43. Chapter 43
SEAN
IT'S DAY TWO OF PACKING. We're leaving tomorrow and I couldn't be fucking happier about that.
The apartment is starting to look like a war zone: boxes stacked against walls like defensive fortifications, furniture pushed into odd configurations, and donation piles claiming territory in every corner like competing armies.
Londyn stands in the middle of it all, her hair messier than usual as she stares at a vase as if it holds the secrets of the universe.
Store it? Donate it? Break it against the wall for emotional release?
The decisions are clearly wearing on her.
"I don't even remember where I got this," she mutters, turning the blue ceramic vase in her hands. "Is it worth keeping?"
I set a box down on the donation pile. "Only you can answer that. But we've made good progress. Half your stuff is already in storage, and the non-profit is coming tomorrow for the donations." I cross to her and gently take the vase. "Let's take a break and decide the fate of this vase later."
Her shoulders slump. "Really? But we still have so much—"
"Break," I repeat firmly. "You're starting to look at this vase like you want to smash it, and I'm not cleaning up the mess."
That gets a small laugh from her, and I count it as a win.
I set the vase in the kitchen and lead her to the couch, the only piece of furniture still in its proper place.
She's been scattered all day, jumping between tasks, starting one box only to abandon it for another more pressing concern. Classic overwhelm.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it for now.
Londyn needs me here, present, not checking messages.
And I bet it's my mom wondering why I'm going to Australia instead of flying to Seoul.
I accidentally told her I have a girlfriend, though Londyn and I haven't used official terms yet.
Umma has been blowing up my phone since, demanding picture proof.
I'm a bit appalled. I know it's been almost a decade since I had a girlfriend, but where's the trust?
Londyn collapses onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, and I sit next to her. Then she's in my arms and we both take a moment of quiet together. Her hands fist in the back of my shirt, anchoring herself to me. I feel her breathing slow, matching my rhythm until we're breathing as one.
I press my cheek to her hair. "Hey. You're my girlfriend, right?"
I feel the smile in her voice. "Yeah. As long as you're my boyfriend."
A poem from Londyn's book comes back to me, the one that made me think of her the first time I read it.
"Across chasms of space and time, on fragile wings," I say, holding her close and letting her warmth steady me, "starlight travels. And when it reaches us, we see not what is but what was. Starlight memories."
I feel her body go still as she listens.
"Love is a point of light that crosses impossible distances to find us. That burns brightest
when all else has gone dark. That remains eternally. Transformed but never diminished."
Her head tilts up, eyes finding mine, and I fall into the depths of where I now call home.
"We are all made of stardust. Burning briefly against the void. And when we're gone, our light lives on, traveling toward unseen eyes that will look up in wonder, some day."
She kisses me, then gives me the most gorgeous smile to keep in my memories. "How did you know that's my favorite?"
"How did you know it's mine?"
It happens slowly. First, I kiss her temple. Then her fingers are tracing patterns on my chest, her touch light but deliberately teasing. Then I'm kissing her until the energy between us completely shifts and she sighs against my mouth. She climbs over me to straddle my lap.
"We deserve a real break, don't we?" Her voice drops to that sultry tone that immediately sends blood rushing south.
We kiss again. Neither of us can help it because it's just the way we're sitting here, our bodies warming each other in a room that's too cold with dread from the outside world. She's become my reason for breathing, so of course I'm going to kiss her every second I can.
My mouth moves against hers, soft at first, then deeper as she sighs against me. My phone buzzes again in my pocket, but I ignore it as Londyn presses closer, her body a warm curve against mine.
"I could use some stress relief," she says against my mouth, her fingers trailing down my chest.
I smile despite a nagging feeling I should probably check the message. "Best kind of therapy I know."
I stand, taking her with me as her legs wrap around my waist. I carry her toward the bedroom where a camera won't be watching us. We're tangled in each other, my hands squeezing her ass, her fingers finding their way under my shirt. Her lips never leave mine for more than a breath.
"This'll have to be a quickie," I say, though I'm already lost in her scent, the taste of her mouth.
"Just a quickie?" We fall back onto the bed and she pulls me down onto her. "We've got a little extra time I think."
I settle between her hips, bracing my weight on my forearms, careful not to put pressure on my knuckles that are still healing.
Her legs squeeze around me, drawing me closer as my mouth traces the line of her jaw then the softness of her neck.
She arches beneath me and her fingers dig deep into my shoulders.
I have visions of her clawing my skin while she comes.
That nagging feeling about my phone intensifies slightly. What if it's not umma ? Could be Mike. And he doesn't usually message multiple times unless something needs attention.
But I just need a few more seconds of this—the soft sounds Londyn makes as I kiss her collarbone and the rapid beat of her pulse beneath my lips.
My phone buzzes again.
"Hold on, beautiful," I say, reluctantly tearing myself away from her to fish my phone from my pocket.
Mike: Computer's acting buggy since I got back from the storage unit.
Mike: Damn thing keeps freezing up. Might need a restart. Cameras will go offline for a sec.
I check the security app and, sure enough, the feeds are all black. Every single one.
I check the last message's time stamp. When I see that he sent it ten minutes ago, my stomach plummets.
Shit . Did I really go that long without checking my phone?
A familiar tension creeps up my spine. Buggy computers in our line of work are sometimes red flags.
Could someone have tampered with it remotely while Mike was at the storage facility?
I was here with Londyn, but I'd checked the footage at regular intervals.
I was focused on Londyn a lot, though. We'd been talking about Australia, dreaming about the future, flirting…
Fuck. Did I miss something?
"Everything okay?" Londyn asks, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing.
"Yeah, just… just something Mike's doing." I try to keep my voice casual, but my mind is already running through scenarios.
She sits up and runs her hands along my sides, fingertips tracing muscle. "Like what?"
"It's probably nothing."
Me: All cams still offline. Did you restart? Any other issues?
Londyn's hands haven't stopped their exploration, sliding under my shirt, trailing across my skin and giving me goosebumps. Her mouth finds mine again, and I set the phone aside, letting myself fall back into her gravity while waiting for Mike's response.
Could be nothing. Might just be a glitch.
Londyn's teeth graze my lower lip, drawing a groan from somewhere deep in my chest. I lose myself in her again.
Minutes pass, and we keep everything to heavy petting, touching each other through clothing, with me giving her a few teasing thrusts that make her thighs squeeze my hips.
When she starts to undo my belt, I realize Mike still hasn't responded.
I pull away again, reaching for my phone. No new messages. The feeds are still dark. Mike hasn't responded and it's been three minutes.
He usually responds ASAP. System issues are always priority one.
Londyn runs a hand along my jeans, squeezing my hard on.
It's difficult to pull away from her, but I need to. I kiss her palm and then stand, my instincts shifting from mild concern to something sharper. "I need to check on something."
Her eyes cloud with concern as I buckle my belt and adjust my clothes. "Sean?"
"Just being paranoid," I say, forcing a smile. "Back in a minute. Just… stay in that position, got it?"
She laughs softly as I exit the bedroom.
In a handful of seconds, I'm in the hallway, glancing up at the security camera mounted near the ceiling.
It's still there, physically undisturbed, so maybe it really is just a system crash.
But my training doesn't allow for 'maybes' when it comes to security failures. Not with Londyn's safety on the line.
A nagging thought follows me as I cross the few feet to Mike's door: did I miss something in that footage because I was distracted?
When I reach for the doorknob, I hear movement. There's rustling inside the apartment. Could be Mike moving something, but I freeze, every muscle locking into place.
I pull out my phone again, this time accessing my insurance policy: the two small cameras I installed when we first arrived.
They aren't connected to the main security hub, only through Bluetooth.
No internet connection means no remote hack.
Mike and I can only see the feeds through a phone app and when we're in range.
The feeds load, pixel by agonizing pixel, and my heart doesn't just race, it violently slams against my ribs. Then it jumps into my throat.
A man in a navy baseball cap stands just on the other side of the door, weapon drawn, his posture coiled and predatory. The suppressor on his pistol gleams.
But it's what lies beyond him that turns my blood to ice.