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The beast in me stirs, hungrier than ever.

But I don’t move.

Instead, I watch her sleep.

The first gray whisper of dawn seeps through curtains that haven’t been touched in nearly two decades. It finds her like she is its favorite thing to shine on. The light turns her skin into something holy—pale as bone, flushed pink and purple where my hands gripped too hard or my mouth demanded too much. Her lashes are dark crescents against her cheekbones, delicate as brushstrokes, and I want to touch them with my fingertips just to prove she’s real.

Her lips are parted and swollen. Ruined, really. And there, on the slope of her collarbone, is a bruise in the exact shape of myteeth. I didn’t mean to mark her that hard. I didn’t mean to stain her.

But I did.

And I’m not sorry.

She’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Everywhere I look, there’s something new about her that I haven’t spent enough time worshipping. I want to fucking kick myself—how could I miss the range of colors in her hair? It’s not just dirty blonde spread out on the pillow—it’s beige and ash, hints of strawberry, notes of caramel. How could I not have noticed before that at the top of every exhale is a sighing little whimper? How is it possible that I’ve never once watched that tiny dimple appear and disappear in her cheek as she breathes, again and again, like a little eddy formed by a tide that goes in and out, in and out, in and out, a secret for me and me alone?

I could spend a lifetime watching her. Seeing more and more and more.

And what we did last night…

Fuck knows I could spend a lifetime doing that again, too.

Eventually, the ravenous beast subsides enough for me to slip out of bed. I’m careful not to wake her. I tuck the blankets around Rae’s shoulders and step into my discarded slacks from last night.

The brownstone feels different as I pad downstairs barefoot. Less like a tomb. The dust is still there, and the shrouded furniture, all the stale air of a house that’s been holding its breath for eighteen years.

But something in it has changed.

Or maybeI’mthe one who’s changed.

I find the kitchen and set about making coffee. The beans are beyond ancient, but the hand grinder is fine and the pour-over is good to use after a rinse under the sink. I heat water and let the grounds seep, then pour myself a cup.

As I sit on a stool at the counter and drink it, looking at everything and nothing all at once, my mind wanders. It’s distantly aware of all the many things that are demanding my attention.

My own son tried to exile me from the company I founded. Strangely, it doesn’t seem to matter to me right now. I have no anger, whether of the hotorthe cold variety. It just occurs to me, like a fact—Kir usurped you—and then goes away again just as calmly.

The media will want to sink their teeth into this story like the vultures they are. It’s premium tabloid fodder, and they’ve never passed up a chance to come after me. It took everything I had to keep them away from Elena.

My company is no longer mine. That means my days are wide open now. I’m rich enough for a hundred lifetimes even if I never earned another penny, but the thought of so much uncertainty is strange for me, a man who’s had everything meticulously planned since the day he was born.

As for the Bratva, that remains to be seen. They’ve always gone hand in hand, the business and the Bratva, so the thought of one existing outside of my control while the other persists is baffling. I haven’t quite decided how to approach it.

I don’t reach any decisions, though, before my brooding is interrupted by the pitter-patter of footsteps on the stairs.

Rae appears in the doorway wearing my shirt. It’s a dress on her, hanging past her knees, collar gaping askew, though she’s attempted to make it fit with the sleeves rolled up. Her feet are bare on the hardwood floor. Her hair is a disaster, tangled and wild.

She looks at me with those huge brown eyes, still sleepy, a little uncertain. Like she’s not quite sure this is real, either.

Fucking hell.There’s no limit to what I would do to keep her exactly like this forever.

“Coffee?” I ask. “It’s old, but still drinkable.”

She nods eagerly and shuffles toward me. I pour her a cup and she wraps both hands around it, breathing in the steam. When she takes her first sip, she makes a small sound of appreciation that goes straight to my cock.

Down, boy,I scold mentally.

But I can’t stop myself from reaching for her. I snag her wrist and pull her toward me. She stumbles and shrieks in surprise, coffee sloshing to the rim of the cup, so I’m courteous enough to take the mug from her hands and set it on the counter before hauling her into my lap.