Cal frowns. “But I did manipulate you. I encouraged you to break up with Evan, to admit your feelings to me.”

I look up at him, meeting his gaze. “I think it’s different. You never backed me into a corner or made me feel like I had no other choice. You just… believed in me. Encouraged me to do what was best for myself. Evan manipulated me by using control to make me feel worse about myself. But you? You gave me the confidence to make my own decisions.”

Cal’s expression softens, a flicker of relief passing over his features. “I never wanted to take away your choice. I only wanted to support you in making the right ones for yourself.”

I lean into him again, resting my head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat pulses against my ear, a reassuring beat that drowns out the chaos around us.

He lets out a slow, shaky exhale.

"Is that why you wouldn't sleep with me?"

I tilt my head, watching his expression shift, his brows pulling together, his lips parting just slightly.

"That's why, isn't it?" I murmur, my voice softer now.

His fingers flex against my shoulder, and I watch as one single tear slips down his cheek. I reach up, brush it away with my thumb, my heart squeezing at the sight of him—this strong, powerful man who's showing me something he doesn't show anyone else. His skin is warm beneath my touch, the tear cool against my thumb.

He nods. Swallows. "I didn't think it was right," he murmurs. "To keep something like that from you. When I took you for the first time, I wanted it to be real. Pure. Not tainted by a lie."

A warmth spreads through my chest, radiating outward to my fingertips, and I smile.

"Well," I say softly, watching as his breath stutters. "Good thing that's out of the way now."

Evan being hauled out in handcuffs interrupts us.

Cal stiffens, watching Evan dragged toward a police car, blood dripping from his swollen face, eyes full of rage—and defeat. Evan's once-pristine button-down shirt is torn and stained, his designer shoes scuffing against the pavement as the officers guide him forward.

Relief washes over me.

He's gone.

Really gone.

I feel it ease through me—my shoulders drop, my jaw unclenches, and for the first time in what feels like years, I can actually breathe. My body doesn’t feel braced for impact. I glance up at Cal. He's watching me carefully, like he's trying to gauge my reaction, like he's ready to catch me if I start falling apart. The concern in his eyes makes my heart swell.

But I don't feel like falling apart. I feel like fighting. Because Evan doesn't get to control this narrative or own this part of my life. I'm not going to let him walk away believing he's defeated me.

"I'm going to call the district attorney in the morning," I say aloud, my voice stronger than it's been all night. "I'm going to testify."

Cal wraps an arm around my shoulders and his fingers squeeze gently. His touch feels reassuring, like he's telling me without words that he's proud of me.

"Hey!"

Amanda's voice cuts through the night air. She's approaching with a police officer behind her. A very attractive police officer who has an easy smile and a broad-shouldered frame straight from a men-in-uniform calendar. His badge gleams under the emergency lights, his uniform pressed and neat despite the late hour.

"This is Chad the Cop," Amanda announces, gesturing dramatically.

I barely hold back the snort pressing against my throat. Above me, I see Cal raise a solitary eyebrow, his lips twitching slightly.

Amanda throws me a look that says, "Don't."

I clear my throat and school my expression, feeling the muscles in my face work to remain neutral. "Chad the Cop," I repeat, extending my hand.

Chad the Cop nods, shaking my hand firmly. "Ma'am."

Amanda beams, flipping her glossy hair over her shoulder. "Chad is driving me home. It's been a very trying day." She adjusts her designer handbag over her shoulder.

Cal mutters something unintelligible under his breath, his chest rumbling against my side.

Amanda flips her hair over her shoulder and climbs into Chad the Cop's police car with practiced grace, speeding off into the night like she just cracked the case herself, the taillights disappearing around the corner.

Cal and I stare after her before we burst out laughing. The sound bubbles up from deep in my chest, unexpected but welcome. Because of course Amanda would. I'm still smiling, the muscles in my cheeks aching pleasantly, when Cal suddenly lifts me off my feet in one fluid motion.

"What the—?!" The blanket falls from my shoulders, landing in a heap on the ground.

He doesn't break stride as he carries me toward my car effortlessly, one arm supporting my back, the other beneath my knees. "We're going home," he murmurs firmly.

My heart flutters at the word, a burst of warmth spreading through my chest despite the cool night air against my skin.

Home.

I melt into his arms, pressing my face into his neck, breathing him in. His pulse beats steadily against my lips.

Yeah.

We're going home.

I SAY ‘I LOVE YOU’ MID-THRUST

CAL

Izzy knew.

This whole fucking time.

She knew I was Caleb, and she's not mad.

I can't wrap my head around it. Every scenario I had played out in my mind ended with her being furious, throwing lamps and books at me, calling me every name under the sun. But instead? She just... accepted it.

Said she liked talking to Caleb.

Said she enjoyed it.

And that? That fucking wrecks me.

Because I love her. I love her so much it's driving me insane.

I have to tell her. She needs to know. No secrets. Nothing between us anymore. But right now? Right now, I need to take care of her. And then? When she's ready? I'm going to pound her into every single surface she lets me. She's going to feel me so deep, for so long, that walking without remembering what I did to her will be physically impossible.

She senses it, too. I see it in how her body shifts as we pull up to her apartment, in how her fingers tighten in her lap, in how she peeks over at me like she's thinking about it, about me, about what's coming.

But she doesn't get to walk inside.

I carry her. Like the fucking princess she is. She huffs in protest, but I don't let her go, gripping her tighter, kissing the side of her head as I kick her door shut behind us.

"You're so dramatic," she mutters, her breath soft against my neck.

I chuckle, setting her down only when we're inside her kitchen. "Hydrate," I tell her, pressing a glass of water into her hands.

She rolls her eyes but takes a sip.

"More."

She gives me a look. "Are you going to tell me to stretch next?"

"If you want to walk tomorrow? Yeah."

She chokes on her water, droplets splashing onto the granite countertop.

I lean in, brushing my lips over the shell of her ear, feeling her shiver against me. "Drink up, pretty girl."

She gulps the rest down like a good girl. Then, I take her hand, leading her into the bathroom. The yellow light makes her skin glow golden, highlighting the soft curves of her body beneath her clothes. She's been through enough. She needs to unwind, to let me take care of her.

She doesn't fight it.

She lets me.

Maybe she can sense that I need this as much as she does. I strip her out of her clothes, slowly, carefully, pressing soft kisses to her skin as I go. The bruises on her wrists, the slight marks from where those bindings dug in?