the side of his Aston Martin, phone in hand like he hadn’t been watching the exit doors the entire time.
“Well?” he asked, sliding his phone into his pocket.
Bea held up her temporary license. “Passed.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Good girl.”
She walked toward him, and the moment she was close enough, he folded her into his arms. His lips pressed against the top of her head, the gesture affectionate.
“My first official UR document,” she said, smiling into his chest. A tiny piece of permanence, a flag staked in foreign ground.
He pulled back, gaze skimming over her in that slow, assessing way that made her feel like a very specific kind of investment. “You’re one of us now.”
Something tightened and released in her chest at his words. Like he wanted to keep her.
“I had to put a male UR citizen down as the emergency contact. I put you. I hope that’s okay.”
She probably imagined the glimmer of triumph on his face. “Of course.”
“Now I just have to buy a car. Do you have AutoTrader here?”
His look darkened. “No.”
She narrowed her eyes up at him, hearing his tone. “I’m buying what I can afford.”
“You don’t need to afford anything.” Gage opened the passenger door like it was already decided. “I’m lending you one of mine.”
She climbed in, shaking her head. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”
Gage took a slow breath as he rounded the car. “I know how you feel about letting me buy you things,” he said as he slid behind the wheel. “But when it comes to your safety, and UR law, it’s not negotiable.”
“That’s not on you.”
He gave her a flat look. “It is. I’m your contact. That means you’re my responsibility.”
Bea frowned. “Nobody mentioned that part.”
“No, they assume you know.”
She didn’t. This place had more unspoken rules and laws than she had time to learn. It was like a degree in itself.
She weighed it, the invisible ledger between them filling line by line.
“Use one of my cars,“ he said. “I’ll lend you the most reasonable one I own.”
She looked pointedly around the cabin of the Aston Martin. “You don’t own reasonable cars.”
“I do. I’ll show you when we get home.”
By home he meant his home. The ease with which he said it slipped right under her defenses.
It wasn’t until the highway turned familiar that Bea realized he also meant now.
They were heading to his penthouse, not Mayfield Hall.
She could have protested. Should have, maybe.
But Georgina was bringing Hunter over, who had recently been upgraded to boyfriend, and Bea didn’t want to be an unwanted spectator to whatever honeymoon phase they were in.
She exhaled, fingers pressing lightly against the leather seat as the city blurred past. The hum of the engine was near silent, the car’s smooth glide a quiet reminder of just how much luxury insulated his world from inconvenience.
Everything with Gage was easy. The silent way doors opened before he knocked.
The systems designed to ensure he didn’t have to struggle, or wait.
Him—and now, by extension, her.
Gage adjusted the climate control on the dashboard. He glanced over, blue eyes flicking to her face. “You’re quiet.”
“Just thinking.” Thinking about the economic gap between them. It was something she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to ignore.
It wasn’t just the things he owned: the cars, the penthouse, the luxury. It was the certainty that money would never be an obstacle to him. He never hesitated to buy something new or replace something broken. His world ran on abundance. Hers had always required choices.
“Money isn’t worth fighting over,” Gage said, slicing straight to the heart of it.
She didn’t pretend not to understand. “Easy for you to say. You’re the one who has it.”
She’d said it softly, but it was as though something sharp had slipped into the space between them, and she wasn’t sure who was bleeding.
“Would you rather I didn’t?”
Yes. And no.
He was shaped by it. He’d been built by the crown that would be his. He wouldn’t be Gage if he didn’t have it.
“It would make some things easier,” she admitted.
“Why?”
“The way you live is so…different. Sometimes I think it’d be less…awkward…if we were more similar.”
“You mean if I drove a Civic.”
Her lips twitched. “Yeah.” She couldn’t believe she was saying this, to Gage King of all people, but he’d asked. And frankly, she’d revealed more intimate things to him before and he hadn’t shut her down. She could only hope he wouldn’t do it now.
The silence was excruciating. She slid her palms underneath her thighs, trying to hold herself together as she waited for his response.
He maneuvered through a narrow street, passing a double-parked moving truck. At the light, he turned to her. “You know who I am.”
She nodded.
“My life isn’t just about me.” He held her gaze. “My father built King Global. His father and grandfather before that. I don’t get to live small. Not even if I wanted to.”
The car ahead rolled forward. He followed, attention back on the road.
She studied his profile, the sharpness of his jaw. She’d revealed something in her heart and he’d given her a glimpse into his.
She tried to imagine what it would be like to be born into that kind of family. To have wealth not just as a resource, but a duty. A kingdom you couldn’t escape.
She had never thought of it like that. Never considered that his lifestyle, the way he moved through the world, was as much about upholding the King name as it was about his own choices, perhaps more so.
The silence stretched, the low hum of the engine the only thing filling the space between them. She opened her mouth, then closed it. The words pressed against her ribs like a physical ache, and if she didn’t say them now, she might never find the courage again.
“I…” She took a breath. “I don’t want to be kept.”
The confession dropped between them like a stone.
There. She’d said it. Not the specifics of it; she wasn’t sure she even knew those yet. But the summary, at least, of her fear. What people thought of her in the UR. What people might think of her back home, if they knew.
What she thought of herself.
That one day she’d look in the mirror and see someone she didn’t recognize. Someone who took and took, until she’d forgotten what it felt like to earn.
Gage’s gaze cut to hers. “You’re not my mistress, sweetheart.” His voice was firm. “You’re my girlfriend. Nothing I do for you, for us, is something to be ashamed of.”
She blinked. Once, twice, as if trying to clear the fog of disbelief that clung stubbornly to her thoughts. She wasn’t sure if she should absorb his words or let them pass by.
But they didn’t pass.
They eased in, unrushed and resolute, settling into the spaces she hadn’t realized were jagged, where anxiety had tucked itself away. It was like pouring warm water over something frozen: the thaw was gradual but unavoidable.
He wasn’t embarrassed. He didn’t think it was too much, too fast.
Maybe it was.
But maybe…it wasn’t.
“It’s hard. Letting you do things for me,” she confessed, staring out the window.
“Get used to it. You’re with me, so you don’t get to live small, either.” There was no sharpness in his tone. Only inevitability.
Her fingers traced the seam of her jeans, following the line over and over.
He is who he is.
If she wanted to be with him, she had to learn how to meet him in the middle.
She couldn’t keep waiting for him to bridge every gap, to make every first move. If she wanted to be beside him, she had to accept what that meant.
Her heart thudded against her ribs, the sound loud in her ears. She flexed her fingers against her jeans, the urge to reach out creeping up her arm. It would be so simple. Just a touch.
But she’d never done it before. Not deliberately. Not to him.
Her hand moved before she could stop herself, resting gently on his thigh.
Gage’s muscles immediately tensed under her palm. She almost pulled back. Almost. But for once, she wanted to be the one to close the space. To choose him first, without waiting for permission.
His jaw tightened, a flicker of surprise slipping past the surface before he tucked it away. His eyes flicked over to hers.
“Do you have a hybrid?” she asked.
An olive branch. A small one, but still.
Slowly, Gage’s mouth curved. For a moment she thought she saw relief etched into that smirk. “Why would I lend you something underpowered? You like the roar.”
Bea bit back a smile, but it came through anyway.
The keys were already waiting on the counter when they arrived at the penthouse.
“This one’s yours,” Gage said simply, nodding toward the slim black fob.
Bea picked it up, turning it over in her hand. “Thanks.”
The ‘reasonable’ car parked downstairs was a charcoal-grey Porsche Panamera. Four doors. Lux but low-key. Safe. The alternative had been a black Ferrari F12. Which meant, realistically, there hadn’t been a choice at all.
Lunch was simple. Fresh.
She was sitting at his dining table. In his penthouse. With his car keys in her bag. She didn’t quite know what to think of herself, here, with him, and now this.
But as she looked across the table, her body, at least, knew exactly what it thought of him.
It responded to the way he moved like he always knew exactly where he was going. To the authority in his silences. The way he expected she could rise to meet him there, at that impossible height. How would all of that power feel—pressed against her, above her?
Heat spiraled through her veins.