Chapter Thirty-Three
Sierra
I stirred, consciousness returning slowly as I blinked away the remnants of sleep. Connor's tattooed arm draped heavily across my waist, his breathing deep and even against the back of my neck. The warmth of his body pressed against mine was comforting, familiar, a weight I'd come to rely on.
Carefully, I lifted his arm and wriggled out from beneath it, watching as he shifted slightly before settling back into sleep.
He looked calmer like this, the chiseled lines of his face softened, dark lashes fanned against his cheeks.
I didn’t want to wake him. He'd been so attentive yesterday, almost desperately so, that I figured he needed the rest.
Toffee lifted his head from the corner of our bed, his little tail wagging. “Shh,” I whispered, scooping him up against my chest. “Let's let him sleep.”
The living room was bathed in gentle morning light, and the floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city coming alive below.
I settled onto the plush leather sofa, Toffee curling into a warm ball against my thigh as I reached for Connor's laptop on the coffee table.
The weight of it felt substantial in my hands—sleek, expensive, and powerful.
Just like everything else in Connor's life.
I powered it on, the screen illuminating with a soft blue glow. The background was a photo of me from my socials, holding Toffee over my shoulder. The sight of it made me smile.
Opening the browser, I navigated to the furniture site I'd been browsing yesterday.
The living room was coming together nicely, but I wanted to find some more things to make it feel more like a home and less like a hotel suite.
I was comparing two different area rugs when my phone vibrated on the coffee table.
The notification banner made my vision tunnel and my blood freeze in my veins.
Unknown
I thought you should see who you’ve been sleeping with.
Before it’s too late.
My fingers trembled as I picked up the phone, my heart hammering against my ribs. The man who'd haunted my childhood, who'd shown up at my speech, who Connor had whisked me away from. Now here he was, his texts on my screen.
I wanted to delete it. I wanted to block him and tell Connor immediately. But something—curiosity, fear, or some toxic combination of both—made me open the message.
Unknown
Your boyfriend isn’t the hero you think he is.
[Video]
The video attachment. My thumb hovered over it, and a voice in my head screamed not to look, saying that nothing good could ever come from Jerry. But another anxious voice whispered that I needed to know, that if I didn’t, I’d never sleep right again .
I clicked play.
The video was shaky and dimly lit, but clear enough to make out what was happening.
A fighting ring of sorts, surrounded by a crowd of shouting spectators.
In the center, two men circled each other like predators.
One of them looked like… Connor, but younger and leaner, with the same powerful stance.
But his eyes... they were different. Cold and empty. The eyes of a stranger.
His opponent was a hulking man with a shaved head, his face already bloodied from what must have been earlier blows. He lunged at Connor, who sidestepped roughly before delivering a devastating counterpunch. The crowd roared as the larger man staggered.
What followed was brutal, terrifying destruction.
Connor didn't just fight; he dismantled the man.
Each blow was powerful, each movement designed to inflict maximum damage.
When the larger man fell to his knees, Connor didn't stop.
He sat on him and rained down terrifying punches until the man collapsed entirely, blood pooling beneath him on the concrete floor.
The camera zoomed in on Connor's face as he stood over his fallen opponent. No triumph, no remorse, just cold, detached satisfaction as he surveyed his handiwork. Then the video cut to black, with a final message from Jerry.
Unknown
He killed this man. This is who you’re sleeping with.
Ask yourself why he never told you.
I dropped the phone like it had burned me, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Toffee whined, pressing his small body against my leg as if sensing my distress. The penthouse suddenly felt too large, too quiet, and the world began spinning.
That couldn't be Connor. Not my Connor, who held me so gently, who whispered sweet words against my skin, who looked at me as if I were the answer to a question he'd ever had. But the evidence was right here, undeniable and horrifying .
My gaze drifted toward the bedroom where Connor still slept peacefully, unaware that my world had just imploded. The man I loved had beaten someone to death. He’d looked into another human being's eyes and chosen violence so extreme it was murder. And he'd never said a word about it to me.
How many other secrets was he keeping? What else didn't I know about the man whose bed I shared, whose body I'd given myself to so completely, just yesterday? The thought made my stomach lurch, bile rising in my throat.
I wanted Connor, but my questions and confusion consumed me. I needed air. Space. Time to think alone.
Moving on autopilot, I gathered Toffee in my arms and retreated to the guest bathroom, locking the door behind me. My reflection in the mirror looked like me before Connor. Pale, wide-eyed, and trembling. I sank to the floor, my back against the wall, and tried to make sense of what I'd just seen.
The guys had told me Connor used to fight… differently. That much I knew. But this wasn't normal fighting—this was something underground, illegal, and brutal. This was violence for the sake of violence, money changing hands in the shadows while men destroyed each other.
And Connor had excelled at it.
The image of his face, that cold, detached expression as he stood over his fallen opponent, kept flashing behind my eyelids. It was so at odds with the man who'd made love to me yesterday, who'd held me like I was precious, who'd whispered "I love you" against my skin.
Toffee licked my hand, his rough tongue a reminder that I wasn't completely alone. I buried my face in his fur, trying to steady my breathing. What was I supposed to do now? Confront Connor? Pretend I hadn't seen anything? Leave? I was trembling with uncertainty.
The thought of leaving sent a fresh wave of panic through me.
Despite everything, despite the horror of what I'd just witnessed, the idea of walking away from Connor felt like tearing out a piece of myself.
But how could I fake being calm in front of him?
How could I look into his eyes and not completely break down?
I tried to be smart, I tried to consider all the odds.
Jerry had sent this. Jerry, who had manipulated and controlled me for years.
Jerry, who would do anything to hurt me, to isolate me, to drag me back into his toxic orbit.
Could I trust anything that came from him?
Was this some elaborate manipulation, footage taken out of context, or made to appear worse than it was?
My head throbbed with conflicting thoughts, each more painful than the last. My heart rate spiked as I made a decision, fear, love, and confusion tearing me apart.
I wasn't ready to face him. I wasn't ready to reconcile the Connor I knew with the man in that video. I wasn't ready to ask the questions whose answers might destroy everything we'd built together.
The decision crystallized with clarity. I had to leave, just for a little while. Just long enough to think clearly, to sort through the emotions and confusion threatening to drown me. My apartment; it wasn't much, but it was mine. A space untouched by the violence I'd just witnessed.
I gathered Toffee closer as I rose on unsteady legs. The bathroom door opened silently under my trembling fingers, and the hallway stretched before me, empty for now. This was my chance.
Moving with a caution born of fear, I crept toward the living room where I'd left my purse. Toffee squirmed in my arms, sensing my anxiety, but remained mercifully quiet as I stuffed my wallet and phone into the bag, the screen still displaying Jerry's message.
The heavy front door beckoned. I needed time to think without the weight of Connor’s presence, without the scent of him clinging to my skin. But when I twisted the handle, it didn’t budge.
It was locked… from the inside? My pulse quickened.
Maybe it’s just stuck.
I jiggled it harder, the metal biting into my palm, but nothing happened. My anxiety was clawing through me as I pulled on it, desperate now .
“Going somewhere?”
Connor’s voice cut through the silence, low and sleep-roughened.
He leaned, huge and broad, against the bedroom doorway, shirtless, his sweatpants slung low on his hips.
The morning light carved shadows into the planes of his chest, his posture deceptively relaxed.
But his eyes, those pitch-black eyes, were fully awake, sharp, and assessing like a predator’s.
I couldn't help but superimpose the image from the video over the man standing before me. My breath caught, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“I-I need some air,” I lied, hating the tremor in my voice. “I’m going to take Toffee for a walk.”
Connor's gaze dropped to Toffee in my arms, then back to my face. Something shifted in his expression, a tightening around his eyes, a hardening of his jaw.
“Toffee doesn’t go on walks, Sierra.”
“Y-you don’t know that,” I whispered, forcing calm into my voice. My eyes darted everywhere but his.
Connor pushed off the doorframe, slowly closing the distance between us. My skin burned where his thumb brushed my cheek, lingering at the corner of my mouth.
“You’re shaking.”
“Am I?” I stepped back, but his hand slid to the nape of my neck, keeping me in place. I wanted to live the relief his touch brought me, the way my fear dissipated when he touched me, even when he was the cause of it.