Chapter Fourteen
Dawn
I wake slowly, the world around me quiet, unfamiliar.
The bed is too soft. The air smells too clean, laced with faint traces of cologne, wood, and something darker. It takes a second to remember where I am—before last night comes rushing back.
I sit up, rubbing my face, and tug at the shirt hanging off my body. It’s Nikolai’s and it swallows me whole, the fabric warm and soft from its use.
My stomach grumbles, breaking through the haze of sleep. Food. I need food.
I push off the bed and head down the main staircase, padding barefoot through the quiet house.
The kitchen is easy to find. Sunlight filters through the massive windows, catching on marble countertops and sleek stainless steel. Nikolai stands by the counter, shirtless, in sweats, his back to me. He’s making coffee, his movements slow and relaxed.
I hesitate for half a second.
Then his voice comes, low and steady. “You should still be asleep.”
I glance at him. “I was. Then I got hungry.”
He turns to face me, his eyes trailing over me in that unreadable way of his. Not possessive. Not teasing. Just looking, taking me in like he’s committing this moment to memory. His gaze lingers.
Something flickers behind those dark eyes—something softer than I expect.
“Come here,” he says quietly.
I listen, without questioning it.
I move toward him, stopping just before our bodies touch. He smells warm, like sleep, cologne, and something distinctly him.
His fingers brush my cheek—just barely, just enough to send a quiet shiver down my spine. “How’d you sleep?” he asks, his voice kind, quiet.
I hesitate for a second at the softness of his question.
“Well enough.” I say, shifting my weight. “Your bed is ridiculously comfortable.”
His lips twitch, but it’s not a smirk. It’s softer than that. “Good.” Then, he places a gentle kiss on the top of my head.
I glance past him at the counter, “You making coffee?”
He nods, moving back toward the machine. “Yeah.” Then, after a beat, “You want some?”
A smile tugs at my lips at the casual intimacy between us. “Yes, please.” I turn toward the fridge. “I’ll make breakfast.”
He watches me intently as I pull open the door. “You cook?”
I grab eggs and bacon, setting them on the counter. “I eat.”
He lets out a small chuckle. “I have a chef, you know.”
I shrug, preparing everything and turning the stove on. “That’s okay. I think I can manage this.”
He gives a quiet, low hum as he comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “You know, I think I could get used to this.”
I smirk, glancing up at him. “Hm, I don’t know about that.”
We stand there in the morning light as the bacon starts cooking, laughing together as we avoid the popping grease, coffees in hand. Something about being able to share a calm moment with him, just enjoying each other’s company, makes my heart swell with a peaceful contentedness.
I sip my coffee, letting the moment settle between us before something nags at me. “By the way,” I say, tilting my head up toward him, “how did you know I was at Roscoe’s?”
Nikolai takes a slow sip of his own coffee before answering. “You’re a Blackthorn employee.” He says simply. “High up in the company. I have access to your location at all times.”
I pause, my fingers loosening around the handle of the pan as I cook. “Access?”
He meets my gaze. “It’s standard policy with anyone working on the executive levels. It was in your contract.”
A strange sensation prickles along my spine—not quite fear, but something adjacent. I study him, searching for any sign that he realizes how unsettling that sounds. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t second-guess his words.
I exhale, forcing myself to relax. It makes sense. Of course Blackthorn would have eyes on its employees, especially those close to the top. And I suppose, of all people, I’d rather Nikolai be the one keeping tabs on me.
So, I let it go. For now.
The sound of footsteps shuffling into the kitchen makes me look up from the stove.
Cassidy stands in the archway, still in last night’s outfit, her make up smudged, hair falling loose from where it was pinned. She looks exhausted but not surprised. Like her body woke up before her mind did.
Her eyes drift slowly around the room, taking in the massive kitchen, the marble counters, the high ceilings that stretch above us. She doesn’t say anything right away.
Then, her gaze finally lands on Nikolai—standing next to me, coffee in hand, shirtless, looking completely at ease.
Cassidy blinks, her fingers lightly rubbing against her eyes, her expression puzzled, like she’s trying to piece everything together.
She exhales. “This… is not where I expected to wake up.”
I give a soft smile, a laugh escaping my lips. “Good morning to you, too.”
She hums softly, still taking it all in. Her voice is hoarse when she finally asks, “Are we in Nikolai Blackthorn’s house right now?”
Nikolai chuckles under his breath but doesn’t answer. Instead, he steps past me, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and handing it to her. “Drink this. It’ll help.”
Cassidy takes it, offering a quiet, “Thank you.”
She twists the cap off and drinks slowly, steady, like she’s letting herself wake up piece by piece. After a moment, she lowers the bottle and finally looks at me. “What happened last night?”
I glance at Nikolai. He doesn’t react, just sips his coffee. But there’s something faintly amused in his eyes.
“Nothing crazy,” I say, keeping my voice even. “We left the bar, you were exhausted, so we brought you here to crash.”
Cassidy’s brows knit slightly, like she’s trying to fill in the blanks herself. Then she nods, slowly, like the answer makes sense but isn’t quite settling yet.
She glances between me and Nikolai again, and I can tell exactly where her thoughts are going.
I cut her off before she can ask. “Eat something. Have some coffee.”
She gives me a look, but it’s soft. Then she sighs and moves toward the kitchen island, settling into one of the chairs.
I shake my head, setting a plate in front of her.
Cassidy picks up her fork but doesn’t start eating right away. Instead, her voice lowers slightly. “Are you okay?”
The question catches me off guard. I glance at her, expecting teasing, but her expression is gentle. She’s not prying. She’s just checking.
I smile at her. “Yeah.”
She studies me for a second longer, then nods and takes a bite of her food.
I exhale, turning back to the stove.
After we eat, Nikolai arranges for his driver to take Cassidy back to the bar so she can grab her car and get home. She grumbles about her hangover as we hug goodbye.
When she’s gone, it’s just me and Nikolai.
The humor from earlier fades, leaving behind something heavier. Something we can’t ignore.
He looks down at me, meeting my gaze. “We need to talk.”
We walk back upstairs into the bedroom, the door clicking shut behind us. I hold my coffee in both hands, letting the warmth sink into my palms, but it does nothing to steady the heavy feeling sitting in my chest.
Nikolai doesn’t say anything at first. He unscrews the cap of his water bottle, takes a slow sip, and watches me with that same unreadable expression that I’m starting to recognize as restraint.
We sit on the bed, side by side, the air between us thick with something unsaid.
He exhales slowly. Then, he speaks. “What happened yesterday? Why did you think it was a mistake?”
I stiffen, fingers tightening around my coffee cup.
I wasn’t expecting that.
I shake my head, trying to push the question away. “I was drunk, Nikolai. Don’t read too much into it.”
His gaze sharpens. “That’s not an answer.”
I swallow. “It’s the truth.”
“Dawn.” He says my name in a low voice, steady—a quiet warning.
I shift on the bed, fingers fidgeting around the warm ceramic. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything else—just waits, patient and unyielding.
The pressure builds, pressing in around me, until I finally let out a slow, shaky exhale. “I didn’t hear from you all day.” The admission tastes bitter on my tongue. “And then, I don’t know… look at you. Look at your life.”
Nikolai’s face remains still, focused, but his grip on his water bottle tightens slightly.
I shake my head, staring down at my coffee. “You could have anyone. You’re… you.” I let out a dry, humorless chuckle, my voice quieter now. “And I’m just me.”
The bed shifts.
His fingers brush my chin, tilting my face up toward him. His touch is firm but not rough, commanding but careful. “You think I regret this?”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
His thumb grazes my jaw, his voice lower now, like he’s making sure I hear every word. “I want this, Dawn.”
I swallow hard, my pulse hammering in my throat.
“And that’s not something I say lightly.” He sets his water down on the bedside table. His hand finds my waist—not possessive, not forceful. Just grounding. His forehead nearly brushes mine, his voice nothing but raw certainty. “I’m here, Dawn. You don’t have to question that.”
The words settle deep, curling around something in my chest.
His hand slides up, fingers threading gently through my hair, and he kisses me. It’s slow, deep, possessive in a way that makes my stomach tighten. Not rushed, not desperate—just certainty.
By the time he pulls back, I can barely breathe.
His thumb brushes against my lips, his voice dipping lower. “I’m going to take a shower.”
I swallow hard as he studies me for a beat, his eyes drifting over my features.
“Find us something to wear,” he murmurs with a devious grin. “Then join me.”
And just like that, he stands and disappears into the bathroom.
The coffee in my hands is cold now. I set it down and move toward the dresser, pulling open a drawer.
Socks.
Another drawer.
Boxers.
And another.
And then… a folder.
I know I probably shouldn’t snoop, but my curiosity gets the best of me. And I do.
The folder is thin and lightweight as I pull it from the dresser. My fingers hesitate for a moment before I flip it open.
My pulse is steady at first—until I see my brother’s name printed in bold at the top of the first page.
LUKE CARTER
My stomach twists.
The first things I see are photos—street camera stills.
My fingers grip the paper tighter as I take them in, one by one.
- Luke driving. His face is clear through the windshield, brows furrowed like he’s mid-thought, completely unaware that a camera is tracking him.
- Luke stepping out of a coffee shop. Mid-stride, drink in hand, his phone up to his ear, oblivious.
- Luke standing outside a government building, talking to his campaign manager. Their body language looks normal, casual—but someone still felt the need to record this moment.
Why?
A sinking feeling claws through my gut—a slow, creeping dread that tightens its grip the further I turn the page.
His profile.
I scan through the text, my breath slowing as I realize what I'm looking at. Every detail of Luke’s life, laid out in cold, impersonal lines.
[Current Position]
[Political History]
[Policy Area Focus]
All of his information, the dates of our parent’s deaths, even our childhood dog’s name.
Then I see the red ink.
Circles. Underlines. Sharp, purposeful notes in the margins.
“Clean”
“Get address of campaign manager”
“Track movement priority”
My throat goes dry.
Clean. Like he was being vetted for something. Like he was being prepared.
A sharp pressure builds behind my ribs, panic pressing in, but I keep turning pages.
Then—I see it.
My name.
DAWN CARTER
It’s stamped across the next page, like I’m just another entry in a long list.
My breath catches.
The information on me is smaller than Luke’s, but it’s there. Detailed. Organized. Purposeful.
Past addresses. College records. Employment history.
It’s not just a background check. It’s a profile. And just like Luke’s, there are notes.
I flip through the pages faster, pulse hammering in my ears. Someone has been watching me.
Who? Why?
My stomach twists violently, nausea creeping up my throat. I don’t understand.
I don’t understand—
But the folder was in his dresser.
His room.
His house.
I close my eyes, gripping the papers tightly.
He knew.
The last several hours—the way he touched me, the way he kissed me, the way he told me I was his—was it all a lie? Did he do this?
I inhale sharply, willing my hands to stop shaking as I close the folder and slip it back into place, exactly where I found it.
I force my expression blank. The shower is still running. But something inside me feels different now. The warmth from before is gone.
I don’t know what to say to him.
But I know I can’t trust him.