The room was quiet, the air heavy with the scent of them. Sheets tangled around Kierra's legs, cool against her flushed skin. She lay on her side, staring at the faint city glow slipping through the curtains, her chest still rising and falling in shallow breaths.
Logan's arm was draped over her waist, his hand splayed across her stomach as though he meant to anchor her there. His warmth seeped into her, steady and possessive, but her mind was anything but steady.
She should have slipped out already. She should have gathered her dress from the floor, slid back into her heels, and walked away before dawn betrayed them. But her body wouldn't move. Her body, traitorous and soft, wanted to stay cocooned against him.
"You're too quiet," Logan murmured against her hair, his voice rough, still husky with sleep and aftermath.
Her throat tightened. "I don't know what to say."
"Say you don't regret it." His lips brushed the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.
Kierra's eyes squeezed shut. Regret. That word loomed like a shadow. She should regret it—every ounce of reason screamed she should. But lying there, with his hand steady on her skin and the echo of his mouth still burning across her body, the truth slipped out before she could stop it.
"I don't."
Logan shifted closer, pulling her tighter against him, his breath warm against her neck. "Good," he said simply, as though that was all that mattered.
For a few moments, silence wrapped around them. The world outside didn't exist—no Veronica, no business empires, no struggling café paychecks. Just the sound of their breathing, the steady beat of his heart against her back.
But reality had a way of clawing in.
Kierra finally rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. "What happens now?"
Logan propped himself up on an elbow, his gaze finding hers in the dim light. The sharp lines of his face were softened, but his eyes burned with something unrelenting. "Now," he said slowly, "I keep seeing you."
Her chest tightened. "You make it sound so simple."
"It is simple." His tone was resolute, but his jaw clenched as though he knew otherwise. "I don't want to stop."
Kierra sat up slightly, clutching the sheet to her chest. The city outside buzzed faintly, neon flickering in the distance. "You're married, Logan. You have a life that doesn't include me."
Something flickered across his face—pain, frustration, a crack in his control. "That life is a cage," he admitted, his voice low. "And you're the only thing that makes me feel free."
Her breath caught. It was reckless, intoxicating, the kind of words meant to undo a woman. And it was working. Against her better judgment, her heart twisted toward him.
But she shook her head. "You can't keep saying things like that."
He reached for her, his fingers brushing her jaw, tilting her face toward him. "I don't say anything I don't mean."
The kiss that followed wasn't like the first—hungry, desperate. This one was slower, deeper, a promise disguised as sin. Kierra melted into it despite the alarms shrieking inside her. Every fiber of her told her to resist, but her lips parted beneath his, her body arching closer, needing more of the fire she had already surrendered to.
Clothes were gone again in seconds, the sheets falling away as if they'd been waiting. The second time was no less consuming, but it was different—lingering, deliberate. His hands mapped her as if to memorize her, his mouth claiming every fragile breath she gave. She lost herself in him again, in the way he whispered her name like it was both prayer and curse.
After, when silence fell once more, Kierra lay sprawled against his chest, the sheets twisted around them. Logan's fingers traced idle circles along her arm, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
For a moment, she let herself believe in the fantasy—that they were just two people caught in something real, something allowed. No Veronica. No rules. No secrets. Just them.
But the fantasy cracked when Logan's phone buzzed against the nightstand.
The sound was sharp, shattering the fragile cocoon. Kierra stiffened, her eyes darting to the glowing screen. A name flashed across it.
Veronica.
The air in the room changed instantly. Logan's jaw tightened, his hand stilling against her skin. For a moment, he didn't move, didn't breathe. Then, with slow precision, he reached for the phone and silenced it without answering.
But the damage was done.
Kierra sat up, clutching the sheet again, her stomach twisting. The reminder was stark, undeniable. Veronica wasn't just a name—she was his wife. His world. The part of him Kierra could never touch.
Logan looked at her, his eyes fierce, unreadable. "Don't," he said, his voice quiet but commanding.
Her throat was dry. "Don't what?"
"Don't pull away from me." His hand reached for hers, strong and insistent. "Not because of her. Not tonight."
Kierra's heart hammered. She wanted to tell him it was impossible, that they were already standing on the edge of ruin. But when his hand closed around hers, when his eyes locked on hers with that desperate hunger, the words died.
She leaned into him again, letting his strength drown out the voices in her head. For one more night, she would let herself burn.
But as dawn crept closer, casting faint gold across the city skyline, she knew the shadows would follow.
They always did.