Claire's POV

For a long time, I just lay there, letting my eyes trace over her in the soft light creeping through the window.

She was still here. That fact alone made my chest ache in a way I wasn't sure how to process.

Last night had been a storm—one I wasn't sure we'd come back from. The way she looked at me, the anger, the possessiveness, the walls she had built so high even she didn't know how to tear them down. And yet, here she was, lying beside me, her body warm against mine, her breathing slow and even.

She looked different like this.

Less like the ruthless leader everyone feared and more like the woman I knew existed underneath it all. The woman she tried so hard to deny.

I swallowed, reaching out instinctively, letting my fingers trace lightly along her arm.

She didn't stir at first.

I let myself take her in—the faint scar on her jaw, the way her lips parted slightly as she breathed, the tension that never quite left her brow, even in sleep.

I wanted to memorize her like this.

Because I knew the second she woke up, she'd start building those walls again.

She shifted slightly, her body tensing under my touch before she stilled again.

I hesitated, wondering if I should pull away, but then—

Vera exhaled softly, and just barely, I felt her lean into me. My heart clenched.

She was awake. But she wasn't pushing me away.

She stayed there, still and quiet, as if letting herself soak in the warmth between us. Like she was letting herself feel it before she had to fight it again.

A few seconds passed before she took a slow, deep breath and opened her eyes.

She blinked a few times, like she wasn't sure if she was really awake or if this was just another cruel trick of exhaustion.

Then, her gaze met mine. For a second, neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke.

Then, Vera swallowed and let out a small breath, her voice hoarse from sleep. "The crew can't see me like this."

It wasn't a dismissal. It wasn't her pushing me away. It was something else. A warning, maybe. Or an admission.

I tilted my head slightly. "Like what?"

She hesitated, her jaw clenching just slightly before she looked at me again, her voice softer this time. "Like I care."

My breath hitched. Not because I was surprised. But because, for the first time, she actually said it.

I didn't move, didn't let my expression change as I studied her.

She was fighting this. Fighting me.

Fighting herself. But she wasn't running.

I reached for her hand again, slowly, like I was testing the waters. I gave her space to pull away, to reject the touch—

But she didn't. Her fingers twitched beneath mine before, finally, hesitantly, she let them curl around me.

"Why does caring about someone make you weak?" I asked, my voice quieter now.

She swallowed, her gaze flickering down to where our hands were joined before she exhaled. "Because the second they know what matters to me, they'll use it."

I studied her, the weight of those words settling between us.

"You think I don't know that?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes snapped to mine, her lips parting like she wasn't expecting that answer.

I exhaled, letting my thumb brush against her knuckles. "I had a life before this, Vera. A normal one. I had people I cared about. And I still chose to be here, with you."

Something flickered in her eyes. Something raw.

I could see the war happening inside her.

She didn't trust it. Didn't trust me. Didn't trust herself.

And yet—

She was still holding my hand.

"I don't regret it," I murmured.

Her grip tightened slightly.

She shook her head, exhaling slowly like she didn't know what to do with me. "I don't want you to regret it either."

I studied her for a second, then reached out with my free hand and gently cupped her cheek.

She stiffened, her lips parting slightly as she sucked in a breath.

I let my thumb brush lightly over her skin. "Then stop acting like I will."

Something in her shifted. It was small. Barely noticeable. But I felt it.

The last bit of resistance cracking, just for a second.

Then, before I could pull away, she was moving, shifting closer, her arm wrapping around my waist, her face burying itself against my neck like she was trying to disappear into me.

She held me there, tight, unmoving.

And then, in the smallest voice, one I almost didn't catch—

"I'm sorry."

I exhaled, my fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt, anchoring myself to the moment. "I know."

And just like that, I let myself sink into her, into the warmth of her body, into the one place I never wanted to leave.

Vera let out a slow breath, her grip still firm around my waist. "I don't want to fight." Her voice was low, almost reluctant, but steady. "But you need to understand that I have to keep a certain image in front of the crew."

I hummed against her, tilting my head slightly. "An image, huh? And what exactly am I doing to ruin it? Sitting here all pretty in your bed?"

She didn't laugh. Didn't smirk. Her fingers tightened ever so slightly where they rested against my lower back. "I'm serious, Claire." Her voice had that warning edge to it now, the one that usually made people shrink back. "Do you understand what it means if they see you as my weakness? If they think they can use you against me? We can lose this."

I leaned back slightly to look at her, my hands resting lightly on her chest. "And what exactly is 'this,' Vera?" My voice was softer now, teasing, but I wasn't joking. I wanted to hear her say it.

Vera's jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought she might push me away. But she didn't. Her gaze flickered between my lips and my eyes, something unreadable shifting in them before she exhaled. "I don't know."

I studied her for a second, then smiled, slow and knowing. "That's okay for now."

She opened her mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to say something sharp, but I didn't give her the chance. I leaned in, closing the distance between us, nuzzling my face against her neck, inhaling her scent, the faint traces of cigarettes and something undeniably hers. She stilled beneath me, her body tensing as if she wasn't sure what to do with this new proximity.

Slowly, deliberately, I pressed my lips against her skin. Just once. Then again. And again. Soft, wet kisses trailing along the curve of her neck, exploring, teasing. Her body went rigid, but she didn't stop me.

I smirked against her skin, feeling the faintest tremor beneath my lips. "Are you scared, Vera?" I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, my teeth grazing just enough to make her draw in a sharp breath.

Her fingers flexed against my back, and I could tell she was trying to control herself, trying not to react, but she was losing. I felt the way her pulse quickened beneath my lips, the way her breath hitched just slightly when my hands started to move.

"Claire," she warned, but it wasn't a real warning.

I tilted my head slightly, letting my tongue flick against the sensitive skin just below her jaw, pressing a kiss there before whispering, "I thought you didn't want to fight."

Her hands moved then, gripping my waist, her fingers digging in as if to steady herself. I knew I was playing with fire, but I didn't care.

Vera's POV

I was losing control.

Not the kind that sent me spiraling into rage, not the kind that made me lash out and destroy everything in my path. This was different. It was quiet and slow, creeping up on me like a flame licking at the edges of something flammable, waiting to consume.

Claire's lips trailed along my neck, slow and deliberate, pressing wet kisses against my skin like she had all the time in the world. My body was betraying me, every nerve burning where she touched, where she breathed. I knew I should stop this—I always stopped this. But I couldn't.

I laid still, but not because I didn't want to move. I didn't trust myself to. Claire's mouth was soft, teasing, but each kiss felt like a demand, like a question I didn't know how to answer. My muscles were coiled, tense beneath her fingers, but I didn't push her away.

Her hands skimmed my body, featherlight, barely there, but enough to set me on fire. Then her fingers dipped lower, brushing over the hem of my shirt, slipping just beneath the fabric. Her touch was warm, lingering. The second her fingers traced the sharp angle of my hipbone, I let out a soft, involuntary moan.



Claire reacted instantly, her breath hitching, her body stiffening for just a second before I felt her exhale against my skin. And then—

And then she said it. "Fuck."

It wasn't playful or teasing. It was raw, unfiltered, like she was feeling everything as intensely as I was. Like she hadn't expected this, like she hadn't planned for this, but now she couldn't stop.

She moved.

Before I could process what was happening, she straddled me, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of my waist, her weight settling on top of me like she belonged there. My stomach clenched at the shift, at the way she looked down at me, at the way her eyes burned with something unreadable.

I barely had time to catch my breath before she leaned down and kissed me.

It wasn't slow, wasn't careful. It was a collision—rough, desperate, something neither of us could stop even if we wanted to. Her fingers curled into my shirt, gripping tight like she was afraid I'd pull away.

I wasn't pulling away.

My hands found her waist, fingertips pressing into her sides, pulling her closer without thinking. She hummed against my lips, deepening the kiss, tilting her head to take more, to take everything.

I was drowning. And I let myself.

Claire kissed me like she needed me, like she had been waiting for this moment, like she wanted to claim me in a way no one else had ever dared. And worse—worse than all of that—was the fact that I let her.

She had control. And for the first time in my life, I didn't want it back.

I was still lost in the heat of it, Claire's mouth on my neck, her breath warm against my skin, her body pressing into mine, claiming me in ways I had never let anyone before. My head tipped back against the pillow, lips parting as her mouth sucked softly at the sensitive skin of my throat. A shudder rolled down my spine, my hands tightening on her hips, ready to let this go further—

Then a knock.

We both froze.

"Who is it?" Claire asked, her voice breathless, her chest rising and falling too fast.

"It's me," Antonio's voice came from the other side of the door.

My eyes snapped open, raw anger flashing through me. My entire body tensed, the haze of desire burning off like it had never been there.

What the fuck was Antonio doing here?

My fingers closed around Claire's wrist, rough, unforgiving. "What the hell is this?" My voice was low, dangerous, and from the way Claire's eyes widened, she knew it.

"I don't know," she said quickly, shaking her head.

Before I could push further, she called out, "What's up, Antonio?" trying—and failing—to sound casual.

"I wanted to check on you after yesterday," Antonio answered. "I got us breakfast."

Us.

I barely registered my own movement before I shoved Claire off me, getting out of the bed in one sharp motion. She hit the mattress with a small gasp, but I wasn't looking at her anymore. My vision had tunneled.

Antonio.

He was outside Claire's fucking room. With breakfast.

I was going to kill him.

Claire saw it before I even took a step. She scrambled out of bed, moving fast, standing between me and the door. "Antonio, I'm not feeling well," she called out, her voice forcibly steady. "I appreciate it, but... maybe another time."

There was a brief pause. Then, "Alright. Just let me know if you need anything."

His footsteps retreated down the hall, and Claire exhaled in relief.

I was still staring at the door like I could burn a hole through it.

Then I turned on Claire. "What the fuck is this?" I demanded, voice sharp, eyes narrowing.

She crossed her arms, defensive. "Nothing. He was just being nice."

I let out a humorless laugh. "Nice? You think he brought you breakfast out of kindness?" I stepped closer, voice dropping lower. "Or do you think he's trying to fuck you?"

Claire's jaw clenched. "You don't get to say that."

I scoffed. "I don't?"

"No," she shot back. "Because I'm not the one who made a show of claiming me in front of the entire crew but then pushed me off the second someone knocked on the door."

I wasn't in the mood for her games. "Why is he coming to your room, Claire? Why is he checking on you?"

Claire's eyes flickered, something unreadable in them. "Maybe because someone actually cares how I'm doing?"

Something in me snapped.

I grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at me, my grip rougher than I intended, but I didn't let go. "Watch your fucking mouth," I warned.

She didn't flinch. She didn't even look scared.

She just stared back at me, like she was waiting for something. Daring me to say it.

But I didn't.

I let go of her with a sharp exhale, stepping back like she burned me. "Stay away from him," I muttered.

Claire crossed her arms again, tilting her head. "Why?"

"Because I said so."

She scoffed, shaking her head. "Right. Ownership and control. Got it."

I clenched my jaw, my hands curled into fists at my sides, Claire's words hitting too close, too raw. Ownership and control. Got it.

"No!" The word tore out of me before I could stop it. "Okay? No!"

Claire froze, her gaze locking onto mine as I took a sharp, unsteady breath. My heart was pounding, my chest tight, and for the first time, I felt like I was losing the grip I had on myself.

I brought my fist to my chest, pressing it hard against my heart like I could force the ache out of it. "The thought of someone touching you—" My voice dropped, thick with something I didn't want to name. "It makes it hurt. Here."

Claire's expression softened, the fire in her eyes melting into something gentler. She reached for me, her hands cradling my face, her thumbs brushing against my cheek.

"Vera," she murmured, her voice a soothing contrast to my storm. "Calm down, okay? We said we wouldn't fight."

I let out a sharp exhale, my jaw still tight, but I felt myself leaning into her touch—just for a second.

Then, I pulled my face away, forcing space between us, trying to shove down whatever the fuck this was.

Claire didn't let me.

She reached for me again, her fingers tilting my chin up so I had no choice but to meet her eyes. "I know it's hard for you," she whispered. "But don't pull away again."

I swallowed hard.

"We were having a good morning," she added with a small, teasing smile, as if trying to pull me back to her, to that moment before everything spiraled.

I hated how much I wanted to let her.