Chapter 48
Chapter Forty-Eight
LUCA
The message lit the screen.
I’m staying at the Adams penthouse tonight.
I read it once. Twice. My jaw locked. She thought that was happening. She thought she could put herself in Adams blue walls, alone, and I’d allow it.
Not a chance.
Alexander was out of town.
I didn’t even hesitate. I already owned the cameras. Every feed in that tower ran through my system. The guards standing at the lobby doors reported to me, not the Adams crest. The pin for the private elevator was one I coded myself.
Her family thought they had control. They didn’t.
I walked through the night like the city itself cleared the path. The drive was a blur of headlights and red signals I didn’t bother with. All I could see was her message. All I could feel was the acid of it burning through my chest.
I could break her phone. I could take every number, word, every message she ever sent. I could silence her guards, turn every lens black, flood the feeds with nothing but her face.
But her mind—her mind was still locked to me .
That silence was the one cage I couldn’t hack.
And if I could? I’d kill whatever was consuming her from the inside. Strangle it with my bare hands until she breathed easy again.
The lobby guards didn’t look at me when I crossed the floor. They kept their heads down. Smart. The elevator doors slid open at my touch, the pin sequence quick under my fingers.
The ride up was too long. My pulse hammered steady, sharp, but my breathing stayed even. That was the difference between me and Bastion—I didn’t rage, I calculated.
Every floor I climbed, I imagined her sitting in silence. Dying by degrees she wouldn’t admit.
And I told myself: Every second you’re alone is another second you’re breaking. And you don’t get to break without us.
The doors opened.
The penthouse air was still. Polished surfaces, dynasty wealth dripping from every detail.
Then I saw her.
She was on the couch.
Her hair was loose, a mess around her face. Makeup streaked, black smudges staining her skin. Her shoulders shook. Her fists curled against her lap.
She was crying.
Not the quiet tears she let slip when she thought no one was looking. The polished sorrow of a dynasty daughter. This was ugly. Raw. Her whole body shaking with it, her face red and blotched, sobs ripping out of her chest.
It stopped me cold.
Because no one was ever supposed to see her like this. Not the dynasty. Not anyone but us.
Her head lifted. Eyes wide. Shock slammed across her face .
“How did you get in here?” Her voice cracked. “You can’t?—”
I didn’t let her finish.
I crossed the room in three strides. She shrank back a fraction, not from fear but disbelief.
I knelt in front of her. My hands came up, cradling her face, my thumbs sweeping hot tears from her cheeks.
“You’re coming home.”
She shook her head.
“Luca—”
I leaned closer, cutting her words, kissing the corner of her mouth. Then her cheek. Then the trembling line of her jaw.
“These tears, baby…” My voice came low. “…they’re ours to kiss away. And I can’t do that if you’re hiding them from me.”
Her breath hitched, shaky. I followed the trails down her face with my lips, kissing the stains. Every drop mine to claim.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “There’s nowhere else I should be.”
Her hands trembled against my wrists. I kissed under one eye, then the other. “Ours,” I whispered against her cheek. “Every tear. Every breath. Ours.”
She pressed forward until her forehead rested against mine, her breath warm and uneven.
I closed my eyes, holding her face, anchoring her there.
“You don’t spend another night behind Adams doors,” I muttered. “Hiding your pain from us.”
Silence stretched, broken only by the sound of her breath against mine. I felt the pulse in her throat under my thumb. She was breaking. And I would tear down the whole dynasty to keep her from shattering where I couldn’t reach .
I kissed her again, slow. Then I pulled her into my chest, her body folding against me, her sobs muffled in my shirt.
I let her cry.
Because these tears weren’t weakness. They were proof she was still fighting. And if she thought she had to fight alone, she was wrong.
My hands held her tight, pressing her into me until she could feel the truth in my grip.
Her sobs breaking slower, softer, until they were only tremors in her chest. I kept one hand stroking her back, the other cradling the back of her head. The mess of her hair tangled around my fingers.
She whispered into my shirt, muffled, “I can’t go. Not tonight.”
“You can, and you will. Because you’re ours.”
“They’ll—”
I tipped her chin up, made her look at me. “Let them try.”
Her mouth trembled, another tear slipping. I kissed it away before it reached her jaw. Then I stood, lifting her from the couch in one smooth movement.
“Luca—”
“You’re not staying here.” My grip adjusted, her legs going around me automatically. “Not for them. Not for anyone.”
I carried her toward the elevator.
The guards in the lobby didn’t look up as I stepped through the doors. They knew better. The cameras overhead—mine. Every angle scrubbed clean, replaced with a still feed that showed nothing but an empty hall.
She buried her face against my throat, her breath shaky. “You shouldn’t?—”
“I should,” I cut in. My voice dropped, sharp. “I should’ve come sooner. I won’t make that mistake again. ”
The city night air hit us as the doors opened. And there, at the curb, black car idling, was Bastion.
He leaned against the hood, cigarette burning low between his fingers, eyes locked on the building like he could burn it down with a look. When he saw me carrying her, his jaw tightened.
He flicked the cigarette away.
I opened the back door and slid her inside. She shifted as though she meant to sit upright, but I pressed her gently down until she was folded between us on the seat.
Bastion slid in from the other side, shutting the door.
His arm came around, pulling her immediately into his chest. He kissed her hair, then her temple.
She was taught to hide her pain. It would take a lot more than a few words to show her it was safe to bleed in front of us.
I reached for her hand, untangling her fingers from the fabric of her dress. I laced mine through hers, thumb stroking over hers.
Her eyes darted between us, guilt etched across her face. “I didn’t want you to?—”
“Don’t care.” Bastion’s kissed her forehead. “Doesn’t matter what you want when it comes to this. You don’t get to sit alone in their walls and drown.”
“You think your tears belong to Adams? No, baby. They’re ours. Always ours.”
She swallowed, her lips parting like she meant to argue. Her silence pressed into me, heavy, but she didn’t pull away.
Bastion shifted her further into his lap, his hand around her waist, his lips trailing down the side of her hair. “Our girl,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Ours to hold. Ours to keep breathing.”
She closed her eyes, her forehead pressing against his chest .
I squeezed her hand tighter, kissing the back of her knuckles.
We pulled away from the curb. I had every intention of guttering that Adams penthouse floor when we torn Alexander legacy from him.
The city blurred outside, neon streaks and dark glass sliding past, but inside was silence.
Just the sound of her breathing, the faint hitch when another tear slipped.
I caught it with my thumb, tilted her chin so I could see her face. “No more hiding,” I murmured. Then I kissed her cheek.
Time. It would just take time.
Bastion’s hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her back into his chest. His lips pressed again and again to her hair, her temple, her crown.
“I don’t deserve you two?—”
“Stop.” My voice cut like a blade, but I softened it against her skin with another kiss to her palm. “You don’t decide what you deserve. We do. And we say you deserve every second of this.”
Love was a weak word for what we felt for her.
Slowly, her hand tightened around mine. She pressed her face deeper into Bastion’s chest, letting him swallow the rest of her tears.
We rode like that, silence thick, her body between us, claimed by touch and nothing else.
When the car finally pulled to the curb of our tower, I leaned close to her ear, whispering as Bastion shifted to lift her out.
“Home,” I said. “Where you belong.”