Noah
“You need a drink. Or two. Or twelve.”
Liam’s voice cut through the noise of the parking lot as he shoved the club doors open.
“I’m not drinking twelve of anything,” I muttered.
Adonis laughed beside him, loosening his tie and rolling his sleeves like this was a damn vacation. “We’re not here to get wasted. We’re here to remind you what fun looks like. You’ve been brooding so hard I’m pretty sure your shadow has a six-pack.”
I didn’t respond.
I didn’t want to be here.
After everything that dropped this week—the mission, her father, the realization that Elizabeth was in more danger than she even knew—blowing off steam at some packed nightclub was the last thing on my list.
But Adonis and Liam had basically kidnapped me.
Claimed it was “team bonding.”
I hadn’t fought back hard enough.
Now here we were—sweat, neon, and bass. The club was alive with noise and heat, like the whole building had a pulse.
We pushed through the crowd and made it to the bar. Liam flagged the bartender like he’d done it a hundred times, tossing a bill down.
“Three whiskeys,” he said. “No fruity shit.”
Adonis was already scanning the dance floor, and then his whole face changed.
Softened. Brightened.
Like someone had turned the sun on inside him.
“Lillian,” he breathed.
I followed his gaze and saw her.
Red dress, wicked smile, hair pulled up in a way that screamed dangerous. She hadn’t seen him yet, but he looked at her like she hung stars in his sky.
Then—
I saw her.
Elizabeth. My Sunshine
Black dress. Bare back. Legs for miles.
And a stranger’s hands on her hips.
She moved like liquid fire—laughing, laughing, pressed close against him, her body rolling with the music like she hadn’t been trained to kill with those same curves.
My breath caught.
My heart snapped.
I didn’t think.
Didn’t wait.
Drink abandoned, I shoved through the crowd like it was a battlefield, fury rising in my throat like smoke.
She was mine.
Not like a possession—
But like something sacred.
Something I’d bled for.
Something I’d fight the whole damn world to protect.
Seeing some random idiot’s hands on her like she was just another girl at the club?
No.
No fucking way.
I reached them just as the guy leaned in, his hand sliding too low down her thigh.
I grabbed his wrist hard and yanked it off her like it was on fire.
“Don’t. Fucking. Touch her.”
The guy jerked back, startled, then puffed up like he wanted a fight.
I was ready for it. Begging for it.
But when he saw my face, saw what was in my eyes—
He backed off. Smart choice.
Then Elizabeth turned around.
The everything else… froze in time.
God.
She was beautiful.
Wrecking-ball beautiful.
The kind of beauty that opened things inside me... I didn’t even know if I could feel anymore.
Her lips parted, eyes growing wide. “Noah?”
“Let’s go,” I said. “Now.”
She stiffened. “You don’t get to drag me around—”
“I’m not asking, Liz.”
I lowered my voice, just for her. “We need to talk. Now.”
She looked like she wanted to fight me.
She always did.
But I saw in her eyes—the flicker of fear, of knowing.
She’d been briefed.
She knew something was coming.
She just didn’t know how much I already knew.
So, when she finally followed, not saying a word, slipping through the crowd behind me, I didn’t feel victorious.
I felt terrified.
Because this wasn’t just about jealousy.
This was war.
And I was about to tell her that the battlefield wasn’t out there anymore.
It was inside her.
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I lost track of time as I stood there, captivated by her beneath the flickering light of the club's back alley. But one thing was clear to me—if I didn’t speak up now, I might never find the courage to do so.
She was seething, her cheeks flushed, still shimmering with the energy of the dance floor. Yet there she was, trying her hardest to act like she didn’t need anyone.
But I understood her. I recognized that her silence was a shield, that the anger she wore was just grief dressed in a sharper guise.
“Do you even realize what you’re doing?” I asked, struggling to steady my breath against the rapid thump of my heart. “Out there, dancing as if nothing matters—like you’re not about to step into a battleground?”
She folded her arms defiantly. “What, so now you get to critique how I unwind?”
“I’m not critiquing you,” I said, taking a tentative step closer. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“You don’t understand—”
“I do,” I interrupted, urgency lacing my words. “I know everything, Liz. The mission. Your father. The virus. I know they engineered that genome using your DNA.”
For just a fleeting moment, her facade cracked.
“You weren’t meant to find out,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.
“I discovered it because I had to,” I replied sharply. “I walk into a room and see you twirling with some guy, pretending the world isn’t crumbling, and all I can think is—how do I stop you from walking straight into a death trap?”
She flinched at my words, and I cursed myself for being so blunt. But fear gripped me—an icy terror.
“Sunshine,” I said softly, moving closer. “You should have shared this with me.”
“I didn’t know how,” she confessed, vulnerability spilling from her.
“You don’t need to have all the answers. Just let me in.”
Her gaze shifted away. “You weren’t supposed to be involved in this. He wants you on the mission, and me… as a pawn.”
“He doesn’t get to dictate what I mean to you,” I insisted. “He doesn’t get to reduce you to just a tool.”
She attempted to turn away, but I gently caught her wrist.
“I know you believe you must face this alone, that the only way to survive is to bury every part of yourself that feels. But I see those parts, Elizabeth. I love those parts.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
She met my gaze—eyes shimmering, guarded yet breaking, lips trembling as if she stood on the brink of shattering, caught between falling apart or fleeing.
“I’m scared, Noah,” she admitted, her voice quaking. “I don’t know how to be this… the creation he made and still hold onto everything I feel for you.”
That confession nearly shattered me.
“I don’t expect you to have it all figured out right now,” I said, stepping closer, my fingers brushing her hair behind her ear with the lightest touch. “I just need you to let me stand by your side. Let me fight for you.”
She remained silent, and she didn’t need to say anything. Her silence spoke volumes.
So, I leaned in, our foreheads touching, my hands cradling her cheeks while hers clenched at her sides, as if she were trying to keep herself from unraveling.
“If a bullet comes our way,” I said, “I’d rather take the hit than watch it strike you.”
Tears streamed down her face, silent and genuine, and this time, she didn’t wipe them away.
Because she understood—I wasn’t backing down. Not from the battle. Not from her.