Chapter 19
If someone had told me three weeks ago that I’d be sitting across from Pierce Leneghan, not fantasizing about stabbing him with a butter knife, I would’ve laughed.
Or punched them. Or both.
But something shifted that night. He didn’t magically turn into Prince Redemption and I didn’t suddenly forget every bruise, every threat, every moment I felt my world shrink under his hands. Yet he stopped pushing. When I said ‘no’, he didn’t try to convince me. When I went silent, he didn’t guilt me. He just… waited. And that was new.
The first time he knocked on my door and asked if I wanted breakfast somewhere other than my bedroom, I stared at him like he’d just offered to drive me to my funeral.
“I’m not bribing you,” he said, standing there in a plain gray tee like he hadn’t once tied me to a bed. Arms crossed, tone clipped. “I just thought you might want sun instead of shadows.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And I’m supposed to believe this is what… charity?”
“I don’t do charity,” he tilted his head. “I offer what I choose to give and right now, it’s a chair, a table, and pancakes. Don’t make me regret it.”
I grabbed my hoodie and followed him. Not because I fully trusted him now, I needed air. I needed something that didn’t smell totally like him.
We ate on the veranda in silence. Just the food, and awkward tension wrapped in birdsong. Halfway through, he reached into his pocket and handed me a phone. Before I could react, he cut in.
“Yes, it’s locked. Yes, calls are monitored. No, you can’t send a location. Choose one person.”
I blinked. “Juno.”
I dialed. My hands shook like they hadn’t in days.
“Lyra.” Her voice snapped through the speaker before I could even say hello.
“Hey, Juno…” My voice cracked.
Then came the explosion: “You little shit.” A laugh slipped out of me, sharp and bitter.
“I thought you were dead,” Juno said. “I called everyone. Filed two missing person reports. Almost broke into your apartment.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Where are you?”
“I can’t say.”
“Lyra—”
“I’m okay, everything’s fine.” Lie. Truth. I didn’t know anymore.
There was a pause. “You’re not. But at least you’re alive. That’s all I care about right now.”
I turned slightly and saw how Pierce stood a few feet away, arms folded, watching the forest. He wasn’t pretending not to listen, but he wasn’t intruding either.
“I didn’t quit,” I said. “I didn’t disappear because I stopped caring.”
“Oh, I know,” Juno snapped. “You care too much. It’s really exhausting usually.”
I smiled. Barely. “Do I still have a job?”
She scoffed. “I gave your column to some intern who thinks using cheat sites is ‘efficient.’ It’s been hell. So yeah, come back as soon as you can.”
And just like that she hung up before I could say goodbye.
Pierce was still standing there when I turned around. Same stiff posture, same unreadable face, but yet didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask if I was okay. Didn’t pry. Just nodded once.
That felt heavier than any apology he could’ve offered.
* * *
The room was cold that night, I was curled under the sheets, awake, staring at the ceiling like it owed me answers. Something’s happening to me. To us.
And it’s not just the wild sex—damn good one, must admit—not just the fire that still lingers under my skin where he touched me. That night should’ve left me empty, wrung out, but instead it carved something new into me.
I felt sharp. Awake. Like my skin had tuned to a frequency I didn’t know existed. My senses were sharper. My heart, louder. And Pierce… I could feel his presence even when he was on the other side of the house. I knew where he was like gravity knew how to pull.
Like every nerve had tuned itself to Pierce.
My body seems to know him in a way my mind still can’t accept. I feel it humming beneath my skin, stretching whenever he gets close. It’s like he’s wired into me now—this aching awareness that rises the moment he enters a room. Or even when he doesn’t.
Even now I can feel him. Behind my door. Not moving, not knocking. Just there.
I close my eyes and try not to think about what happened the last time he was under me—how I straddled him, slapped him, made him bleed and beg before I finally let him inside.
I told myself it was justice. Power reclaimed. And yet… The memory of his broken lips, his blood on my skin, the way he looked up at me like I was divine—it makes my chest tighten.
Definitely not regret. Just… some kind of embarrassment, I think. I was so confident, so cruel. I didn’t know I could be like that. No one’s ever made me feel the way he does. No one ever crawled under my skin the way he has.
And I still don’t know what I feel for him. Lust? Anger? Some twisted blend of both?
Maybe it’s more. Maybe that’s what scares me.
I get out of bed slowly, barefoot on cold floorboards, and cross the room to the door. I already know before I open it. There he was.
Pierce sat slouched on the floor just outside, back against the wall like he’d been there a while.
His shirt was half undone, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled like he’d dragged his fingers through it a hundred times. A mostly-empty bottle of something strong dangled from one hand. His eyes were bloodshot, unfocused—but still impossibly crystal blue.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“Drunk again,” I murmur, leaning against the doorframe before adding flatly, “and look like hell.”
He gave a lazy smile. “You say that like it’s new.”
I sighed. “What are you doing here, Pierce?”
He squinted, lifted the bottle a little like a toast. “Came to see if you missed me yet. Or if you wanted to punch me again. Honestly, I’m good with either.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Why so tense, little fox?” he chuckled. “Have you ever thought about relaxing? Maybe choke me just a little harder without a gun next time?”
I moved to close the door but his hand shot out—not forceful, not angry. Just enough to stop it from clicking shut. His fingers rested gently on the edge, eyes suddenly clearer. Softer.
“I can’t sleep,” he said quietly, no sarcasm in sight now. “Not when I’m too far from you.”
I stared at him. For a second, I wanted to snap something cruel, shove his hand off the door, make him feel the way I still did sometimes—unsteady and raw. But he wasn’t posturing, not playing the monster tonight.
He just looked tired. Tired in that hollow, haunted way I understood too well.
“Is this about the ‘bond’?” I asked, voice quieter.
“Maybe,” he murmured. “Maybe it’s just you.”
I hesitated. Heart thudding and brain screaming. But I stepped aside.
“Come in,” I said. “And don’t make me regret it.”
I turned and walked back to my bed, climbing under the covers and pulling the blanket up to my chin like it could shield me from how raw I still felt.
My back stayed to him. If he wanted warmth, he could take the floor. But he didn’t.
I heard the soft thud of his boots coming off, then the creak of the mattress. He stood there for a while, just… watching, probably trying to figure out if this was some kind of trap.
“Lie down,” I muttered, eyes shut. “But no touching. Or talking.”
Pierce didn’t argue, nodded in agreement while stripped his shirt away. Just the shift of air, the groan of the mattress giving under his weight, and then stillness.
He stayed on his side for a while. I could feel it—his restraint, the distance he was barely maintaining. He was close, but not touching. And I hated that I noticed. Hated that my body felt tuned to every subtle move he made.
Eventually, his fingers brushed the curve of my waist. Light. Almost reverent.
“You’re touching me,” I said, voice low in the dark.
“I lied,” he whispered, shameless. His arm curled around my middle, pulling me against his chest. “I always want to touch you.”
His nose buried in my hair, inhaling like my scent was something sacred. I felt his lips against the scar on my neck, where the bite mark already healed. He kissed it—soft, lingering.
“I know what you’re doing,” I murmured.
“Then don’t stop me,” he breathed.
I didn’t. His grip tightened slightly, the heat of him wrapped around me like a second skin.
Pierce fell asleep before I did, still holding on as if he couldn’t let go, even in dreams.
