Noah
Adonis’ office was silent, except for the faint hum of the old light above us and the low buzz of the screens running recon footage behind his desk.
I stood against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the floor. Liam sat half-slouched in one of the leather chairs, tapping his pen on a folder. Adonis was still behind his desk, elbows on the wood, hands laced under his chin.
The mission was over.
Technically, we succeeded.
We had the drives. The data. The evidence to expose Liz’s father as the architect of one of the most dangerous black-market intelligence rings we’d ever seen.
And still… nothing about this felt like a win.
“She didn’t say much when I checked in on her,” Adonis finally said, glancing up. “Just asked for space. That’s not like Liz.”
“She’s not the same,” Liam murmured. “How could she be?”
Adonis looked at me. “You were with her the whole time. What do you think?”
I met his eyes.
“She’s holding it together,” I said quietly. “But barely. You don’t face down the man who made you into a weapon and come out clean on the other side.”
Adonis gave a slow nod. “And you?”
I hesitated.
“I told her I loved her,” I said.
Liam choked on his water. “What?”
Adonis sat straighter. “You what?”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “That night… after the confrontation. In the rain. She ran and I went after her. I thought—hell, I felt like I was losing her. So I said it. And I meant it.”
They were both staring at me now. No jokes. No smirks.
Just stunned silence.
Liam finally whistled under his breath. “Damn.”
Adonis leaned back slowly in his chair. “So what does she think?”
“She didn’t say it back,” I admitted. “But… she didn’t push me away either. It was like—like for a second, she could breathe.”
I shook my head, jaw tight. “And I feel like shit.”
Adonis narrowed his eyes. “Because of the bet.”
“Yeah,” I said, the word thick in my throat. “Because I started this whole thing pretending it was just a mission. Pretending I didn’t care. I let you guys rope me into something that was supposed to be a joke, and now…”
Liam’s voice dropped. “Now it’s not a joke.”
“No,” I said. “It’s not. She’s not. And the worst part is… I don’t even remember when the bet stopped and the real stuff started. I just know that it did. And now I’m in too deep to pretend it never happened.”
Adonis rubbed his temple. “So what are you going to do?”
“I want to end it,” I said, louder than I meant to. “The bet. All of it. It was wrong, and I was wrong for playing along. She’s been lied to enough. She’s been used enough. I won’t be one more person who takes from her.”
Liam looked at me carefully. “But if you don’t tell her, and she finds out some other way…”
“I know,” I snapped. “She has a right to the truth.”
The guilt was eating me alive. Every time I looked at her, I thought about that moment—when I first saw her step into the compound, sharp and cold and untouchable. And I thought, I’ll break her open. For a dare.
Now I’d give anything to take that moment back.
“She deserves everything I never planned to give,” I said softly.
Adonis was quiet for a long moment. Then he finally said, “Then tell her. Soon. Before it festers.”
Liam nodded. “It’ll suck. But she’s stronger than you think.”
I swallowed, heart aching. “Yeah. I know she is.”
But even strength has limits.
And I didn’t know if I was about to be the final weight that broke her.
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The tux felt too stiff.
No matter how many times I adjusted the collar or brushed my palms down the lapels, it didn’t feel right. Not because it didn’t fit — it was tailored. Crisp. Expensive.
It just wasn’t what I’d worn the day I first met her.
And somehow, that felt important.
I stared at my reflection, my jaw tense. The gala was in an hour.
Her birthday gala.
A masquerade where she’d be surrounded by people who knew her name, but not her story.
But I did.
I knew the girl who carried weight like it was stitched into her spine. The woman who moved like fire in a storm. The warrior who could take a shot without blinking… and break from a soft touch.
I loved her.
And I had no idea how to show her that in a room full of masks.
A knock at the door broke my spiral.
“Come in,” I muttered.
My dad stepped in, jacket unbuttoned, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You still fighting with that tie?”
I looked down at the half-done knot like it had personally betrayed me. “It’s the tie’s fault.”
He chuckled and walked over, gently brushing my hands away. “Let me.”
I let him. We didn’t do this often — these quiet moments. But when we did, they landed heavy in the best way. Like I was still someone’s son. Not just a soldier. Not just a weapon.
He worked quickly, his fingers folding the silk like muscle memory.
“So,” he said without looking up. “Big night.”
“Yeah.”
“You look like you’re about to go into combat.”
I huffed out a dry laugh. “Feels like it.”
“Is it the girl?”
I nodded slowly. “It’s Liz.”
He finished the tie, smoothing the knot down with care. Then he stepped back, meeting my eyes in the mirror.
“Tell me,” he said.
“I want to show her that she’s more than what they made her,” I said, voice rough.
“I want her to feel like she’s not just this.
.. mission. Or this weapon. I want her to know she’s allowed to be loved.
And I’m scared she won’t let me in all the way.
Or worse — that she’ll think I’m just another person trying to use her. ”
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then he put both hands on my shoulders, grounding me.
“Noah,” he said, voice low, “when your mother walked into my life, I thought I knew what love was. I thought it was fire. Fast. Wild. The kind that makes you burn to feel alive.”
He looked down for a second, like the memory hurt in the best way.
“But then I watched her sit with me on my worst day, not saying a word — just being there. And I realized love isn’t the fire.”
He looked at me again.
“Love is who stays after the flame dies down. It’s choosing to see someone for what they are and staying anyway. It’s showing up every day and saying: you are not what broke you. You are not what they built.”
I swallowed hard.
“I don’t want her to be afraid of me.”
“Then let her take her time. Let her know, with every glance, every word, that you see her — not the blueprint someone forced on her.”
I looked at my reflection. For the first time in a while, I saw someone who could maybe be enough.
“You think I can do that?”
His voice cracked just slightly when he said, “You already are.”
I nodded slowly, my throat thick, heart full.
And in that moment, I stopped worrying about how the tux felt.
Because tonight wasn’t about the clothes.
It was about her.
Seeing her.
And loving her like she was a beginning, not a burden.