Xander's thumb hovered over the photo on his phone screen, the grainy image of Evelyn standing outside Scotland Yard frozen like a crime scene snapshot. The bedroom felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker, every sound amplified, the faint tick of the wall clock, the distant hum of the city thirty floors below, the harsh rasp of his breathing.
"You're a detective," he said, not a question, but a statement. Flat and cold.
Evelyn's mouth went dry. She didn't look away from his face. "Yes."
The word dropped between them like a stone into black water. No splash, just ripples spreading fast.
Xander didn't blink. "How long?"
"Since before I applied for the assistant job." She forced her voice steady. "Six months. The case was already cold. Mia had been gone for four months when they sent me in."
He let out a short, bitter laugh that didn't reach his eyes.
"So the whole thing, the nervous first day, the careful questions, the way you watched every door and every person like you were mapping escape routes, that was all an act?"
"Not all of it." She reached for his wrist, but he pulled back like her touch burned.
"The attraction wasn't. The way I feel when you touch me isn't. The way I just listened to you spill your guts about Austin and didn't run to make the call, that wasn't an act either."
His jaw worked. "Convenient."
"It's the truth."
"Is it?"
He stood up, putting distance between them. The T-shirt she wore suddenly felt too thin.
"Or is it just good police work? Get close, gain trust, use the vulnerability, classic playbook."
Evelyn stood too. "If I wanted to use you, I'd have used you weeks ago. I had enough to bring you in for questioning the second you told me about the crash but I didn't."
"Why not?"
"Because I believe you didn't hurt Mia." She stepped closer. He didn't back away this time. "Because I believe you're trying to protect your brother. Because somewhere between pretending to organize your emails and letting you kiss me like the world was ending, I stopped seeing you as a suspect and started seeing you as… you."
Xander's eyes flicked over her face, searching for the lie. He didn't find one, or maybe he did and just didn't want to admit it.
"You could've told me," he said quietly. "Any time in the last month."
"And you would've thrown me out. Or worse." She gave a small, sad shrug. "You don't trust easily. I get that now."
He rubbed a hand over his mouth.
"I trusted you tonight. I told you things no one else knows. Things that could put me in prison for the rest of my life."
"I know."
"And you still didn't tell me you were a cop."
"I was scared."
"Of what? That I'd hurt you?" His voice cracked on the last word.
"No." She met his gaze head-on. "That you'd hate me. That everything we've been building, the late nights, the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching, the way your hands shake when you touch me, that it would disappear the second you knew."
Silence stretched. Painful and heavy.
Xander looked down at the phone still clutched in his hand. Then he tossed it onto the bed like it disgusted him.
"Who sent it?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"Bullshit. You're a detective. You have theories."
"I have one theory." She swallowed. "Ryan."
His head snapped up. "Your partner."
"He's been my contact. The one feeding me updates. The one who was supposed to back up my files when they got corrupted." She wrapped her arms around herself. "He's been pushing me to get dirt on you. Hard. Every conversation, every message, it's like he's waiting for me to hand him your head on a plate."
Xander's expression darkened. "And you think he's the one who took the photo?"
"I think he's capable of it. I think he's capable of more than that." She hesitated. "There's something else. The threatening messages, the corrupted drive, the guy in the hoodie outside my apartment. The timing never felt right. It always felt… personal."
Xander stared at her for a long beat. Then he turned, walked to the window, pressed both palms flat against the glass like he needed something solid to hold onto.
"I let you in," he said, voice low. "I let you see the worst parts of me. And you were playing with me the whole time."
"Not the whole time." She moved behind him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his back. "I stopped playing the second you kissed me in the office. Maybe before that, I don't know the exact moment. But I know it happened."
He didn't turn around. "I don't know if I can believe that."
"Then don't." Her voice cracked. "But don't pretend you don't feel it too. Don't pretend the last hour didn't happen. Don't pretend you didn't just massage my shoulders like you were trying to rub away three years of guilt."
He exhaled hard. His shoulders dropped.
Slowly, he turned.
His eyes were stormy. Hurt, angry, and hungry.
He reached out, cupped the back of her neck, thumb pressing against her pulse.
"If this is another game," he whispered, "I will destroy you."
"It's not."
"Prove it."
She didn't think so. She just surged up on her toes and kissed him.
Hard.
Desperate.
Like she was trying to pour every unspoken word into his mouth.
Xander groaned, hands sliding into her hair, tilting her head, taking control. The kiss turned rough, teeth, tongues, the scrape of stubble against her chin. He walked her backward until her calves hit the edge of the bed.
They fell together.
He caught himself on his forearms so he didn't crush her, but his weight pressed her into the mattress anyway. Solid, warm and real.
She arched up, fingers digging into his shoulders through the open shirt. He hissed when her nails bit skin.
"Tell me to stop," he rasped against her mouth.
"Don't you dare."
He kissed down her throat, teeth grazing her collarbone. His hand slipped under the hem of the T-shirt, palm flat against her stomach, fingers spreading wide like he wanted to touch every inch.
She moaned, soft, involuntary.
His mouth found the spot just below her ear. "You like that?"
"Yes."
He bit gently. "Good."
His hand slid higher, cupping her breast through the thin fabric of her bra. Thumb circled her nipple until it peaked, hard and sensitive.
Evelyn's head fell back. "Xander…"
He pulled the T-shirt up and over her head in one smooth motion. Cool air hit her skin. Then his mouth was there, hot, wet, sucking through lace until the fabric was damp and clinging.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him against her.
He switched sides, gave the other the same attention, hand sliding down her ribs, over her hip, hooking under her thigh to pull her leg around his waist.
They fit together like puzzle pieces, hard lines against soft curves, ragged breathing in perfect rhythm.
She tugged at his shirt. "Off."
He sat back just enough to yank it over his head. Muscles shifted under skin, scars she hadn't noticed before, thin white lines across his ribs from the crash.
She traced one with her fingertip.
He caught her hand. Kissed the palm. "Don't."
"I want to see all of you."
His eyes darkened. "Careful what you ask for."
"I'm not careful tonight."
He leaned down, kissed her slowly this time, deep and drugging. When he pulled back, his voice was rough.
"I want you naked. Under me. Now."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She nodded.
He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, tugged them down her legs. Slow and Deliberate. Eyes never leaving hers.
When they were gone, he paused, just looking.
"Beautiful," he breathed.
Then he was kissing her again, everywhere. Throat. Breasts, stomach, inner thighs.
She was shaking by the time his mouth found the center of her.
The first swipe of his tongue made her hips jerk off the bed.
He pinned her down with one forearm across her hips, held her open with the other hand, and devoured her like a man who'd been starving for years.
She came fast, hard, sudden, crying out his name into the dark room.
He didn't stop.
He kept going until she was trembling, oversensitive, begging.
Only then did he crawl back up her body, kissing every inch on the way.
When he settled between her thighs, she felt how hard he was, hot, thick, pressing against her through his trousers.
She reached between them, palmed him.
He groaned, forehead dropping to hers. "Evelyn…"
"I want you inside me."
He froze.
Then he was moving, frantic, desperate and shoving his trousers down, kicking them away.
No condom talk and no hesitation.
He notched himself at her entrance.
"Look at me," he ordered.
She did.
He pushed in, slow at first, then deeper, stretching her, filling her until she couldn't breathe.
When he was fully seated, he stopped.
They stared at each other.
Breathing hard.
Connected in every way possible.
Then he started to move.
Slow and deep. Every thrust is deliberate.
She wrapped her legs around him, met every roll of his hips.
Faster.
Harder.
The bed creaked.
Sweat slicked their skin.
She felt the pressure building again, higher, tighter.
He buried his face in her neck. "Come with me."
She shattered.
He followed, growling her name, hips stuttering, spilling inside her.
They clung together, shaking, hearts pounding in tandem.
For long minutes, neither spoke.
Then his phone buzzed again.
On the floor this time.
He reached down, glanced at the screen.
His entire body went stiff.
Evelyn felt the change instantly.
"What?" she whispered.
He turned the phone toward her.
Another message from the unknown number.
One photo.
Evelyn and Xander, right now, tangled in the sheets, her head thrown back in ecstasy, his mouth on her throat.
Taken from inside the bedroom.
From the corner.
From the security camera that was supposed to be off.
Xander's voice came out deadly quiet.
"Someone's watching us."
Right now.