Fake Date, Real Fate

The helicopter cabin was a pocket of roaring silence. The thrum of the blades outside was a physical force, vibrating through the floor, up my legs, into my chest where my heart hammered in a frantic, competing rhythm.

Below us, the city sprawled out like a glittering wound in the darkness, but none of it mattered. None of it touched us. Here, in this suspended cage of metal and glass, the only universe that existed was the trembling, fever-hot weight of Isabella in my arms.

She was curled into me like she was trying to disappear inside my chest, her nails barely grazing my shirt as her hands fisted weakly against me. The thin fabric of my jacket did nothing to mute the heat rolling off her body—it burned straight through, crawling under my skin until it felt like my own blood was boiling. Every ragged sound that left her lips, every tremor of her body against mine, was a blade sawing through my ribs.

And underneath it all, laced through every breath I took, was her scent. Normally it grounded me, softened the jagged edges of my control. Tonight, it was poisoned. Whatever filth they’d pumped into her bloodstream had twisted it, making every breath feel like fire, like my body wanted to take and consume instead of protect. Heat, low and coiled, pulsed in my gut, but I clenched my jaw hard enough to ache, locking it down.

I tilted my head, pressing my mouth close to her ear to make sure she could hear me over the blades. "Are you alright, my love?"

Her response was a faint shake of her head, her face burrowing further into my chest as if she wanted to crawl inside me and hide from the world. I tightened my arms around her, scanning her quickly—bruises, torn silk, rope marks carved red and raw into her wrists. The sight made my vision darken at the edges. My heart was still a sledgehammer in my chest, every beat laced with fury so sharp I could taste it in the back of my throat.

I wanted to burn everything. The room I’d just walked out of. The men still breathing on its floor. The entire city if that’s what it took to erase the look on her face when I opened that door.

"Did they..." I swallowed hard, my voice raw and edged with violence I couldn’t contain. "Did they hurt you anywhere?"

She shook her head again, the movement small, fragile. Her lips brushed my neck when she whispered, "No..."

Relief hit me like a blow, making my muscles tremble. I dropped my forehead briefly to her temple, squeezing my eyes shut.

"I’m here," I murmured. "You’re safe now, love." I promised, my voice a serrated edge. I pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. The moment my lips brushed her damp hair, a fresh spike of corrupted desire jolted through me. My breath caught, my grip tightening instinctively. Disgust rolled through me—disgust at my own body’s betrayal, at the thought that after what she’d just endured, after what they’d tried to do to her, all it took was her scent and heat to twist my restraint into knots.

Her fingers twitched against my chest, clutching at my shirt like a lifeline. I slid my hand down, covering her trembling one with my palm, holding her there, keeping her anchored to me. "Look at me," I said, my voice firm but soft enough for only her to hear. "Focus on my voice. Deep breaths, princess."