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POV: Cade
I've seen a lot of ruins in my time. I've walked through bombed-out villages and stared into the hollowed-out eyes of men who had lost everything in the desert heat. But walking into Maya's apartment felt like stepping into a shrine dedicated to a god that didn't exist.
My gaze drifted over her mantle. Photos. Dozens of them. Ethan and Maya at the beach. Ethan and Maya at a New Year's party. Ethan, always at the center, glowing with that effortless, arrogant charisma, and Maya... Maya was always half-turned toward him. Even in a frozen frame, she was leaning into his orbit, a moon that refused to believe its planet was made of cold stone.
"Jesus," I muttered, the word tasting like lead. "This is worse than I thought."
Maya bristled, her small frame vibrating with a tension she was trying and failing to hide. "What? My apartment? I didn't exactly have time to renovate for your arrival."
I turned away from the photos to face her. She looked fragile in the morning light, her eyes red-rimmed and her skin pale, but there was a spark of something under the surface. A fire she'd been dampening for years.
"Not the apartment," I said, my voice low. "The obsession. You're in love with him. Completely. Desperately."
She flinched as if I'd thrown a punch. "I don't..."
"Don't bother lying," I cut her off. I stepped into her space, watching her pulse jump in the hollow of her throat. "I saw you last night, Maya. I saw the way you touched his hair when he was passed out. The way you looked at him like he was the only source of oxygen in a room full of smoke. It was pathetic. And it was beautiful. And it's going to kill you."
The first tear broke then, trailing a slow path down her cheek. "Why are you here, Cade? To mock me? To tell me I'm a fool? I think your brother did a good enough job of that with a high-five emoji."
"I'm here to tell you the truth no one else will," I said, closing the distance until I could feel the heat radiating off her. "The truth your friends are too polite to say and my parents are too oblivious to notice."
"What truth?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"He's never going to love you back, Maya. Not the way you want. To Ethan, you're the safety net. You're the ego boost he keeps in his back pocket for when the 'real' women leave him bleeding. You're his comfort, his anchor, his favorite habit. But you will never, ever be his choice."
The sound of the slap echoed through the small apartment like a gunshot.
My head snapped to the side. The sting was sharp, a blooming heat across my cheekbone, but I didn't flinch. I didn't even blink. I just slowly turned my face back to her, tasting the metallic tang of blood where my tooth had caught the inside of my lip.
"There it is," I murmured, a grim satisfaction curling in my chest. "The anger you should've felt six years ago."
"Get out," she choked out, her hand still raised, shaking violently. Her chest was heaving, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and newfound fury. "Get out of my house. You don't know me. You don't get to come in here and..."
"Hit me again if you want," I challenged, stepping even closer, my chest nearly brushing hers. "Get it out. All that rage you've been swallowing every time he brought home another girl. Every time he called you his 'best friend' while he looked for a lover elsewhere. Give it to me, Maya. I can take it. He can't."
"I don't know you!" she screamed, the sound breaking into a sob. "You're a stranger! You don't get to judge my life!"
"I spent three years in a hellhole overseas waiting for a woman who married another man while I was still clearing minefields," I growled, the raw truth of it stripping the air from the room. I grabbed her wrists, not to hurt her, but to still the shaking. "I know exactly what you're feeling. I know the hope that kills you slowly, inch by inch, until there's nothing left but a shell. I'm not here to hurt you, Maya. I'm here to wake you up before you disappear completely."
She stopped fighting then. Her body went limp in my grip, her head dropping forward against my chest. She was shaking so hard I thought she might shatter.
"It's too late," she whispered into my shirt, the words muffled and broken. "I don't know who I am without wanting him. He's the only world I've ever known."
I let go of her wrists and reached up, my hand cupping the back of her head, my fingers tangling in her hair. It was a soft gesture, but there was nothing gentle about the way I felt. I wanted to burn those photos on the mantle. I wanted to drag her out of this shrine and show her a world that didn't revolve around a mediocre man with a golden name.
"Then let me show you," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous, silken thread.
The tension in the room shifted. It wasn't just anger anymore. It was something primal, something electric that had been humming between us since I saw her in that kitchen at 5 AM. Her breath caught, her eyes lifting to mine, searching, terrified, and intensely alive.
I was too close. I could taste the salt of her tears on the air. My thumb traced the line of her jaw, and for a second, the world narrowed down to the space between our lips.
Then, I forced myself to step back.
The sudden cold between us was jarring. I reached into my pocket, pulled out a scrap of paper with my number scrawled on it, and set it on the counter next to her cold coffee.
"Think about it," I said, my voice regaining its iron edge. "When you're ready to stop being a footnote in his story and start being the headline of your own... call me."
I didn't wait for her to answer. I walked out, the click of the door sounding like the start of a countdown.
POV: Maya
For three days, that scrap of paper with Cade's number had sat on my counter like a live grenade. I had cleaned around it, stared at it while my coffee went cold, and once, I had even picked it up, only to drop it as if the ink might burn my skin.
I hadn't called. I couldn't. Calling Cade felt like admitting he was right, and if he was right, then the last six years of my life weren't a slow-burn romance-they were a tragedy.
Now, standing on the porch of the Blackwood estate for our Sunday tradition, my stomach was a knot of barbed wire. I'd been coming here every week for six years. I knew the smell of Mrs. Blackwood's pot roast and the exact creak of the third step. I was part of the furniture.
The door swung open, and Ethan was there, glowing. He looked rested, his "emotional death" from three nights ago seemingly replaced by the effortless charm he wore like a second skin.
"Maya! You're late," he teased, pulling me into a one-armed hug and kissing my temple. It was the kind of affection you gave a favorite cousin. "Come in, everyone's already in the parlor."
He didn't let go of my shoulder as we walked in. "Mom, Dad, look who made it! My best friend Maya, honestly, she's basically family at this point."
The word family hit me like a physical blow. It was a cage. If I was family, I was safe. If I was family, I was non-threatening. If I was family, he never had to worry about losing me, which meant he never had to bother winning me.
"Good to see you, dear," Mrs. Blackwood chirped.
I went to respond, but the words died in my throat. Standing by the fireplace, a glass of dark amber liquid in his hand, was Cade.
He wasn't wearing tactical gear today. He was in a dark charcoal sweater that made his gray eyes look like sharpened flint. He didn't say a word. He just looked at me. It was that same look from my apartment, predatory, knowing, and entirely too heavy for a room filled with polite conversation. He looked at me like he knew exactly what I'd been doing for the last seventy-two hours. He looked at me like he was just waiting for me to stop pretending.
"You remember my brother, right?" Ethan asked, oblivious to the vacuum of oxygen Cade's presence created.
"We've met," I managed, my voice thin.
"Briefly," Cade added, his voice a low vibration that seemed to travel across the floorboards and up my spine.
Dinner was an exercise in psychological warfare. Ethan sat to my left, chatting animatedly about a new merger. Cade sat directly across from me.
"So, Cade," Mrs. Blackwood said, leaning forward. "Ethan tells us you're actually staying this time? No more 'classified' assignments?"
Cade took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. "No more running, Mom. I'm starting a security consulting firm. Staying local. Putting down roots." He paused, his gaze intensifying. "It's time I focused on things that are actually worth keeping."
"About time you settled down," Ethan let out a shallow laugh, gesturing with his fork. "Found a girl yet? Or are you still looking for a fellow mercenary?"
Cade's lips tilted into a microscopic, dangerous smile. "Working on it."
I choked on my water. I coughed into my napkin, my face flushing a deep, humiliated red.
"Easy there, Maya," Ethan said, patting my back. He didn't even pause. "Well, whoever she is, Cade, make sure she's nothing like Claire. God, I forgot how much energy that woman sucked out of a room. Insane. Truly. She complained about my hours, complained about my friends..."
I sat there, frozen, listening to Ethan trash the woman he had been sobbing over three days ago. He spoke about her like she was a bad car he'd finally traded in. He didn't notice that I had been the one to listen to those complaints for months. He didn't notice that I was currently the "friend" he was neglecting while he spoke.
Then, I felt it.
Under the table, a heavy, warm pressure brushed against the side of my foot. Then it slid up, firm and intentional, along the curve of my calf.
I jolted, nearly knocking over my wine glass. I looked up, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Cade was leaning back, looking perfectly relaxed. He was watching me with a small, challenging smirk. Your move, his eyes said.
I jerked my leg away, but the heat stayed. It felt like a brand. I couldn't breathe. The polite clinking of silverware and Ethan's mindless droning felt like they were miles away. There was only the table between us and the electric, forbidden current Cade was forcing me to acknowledge.
After dinner, I fled to the kitchen under the guise of helping with the dishes. I needed air. I needed to not be in a room where Cade Blackwood was dissecting my soul.
I was scrubbing a pot when the air in the room shifted. I didn't need to turn around to know he was there. The sheer magnetic pull of him was enough.
"You didn't call," he said. He didn't whisper, but his voice was low enough that it didn't carry past the kitchen door.
"I have nothing to say to you," I snapped, scrubbing the pot so hard the suds flew.
"Liar." He was closer now. I could smell the woodsmoke and bourbon. "You have six years of things to say. Six years of 'why not me' and 'when is it my turn.' You're just scared."
"Of what?" I turned, the wet pot clutched to my chest like a shield.
Cade stepped into my personal space, his hand coming up to rest on the counter behind me, effectively pinning me in place. "Of what happens when you stop lying to yourself, Maya. Of what happens when you realize you don't want the boy who ignores you. You want the man who can't take his eyes off you."
My breath hitched. He was so close I could see the individual silver flecks in his irises. "Cade, stop. This is your brother's house. He's right in the next room."
"And he hasn't looked in here once," Cade countered. "He doesn't even know you're missing."
"Maya! Come here! I need your opinion on something!" Ethan's voice boomed from the living room, cheerful and demanding.
The spell broke. I flinched, my instinctual "caretaker" mode kicking in. I started to move, but Cade didn't budge. He looked down at me with a mixture of pity and cold amusement.
"He calls, you run," Cade murmured. "Pavlovian."
Fury, hot and sharp, flared in my chest. I couldn't hit him here, and I couldn't scream. So I did the only thing I could. I leaned in close to his ear, my voice a jagged whisper. "Go to hell, Cade."
I shoved past him, and as I reached the door, I didn't look back, but I felt his quiet, dark laughter follow me.
I walked into the living room, trying to smooth my hair and compose my face. Ethan was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone.
"There you are," he said, waving me over. "Check this out. My buddy just set me up on this new elite dating app. What do you think of this girl, Sarah? She's a corporate lawyer, loves skiing. Should I ask her out? Or is the blonde, what was her name, Elena?... more my vibe?"
The world tilted.
Three days. It had been three days since he cried in my arms. Three days since I thought, this is it. And he was already asking me to vet his next conquest.
He looked at me, his blue eyes bright and expectant, waiting for his "best friend" to give him the green light to go find someone else to love.
Behind him, in the shadows of the hallway, I saw Cade leaning against the doorframe. He didn't say a word. He just watched me, his gray eyes steady, waiting for the moment I finally hit the floor.
POV: Maya
I didn't even make it out of the driveway before the world dissolved.
My hands were shaking so violently I couldn't get the key into the ignition. The cold leather of the steering wheel felt like ice against my palms. I leaned my forehead against it, the horn letting out a tiny, pathetic beep that mirrored the state of my soul.
Six years.
I had given Ethan Vale two thousand, one hundred, and ninety days of my life. I had been his shadow, his therapist, his cheerleader, and his safety net. And in less than seventy-two hours, less time than it takes for milk to spoil, he had replaced the "love of his life" with a corporate lawyer who liked to ski.
He hadn't even waited for the salt to dry on my cheeks from the night he cried in my arms.
A sob ripped out of my throat, jagged and raw, sounding like something breaking deep inside a machine. Then came the next one. And the next. I couldn't catch my breath. The air in the car felt like it was being sucked out through the vents. My chest tightened, a phantom hand squeezing my lungs until my vision began to tunnel.
Inhale. I can't. Exhale. There's nothing left.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound on the glass was sharp. I didn't look up. I couldn't. I was drowning in an inch of water in my own driver's seat.
The door suddenly swung open. The dome light flared, blindingly bright, and the scent of rain and tobacco flooded the small space.
"Maya. Look at me."
Cade. His voice was a low, heavy anchor.
I shook my head, my hair plastered to my damp face. I was a mess-snot, tears, and a six-year-old delusion finally shattering into a million pieces. I didn't want him to see this. I didn't want the "dangerous" brother to witness my final humiliation.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave.
He didn't wait. He reached in, his large, calloused hand cupping my chin and forcing my head up. He was crouching in the dirt of the parking lot, his gray eyes locking onto mine with terrifying intensity.
"Breathe with me," he said. He didn't sound sympathetic; he sounded like a commander on a battlefield. "In for four. Do it now."
He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding. I tried to follow, my breath hitching in a pathetic hiccup.
"Hold it. One, two, three, four. Now out. Slow. For four."
He counted me through it. Again and again. He didn't look away, and he didn't loosen his grip on my jaw. He was grounding me, tethering my frantic mind to the physical reality of his hand on my skin.
Gradually, the tunnel vision cleared. The oxygen returned, though it tasted bitter. My sobbing slowed to a jagged tremor.
"There," Cade murmured, his thumb brushing away a tear with a roughness that felt more honest than any of Ethan's hugs. "You're back."
I swallowed hard, my throat feeling like I'd swallowed glass. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't... you shouldn't be here."
"He showed you another girl," Cade said. It wasn't a question.
I nodded, the shame fresh and hot.
"And you smiled," he continued, his eyes darkening. "You looked at those photos, and you told him she was perfect for him."
I nodded again, a fresh sob threatening to break through.
"Fuck that," Cade growled. He stood up, the sheer height of him blocking out the porch lights of the main house. "Get out of the car."
"What? No, I'm fine. I'm going home..."
"You're not driving like this. Your hands are still shaking, and you're two seconds away from a relapse." He reached in, unbuckling my seatbelt with a decisive click. He didn't ask. He simply wrapped a hand around my arm and pulled me out.
He was gentle, but there was an immovable strength in him that made protest feel futile. He led me away from my car and toward the blacked-out beast of a truck parked in the shadows. He opened the passenger door and hoisted me into the high seat.
"I'm taking you somewhere," he said, slamming the door before I could argue.
He climbed into the driver's side, the engine roaring to life with a predatory growl. He pulled out of the driveway, the Blackwood estate disappearing in the rearview mirror like a fading bad dream.
"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice small and exhausted.
"Anywhere but here," Cade said. He glanced at me, his profile sharp against the passing streetlights. "And when we get there, Maya, you're going to scream."
"I don't... I don't scream," I whispered.
"Yes, you do. You've been screaming internally for six years. It's why you can't breathe. It's why you're breaking." He reached over, his hand briefly covering mine on the center console. His touch was steady, warm, and utterly certain. "Tonight, you let it out. All the rage, all the pain, all the 'best friend' bullshit. You leave it on the dirt."
I looked out the window. For the first time in my life, I wasn't worried about what Ethan would think. I wasn't worried about being "family" or being "safe."
With Cade, I wasn't safe-not in the way I used to be. I was on a fault line. But as the truck sped toward the dark outline of the mountains, I realized something terrifying.
Cade Blackwood was the only person in the world who made me feel safe enough to finally break.