Her voice was soft. "Ilay? Is something wrong?"
I blinked.
No. I couldn't tell her.
Not now. Not when her world had already crumbled in one blow.
I forced a smile, squeezing her hand gently.
"Just hungry," I said. "That's all."
She stared at me for a second longer, searching. But she nodded.
Dinner was quiet.
She barely touched her food. Just pushed it around the plate like chewing would break her all over again. I ate for both of us, pretending it mattered. Pretending it wasn't just something to fill the silence.
Afterward, we walked to the car. I opened the door for her. She didn't speak. Just slid in, small and silent. I circled to the other side and got in, letting the engine rumble beneath us.
The drive was slower than usual. Rain on the windshield. Her face reflected faintly in the window—hollowed, broken, beautiful in a way that made my chest hurt.
I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Cut brakes. Murder.
Someone did this. Someone wanted to hurt her. Take away everything.
Why? Who?
I didn't realize I was grinding my teeth until she shifted beside me, her fingers barely brushing my arm.
"Ilay."
I looked at her. Her eyes were tired. Distant.
But they were still on me.
"I just… want to go home."
"Yeah," I said, voice tight. "Okay."
And when we got home—our home, hers and mine, the only place that had ever mattered—I watched her disappear into her room without a word.
I didn't follow.
I sat on my bed, fists clenched, eyes on the ceiling.
Who the fuck would hurt her like this?
Who would want her alone?
Someone who knew her?
Someone who hated her?
Someone who wanted her to suffer?
I shook the thought away.
That wasn't what this was.
Even if the idea made my stomach twist with something ugly and euphoric.
She only has me now.
She only needs me now.
I was still gripping the sheets when the softest knock tapped against my door.
My heart stopped.
Then her voice—barely audible.
"Ilay… can I come in?"
I was up before she finished the sentence.
Opened the door.
She stood there, drowning in one of my old hoodies, face blotchy and red, but her eyes were the same.
Lost.
"I can't sleep," she whispered. "Can you… just hold me? Like we used to?"
Like we used to.
She meant the nights she pulled me into her arms when I was five and shaking with nightmares.
The nights she whispered stories into my hair and promised she'd never let anyone take me away.
But now—
Now, I was the one holding her.
She climbed into my bed like it was second nature, curling into my chest, arms wrapped around my waist.
And I—
I wrapped myself around her like she was oxygen.
Like I'd die without her.
She pressed her forehead against my throat. Her breath ghosted over my skin.
My body lit up.
Every breath she took was a spark against my neck.
Every exhale made my spine tighten, my stomach clench.
I shouldn't be thinking about it.
Not tonight.
Not after everything.
But I couldn't help it.
Every second I held her, I got harder.
Every breath she took was a high I couldn't come down from.
Her skin. Her scent. Her heartbeat.
It was all mine.
I pressed my face into her hair and inhaled slowly.
God.
It felt better than drugs. Better than any high I'd ever known. My body ached with it. Every muscle tight, straining, begging for more.
But I didn't move.
Didn't thrust. Didn't grind. Didn't take.
I just held her.
And drowned in the pleasure.
She murmured something in her sleep—something I didn't catch—and curled closer. Her hand landed over mine. Her fingers threaded through mine like it was second nature.
And I swear I almost lost it.
My cock throbbed under the sheets.
Hard. Painfully hard.
I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood.
Mine.
She's all I've ever had.
And now… I'm all she has left.
But she didn't know what she was doing to me.
She didn't know that just touching her was heaven. And not being inside her? Hell.
I kissed her forehead. Whispered her name like a prayer.
And then again.
Serene. Serene. Serene.
My heart beat for her. My hands existed only to hold her. My body ached just to be near her.
And no one—no fucking one—would ever take her away from me.
Not even death.
Her body shifted.
Just a little.
Eyes fluttering open.
"Ilay?" she whispered, her voice all sleep and heartbreak.
"Yeah?" I breathed, not trusting myself to say more.
She blinked at the ceiling.
"Don't you ever wonder… why we moved from Spain?"
That caught me.
"What?"
She turned her face into my chest, voice even softer now. "Why Papa was never home most nights. Why Mama always flinched at unknown numbers."
My spine straightened.
There was a pause.
A beat of silence between us, thick and heavy.
Like the world was holding its breath with me.
Her next words made my blood run cold.
"Papa was a secret agent, Ilay."
She looked up at me.
Tired. Hollow. Dead serious.
"And I think… someone found out."