Chapter 5
RAIDEN
She was gone.
After spending the night dreaming of the taste of her mouth, the drag of her nails across my back, the tight heat of her body around my cock…I woke to silence and the cold sheets where she should’ve been cuddled against me.
A note sat on the pillow beside me. Folded, neat, and with her name scribbled in loopy, feminine handwriting at the bottom.
The paper crinkled between my fingers as I sat up against the headboard, and I stared at it as though it had answers.
Like I could read between the lines and decode how long she’d be gone or where she was.
She hadn’t said. Only that she was flying out for work.
And yeah, I got it—she was a reporter. Travel came with the gig.
But I didn’t like not knowing where she was.
Didn’t like waking up alone when I’d already gotten used to her sleeping beside me.
My head fell back, and I stared at the ceiling. One night, and she’d already gotten into my bloodstream. Now she was gone, and I was supposed to go back to normal? What the hell even was normal after last night?
I forced myself out of bed and trudged into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee.
This morning felt off. The silence stretched out in a way that it never had before.
My apartment was too damn quiet without her in it.
Even the city noise filtering in from twenty stories below couldn’t fill the space.
My jaw clenched as I pushed back from the kitchen island and set the mug down with a dull thud.
I had no appetite for breakfast, which felt ironic considering I’d been starving last night.
Then she fed me something I’d never tasted before, and now I was stuck trying to figure out how the hell to function without it.
I walked back to my bedroom and picked up my phone. Son of a bitch. I didn’t have her phone number. But I knew who could get it for me…and keep it on the down low.
Jonah Carrington was a local billionaire who owned one of the best, if not the best, security companies in the world. Cybersecurity was their specialty, but they also had a division for human security.
I knew him through my boss, Lennox, so he’d given me his info a couple of years back in case I ever needed it.
As I padded into the bathroom, I shot off a text asking for her number and explaining why.
I received several laughing emoji and a jibe about how he’d become the go-to guy for stalking.
He wasn’t exactly wrong since he’d helped several guys I knew keep tabs on their women, even after they’d married them.
Himself included. But that wasn’t an open service.
He only did it for a very select group of people.
One that I never thought I’d join until I met Marissa.
Not two minutes later, he sent me her number and asked for payment in the form of a signed jersey for his grandson. I chuckled as I sent back a thumbs-up.
Before hopping in the shower, I sent her a quick text telling her to wake me up next time. I wasn’t sure if she was on the plane yet, though.
I showered in silence and dressed like a man going through the motions.
The rest of the day dragged, and by the time I got to the steakhouse in SoHo where I was supposed to meet Micah and two potential suppliers for the deli, I was already on edge. I hadn’t heard back from her yet.
I barely registered the names of the guys Micah introduced me to.
They both had decent reps, and this meeting had been on the books for weeks.
We were supposed to be finalizing sourcing for specialty bread and meat.
But as I sat at the corner booth, nodding along to a conversation I didn’t hear, I kept checking my phone under the table like a damn teenager. Still nothing.
Luckily, Micah carried most of the conversation, sharp as always, holding court like the born negotiator he was. I didn’t contribute much besides grunts and the occasional “Sounds good.”
Micah shot me a look, but I ignored him and typed a text.
Me
Where are you now?
My thumb hovered over the screen while I waited. Finally, the little dots appeared.
Marissa
On the plane. Still have over 5 hours to go.
I frowned. Sounded like a long-ass flight.
Me
Where will you be when you land?
Her reply came quickly.
Marissa
Seoul
Seoul? I muttered a low curse and opened my world clock on my phone, then groaned under my breath. Time zones were going to be a bitch.
Another message popped in.
Marissa
But I’m covering the Junior Championships after this and then the World, so I’ll be traveling to a lot of different places over the next month.
A month.
Holy fuck.
I was gonna lose my damn mind.
Running a hand down my beard, I tried not to let my expression show what was going on inside my chest.
Micah’s voice suddenly boomed across the table. “Raiden.”
My head snapped up to see him arching a brow.
Then I noticed everyone was standing. Shaking hands. The check was already signed.
Shit.
I stood quickly, apologized for being distracted, and offered a few polite goodbyes. Once they were gone, and we stepped outside into the cold Manhattan air, Micah turned and fixed me with a probing stare.
“Wanna tell me what that was?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” He tilted his head. “Because you’ve said maybe twelve words all night, most of them out of order.”
I didn’t answer. My hands were buried deep in my coat pockets, my fingers wrapped tight around the note I hadn’t stopped carrying since I woke up.
Micah gave me a sideways glance, followed by that shit-eating grin he wore when he was about to start some trouble. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?”
“Drop it.”
Micah chuckled. “Damn. It is.”
I just scowled.
He put on an offended expression. “You got hit that hard, and you’re not even gonna tell me?”
Still nothing.
He whistled. “Whoever she is, she must’ve rocked your world.”
She had. In every possible way. And now she was halfway across the globe, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
The next three weeks were a slow descent into fucking madness.
Marissa and I tried to keep in touch, but it was never consistent. She was on the move nonstop, chasing figure skating stories across two continents—long days, tight schedules, and spotty Wi-Fi. I could feel her exhaustion through every text. And it made me even more anxious for her to return.
I buried myself in work, prepping for The Tight Line’s soft open.
The final design approvals went through.
We hired three more staffers and held tastings to fine-tune the menu.
I worked out every day, trying to burn through the tension grinding through my bones like grit in the gears.
Yet every spare second I had, I stared at my phone waiting for a ping.
Sometimes it was one message. Sometimes three or four. But never a full conversation. She was always either prepping for an event, covering it, or passing out from exhaustion in some hotel room half a world away.
Me
How was the arena?
Marissa
Cold. But one of the pairs teams pulled off a quad twist that made me tear up.
Me
Didn’t know figure skating made you emotional.
Marissa
Only when it’s done right.
Me
You sleeping at all?
Sometimes the replies came hours later.
Marissa
Define sleeping.
I sighed, frustrated that I couldn’t be there to take care of her.
Me
I’ll lecture you about that later. Kill it out there today.
Marissa
I’m trying. Jet lag is evil.
Me
You’re tougher than jet lag. Eat something that isn’t from a hotel bar.
Marissa
You sound like my mom.
Me
You want your mom to know you’re not sleeping enough, or should I take that job?
Some days, her texts made me laugh out loud, earning myself odd looks from my coworkers or random people on the subway.
Marissa
Walked into a rink today and saw a grown man in a sparkly blue unitard crying over a broken skate blade.
Me
I’d cry too if someone made me wear that.
Marissa
It was bedazzled.
Me
Seriously?
Marissa
I couldn’t look directly at it. It had its own solar flare.
It all made me miss her so fucking much it was starting to strangle me.
The deli was coming together—counters, booths, and stainless-steel fixtures were all installed.
But it still felt like nothing without her.
She was the only one I wanted to share it with.
Show her the signage. Let her taste test the sandwiches and help me pick which jersey got mounted on the back wall.
I didn’t tell her that, though. It wasn’t the time.
After three weeks of scattered conversations, things changed. Her messages got shorter. Less frequent. Slower to arrive. I told myself she was just tired. Overworked. But the edge crept in. I felt it like a loose thread under my skin.
Me
You okay?
She didn’t answer for hours.
Marissa
Just tired. Sorry. I’ll text tomorrow.
But tomorrow came and went.
I didn’t push. Didn’t demand. I waited, letting her have space even though I hated every second of it. I’d stare at the screen waiting for those dots to blink to life. Sometimes they never did.
And fuck, it hurt.
She was slipping away, and I could feel it in my chest like pressure before a storm. I was already in too deep.
She didn’t know it yet, but she was mine.
And when she got back, I’d prove it to her.
No matter how fucking long it took.