Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
A xel pulls away, leaving me a hot, trembling mess.
An itch under my skin that only he seems capable of scratching.
My cheeks burn with a heat that climbs all the way to the nape of my neck, flushing me raw with embarrassment and desire.
Just the press of his chest against mine is enough to set my skin ablaze, and now that space exists between us again, I find myself reeling.
To say he turns me on with nothing more than that raspy voice and those wicked, sultry words?
That’s the understatement of the year. My thoughts are a chaotic blur, filthy and wild, and far too focused on the ache pulsing between my thighs.
I squeeze my legs shut instinctively, trying to ease the pressure, the longing—but it does nothing.
He’s left a storm in his wake, and I’m drowning in it.
When I dare to look up, he’s watching me with that damn smirk—deviant and self-satisfied.
The stubble along his jaw looks like sin itself, like something I’d graze my fingertips over just to feel its texture scratch against my skin.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. Every look.
Every word. Every breath between us—it’s all calculated, a performance with one goal: unraveling me .
And damn it, it’s working.
He finally steps back, slow and deliberate, still watching me through those hooded eyes like he’s carved me into his possession. This wasn’t about conversation. It never was. It was a game. A power play. An attempt to keep me teetering on the edge.
“You’re an ass,” I snap, my voice sharp as I tug my skirt down, suddenly hyper aware of how disheveled I must look. I shove past him, angry at him and at myself, and sink behind my desk in an attempt to reclaim some semblance of control.
Because every time he walks into this room, I lose a little more of it.
I hate the way he affects me. I hate how my body betrays me, how much I crave his closeness. But most of all, I hate how much I love feeling wanted by him—how much I want to give in.
I know this is just Axel being Axel. He’s a storm—intense, consuming, impossible to ignore—but storms always pass.
He’ll lose interest the second he gets what he wants.
That’s who he is. And yet… despite knowing that, part of me still aches to be wanted like that.
Craved like that. But I can’t. Not like this.
Not while Cooper is still in the picture.
There’s a reason there’s distance between Axel and me.
There’s a reason I keep a line drawn in the sand, even if it’s blurred more with every interaction.
But the guilt gnaws at me all the same. It’s not just about temptation.
It’s about everything I’ve neglected. The relationship I’m still holding onto in name, but not in effort.
Lately, I’ve buried myself so deep in work that the days have bled together.
Case after case, late nights and court prep—I can’t even remember the last time Cooper and I did something that didn’t involve him staring at his phone or me falling asleep on the couch alone.
I’ve let the silence between us grow, thinking it was temporary, fixable… but maybe it’s not.
Maybe I’ve been lying to myself just to avoid the truth. And now that truth is standing in front of me with dangerous eyes, a crooked grin, and a voice that makes my knees weak.
“Can you blame me?” Axel smirks, that familiar glint of danger returning to his eyes.
The softness he just showed vanishes in an instant, replaced by the cold, ruthless man I know he really is.
The one I’ve spent so long trying to keep at arm’s length.
He’s a storm wrapped in tailored suits and twisted charm—exactly what I don’t need in my life.
“I’m busy, Axel,” I snap, forcing the words out as I tear my gaze away from him and glue it to the stack of papers on my desk. It takes everything in me not to look back up, not to let those dark eyes pull me back into whatever gravitational force he carries.
He grunts in frustration, the sound low and sharp, and then I hear the metallic click of the lock sliding back. His footsteps retreat slowly, each one more distant than the last, until silence fills the room like a balm.
I release a breath, sinking back into my chair as my hands clamp around the armrests. Finally, some distance. Finally, space to think.
But even now, with him gone, I can still feel the heat of his body lingering in the air. The scent of him, the sound of his voice—it all clings to me like a second skin.
He’s just playing a game, I remind myself. That’s all this is.
But it’s a game I can’t afford to play.
I t’s almost midnight by the time I finally step through the front door—another late night swallowed by court prep and case files.
Axel’s trial may be the one taking up all my time, but he’s far from my only client.
Thankfully, the others have court dates that aren’t breathing down my neck just yet. Small mercies.
I drop my bag onto the kitchen table with a soft thud, the weight of the day still clinging to my shoulders.
Cooper glances up from his laptop, his face bathed in the glow of the screen.
But the look he gives me isn’t the warm, welcoming one I used to know.
It’s brief, unreadable—fleeting eye contact that vanishes almost as quickly as it appears.
Then he’s looking away again, fingers returning to the keyboard, expression unreadable as he leans back in his chair like I’m not even here.
A strange silence settles between us—thick, charged, and difficult to name. Not quite anger. Not quite indifference. But distant. Detached. It echoes louder than any argument ever could.
I stand there for a moment, frozen in the quiet, unsure whether to speak… or just disappear into the shower and pretend like we didn’t just pass like strangers in our own home.
But then my eyes land on the article lying beside Cooper’s laptop. I reach for it, fingers brushing the edges as I flip the page to read the headline—and then the blood drains from my face.
My breath catches in my throat.
‘MAFIA MURDERER: How Much Is Your Freedom Worth?’
The words scream at me in bold print, and suddenly the room feels smaller, colder. My hands tremble as I scan the first few lines, my heart thudding in my ears. A sick feeling coils in my stomach, a silent panic clawing its way up my spine. This has to be a joke—a twisted, horrible joke.
I glance up at him, my voice barely above a whisper. “You wrote this?”
Cooper doesn’t even flinch. His eyes stay fixed on the screen for a moment before he finally answers, flat and emotionless. “It’s a story I’ve been working on.”
His tone is calm, detached—like this isn’t a gut punch. Like he hasn’t just blindsided me with something that could destroy everything.
“This is about Axel, Coop!” I slam the paper down on the table, the sound echoing through the apartment like a gunshot. My voice cracks with fury, volcanic and raw. “I can’t believe you!”
He doesn’t even flinch. “Yeah? And?”
“You can’t publish this!” I all but scream. My hands are trembling, my breath coming in shallow bursts. The rage is hot and blistering, bubbling just beneath my skin—and still, Cooper stares at me like I’m the one who’s crossed a line.
His face hardens, his mouth curling with disdain. “Okay, first of all, you don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t publish. I’m a journalist, Cass. It’s my job now. Second—you ignored me when I told you who you were working for, so forgive me if I don’t feel particularly sympathetic right now.”
“So, this is payback?” I spit the words like venom. “Coop, this will ruin him. It will ruin me ! And it’s all lies!”
His laugh is humorless, sharp as broken glass. “Lies? You sure about that?” He pushes back from the table and stands, towering over me with narrowed eyes and clenched fists. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”
The heat inside me spikes, flames licking up my spine and burning through my throat. I’m shaking, seething, barely holding back the storm of everything I’ve swallowed for weeks—months. His words feel like betrayal with a knife’s edge, and I don’t know if I’m more furious or heartbroken.
My voice is low, almost guttural. “You crossed a line, Cooper.”
He steps closer, his jaw clenched tight. “No, Cass. You did. The second you started defending a murderer.”
“You know what?” I hiss, my voice shaking.
Cooper doesn’t flinch. He just stands there, eyes wide for a second before a bitter laugh escapes his lips. He brings a hand to his cheek, but there’s no wince, no real reaction—only the cold satisfaction of someone who’s been expecting this.
“He was right. You are a fucking pig.”
His smile falters.
I see it—the flicker of pain in his eyes, the wounded pride, the sharp twist of disbelief. But just as quickly as it appears, he shoves it down, straightening his shoulders like he’s preparing for another blow.
I don’t wait around to hear what he says next. The shame, the rage, the sheer weight of it all crashes over me like a tidal wave. I snatch my bag off the table with trembling fingers, barely able to breathe as I storm toward the door.
The second the cold city air hits my face, it steals the heat from my skin—but not from my chest. I pause on the sidewalk, my breath visible in short, shaky puffs.
For a moment, I consider turning back, facing him and telling him what happened tonight between Axel and I.
But my pride is louder than my guilt. My heart is pounding, furious, and fractured.
There’s no way I can stay there tonight. Not after what I did. Not after what he did.
Not after everything that was said.
I’m wracked with disbelief, my thoughts spiraling in every direction as I storm down the street.
The audacity of Cooper—writing that article in the first place, sitting there so calmly while it sat on our kitchen table like a ticking time bomb.
My body burns with white-hot fury, the kind that crackles beneath the skin like wildfire, searing everything in its path.
I can’t calm the inferno raging inside me, and I don’t want to. The only thing I can do is walk away.
I want to scream. I want to cry. But no tears come—only this dull, aching throb in my chest, like something inside is caving in. And beneath all the fury, there’s a hollow yearning I can’t ignore. I don’t just want comfort. I want something else. Someone else.
It hits me then—me and Cooper? We’re not on the same page.
Hell, maybe we never were. Maybe we’ve been pretending this whole time, clinging to something that stopped fitting a long time ago.
Still, there's a voice whispering in the back of my mind, one I try to silence: Maybe this is your fault too. Maybe you’ve been slipping away and didn’t even notice.
But I shove the thought aside. I won’t play the victim.
I can’t. Cooper’s the one who crossed the line.
Publishing that article—not even giving me the courtesy of a warning—he’s compromised everything.
My position, my reputation, maybe even my entire career.
I didn’t read the whole thing, but I saw enough.
I saw the headline. I saw the intent. And if Axel ever lays eyes on it…
God help us all.
My heels slap against the pavement as I pace, my phone gripped tight in my hand like a lifeline. I don’t even have to think about who to call. My thumb moves on instinct, and it doesn’t take long before she answers.
“Hey, bitch!” Lexie chirps, her voice a bright light in the darkness clinging to me.
“Hey,” I murmur, barely managing the word as a cab turns the corner and crawls toward me. I flag it down, heart pounding, sliding into the backseat as the driver mumbles a greeting.
“What’s going on?” she asks, the teasing in her tone quickly replaced by concern.
“I need somewhere to crash.” My voice is quiet as the cab drive awaits my instructions.
There’s a pause—only a second—but it’s long enough to make my breath hitch. Then her voice comes, light and certain. “Of course. You know you don’t even have to ask.”
A small smile tugs at my lips, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. For now, I just need somewhere safe to fall apart. And tonight, Lexie’s my lifeline.
“I’ll see you soon,” she says gently, just before I hang up.
Reeling off Lexie’s address to the cab driver, I let my head fall back against the seat, letting the motion of the vehicle lull my mind as the city blurs past my window.
For a moment, I pretend everything’s fine.
That I’m not coming undone. That I’m not running away from a war that started in my own kitchen.
But the silence is loud. Too loud. The kind that fills in all the cracks you’ve been trying to plaster over. The longer I sit here, the more the weight of what just happened presses down on me, curling around my ribs like smoke. Shame, guilt, rage—they twist together in a slow, suffocating tangle.
I should feel relief. I walked out. I stood my ground. But all I feel is this aching pit in my stomach. Because Cooper didn’t even try to stop me. He just stood there, eyes cold, like I was already a stranger to him. Maybe I have been for a while now.
I swallow the lump in my throat and close my eyes, whispering the lie I wish I believed: It’s going to be okay.