Claire's POV

Vera’s breath was shaky against my lips, her hands still resting on my hips like she didn’t know whether to pull me closer or let me go. For the first time, she wasn’t the one taking control.

She was holding on.

And I wasn’t going to move.

I brushed my lips against hers again, not a kiss this time—just a touch. A question. An offering.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her chest rising with a deep, uneven breath. “I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered.

“I know,” I murmured, letting my hands trail up her arms slowly. “But you’re already doing it.”

Her jaw clenched like the words hurt, like she didn’t believe them. My fingers slid up to the nape of her neck, coaxing her closer, not forcing, just guiding.

“I’ve always known how to control people,” she said after a pause. “How to scare them. Break them. Even make them love me… but not like this.”

I pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, then to her cheek. “Then tell me the truth. No games.”

She looked at me, and for once, there was no coldness, no mask. Just Vera. Raw. Shaken.

“I thought if I let you in too much, you’d disappear,” she admitted. “Like Valeria did.”

My heart caught at that. I kissed the space beneath her jaw, slow, deliberate, feeling the tension in her ease just slightly beneath my lips.

“I’m not her,” I whispered.

“I know,” she said quickly, then softer, almost to herself, “I know you’re not.”

My hand slid over her ribs, my thumb moving in gentle circles. She shivered, not from fear, but from the closeness. From the quiet way I was touching her—without expectation. Just to be near her.

“I don’t want to need this,” she whispered. “I don’t want to need you.”

I leaned in, kissed her again—this time slow, lingering, and deep. Her fingers gripped the back of my shirt, holding onto me like I was the only steady thing left in her world.

“You don’t have to need me,” I whispered against her lips. “Just let me stay.”

Her grip on my shirt stayed firm, like if she let go, something in her would splinter. I didn’t push. I just stayed close, my hands steady, the air between us thick with everything unspoken.

Vera’s forehead pressed gently against mine. Her voice came out low, almost ashamed.

“I’m scared,” she said.

That was it.

Two words. Nothing more.

But I felt the weight of them like a punch to the chest.

I let my fingers trace the edge of her jaw, slow and careful, until I could tilt her face back toward me. Her eyes didn’t run—they never did—but I could see the glass in them, the war happening just beneath the surface.

“I know,” I whispered. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she said quietly. “Not for someone like me.”

I leaned in and kissed her temple. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Her breath caught, just slightly, when I kissed her again—her cheek, then just under her ear. Each one soft, steady, like I was laying down something sacred. Something true.

“You act like letting me in makes you weak,” I said, my lips brushing her skin, “but look at you, Vera. You’ve survived everything. This? Letting someone hold you? That’s strength.”

Her hands moved from my shirt to my back, her fingers spreading out like she was trying to ground herself.

I let my hand rest over her heart. It was beating too fast. And I swear… I could feel it slow under my touch.

“I want to believe you,” she murmured.

“Then do.”

She was quiet again, but this time, it wasn’t heavy.

It felt like breathing.

I rested my head against hers, letting our bodies stay wrapped up in the kind of silence people don’t get in places like this. The kind you earn.

“You’re allowed to fall apart with me,” I said softly. “I won’t use it against you.”

Her hand lifted, brushing through my hair. “I hate that I want to believe you.”

“But you do,” I whispered, pulling her just a little closer.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Vera's POV

Claire didn’t say anything after that.

She just stayed close.

Her body against mine, her hand resting gently over my heart like she meant to keep it beating steady. She breathed slowly, eyes growing heavier, her lashes brushing my skin every time she blinked.

And then—

She melted into me completely.

Head tucked under my chin, her breath soft against my neck.

I didn’t move.

I felt every exhale against my throat, each one sending this low, involuntary shiver down my spine. Her fingers curled slightly in the fabric of my shirt, like she needed to hold onto something—even in sleep.

I wasn’t used to this.

Stillness.

Warmth.

The absence of fear.

I kept one arm wrapped around her, the other lightly grazing her back, not daring to move more than that. Not wanting to wake her. Not wanting to lose the way her body fit into mine like it was always meant to.

Her breath hit that sensitive spot just beneath my jaw again, slow and soft.

And fuck, I felt it.

A deep, aching craving—one I couldn’t shoot my way through, couldn’t fight off with anger or violence.

I craved her.

Not the way I craved control. Or vengeance.

I craved her in silence.

In stillness.

In the way she trusted me with her body resting on mine, unguarded, fragile. Her mouth so close to my skin I could feel the shape of her sighs.

I closed my eyes and laid there with her, holding this quiet, terrifying thing in my arms.

I don’t know how long I stayed like that.

Holding her.

Feeling the soft rhythm of her breathing against my neck, each exhale warming my skin, grounding me in a way I couldn’t explain. But eventually, something in me started to shift. A subtle tension creeping into my body—the kind that came not from fear, but from the unbearable ache of wanting something I couldn’t ask for.

I tried not to move, but my body betrayed me. My fingers twitched against her back. My breath hitched. Just enough to stir her.

She shifted slightly.

Then I felt her lips brush against my throat, lazy, barely there, warm and slow.

“Mmm… you okay?” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep, words barely formed.

Her mouth moved against my skin as she spoke—soft, damp, and far too intimate.

I let out a sound I couldn’t stop. A low, breathy moan, quiet and sharp, like the sensation had caught me off guard.

Her lips stilled.

But her arms didn’t leave me.

She nuzzled in closer, like she knew what she’d just done to me and didn’t care. Or maybe she did. Maybe that was the point.

I bit my bottom lip, eyes fluttering closed as I breathed her in. Her scent, her warmth, the weight of her body wrapped around mine—it was overwhelming.

I could survive blood, betrayal, death.

But this?

This slow unraveling under her touch?

This was the thing that might kill me.

Her breathing had evened out against my neck, and for a moment, I thought she’d slipped back into sleep.

Then I felt her hand.

Light. Curious. Moving slow across my waistline like she had all the time in the world to unravel me.

I froze.

Her fingertips dipped just beneath my shirt, grazing the skin at my hip. Not enough to do damage—just enough to know she was there.

I said nothing.

My breath stayed steady. Barely.

But inside, something snapped tight.

She shifted against me, her thigh sliding higher between mine, her chest pressing flush to my side. And then—her lips.

They brushed the base of my throat, lazy, like an afterthought. Like she wasn’t even trying.

Bullshit. She was trying, and she knew exactly what she was doing.

Her fingers moved again, dragging up the line of my ribs, tracing the curve beneath my bra. Pausing. Hovering.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to react. Refusing to give her the satisfaction.

She kissed higher, slow, wet kisses along my jaw, up toward my ear. Her mouth was soft. Her breath was warm. Every move was slow torture.

Still, I didn’t move.

Didn’t push her away.

Didn’t pull her in.

My hands stayed where they were—locked around her waist like I was holding myself together, not her.

Then she bit.

Just under my jaw. Not hard, but enough to make my breath hitch.

Her voice came a second later, barely a whisper, right against my skin. “Still not gonna stop me?”

I felt her smirk.

Her hand slid higher under my shirt, her thumb brushing the edge of my bra, her palm warm and bold against bare skin.

I swore under my breath, eyes clenching shut.

But I still didn’t move.

She knew she was winning.

And I hated how much I wanted her to keep going.

Her hand slid beneath my shirt again—slow, deliberate, like she was daring me to breathe.

I didn’t.

Her palm grazed my ribs, warm, steady, fingers dragging along the line of my body like she had every right to be there. And maybe she did. I’d let her in the second she said my name like that.

Still, I didn’t move.

Didn’t stop her.

Didn’t pull her closer.

I just burned.

She shifted against me, her thigh slipping between mine, pressing up—just enough to remind me she could.

Then came her lips.

Soft. Wet. Moving up my neck in slow, open-mouthed kisses that lit my skin on fire. Her breath brushed over me, warm and smug, and it took everything in me not to react.

Then she bit me.

Not hard.

Just enough.

I clenched my jaw. My breath hitched—sharp, fast.

“Still not gonna stop me?” she whispered against my skin, the edge of a smirk in her voice.

Her hand moved higher, bold now, sliding under the edge of my bra, cupping me like she’d been waiting her whole life to do it. I groaned before I could stop it, low and ragged.

She kissed up to my ear. “Say it.”

I didn’t. I couldn’t.

My hands fisted the fabric of her shirt at her waist, holding tight like it might anchor me. I was unraveling. Fast.

“Say it,” she repeated, biting again. Her voice was darker now. Hungrier.

“What do you want, Vera?”

I turned my head slowly. Our eyes locked.

And fuck, she looked wrecked in the most beautiful way—eyes heavy, lips parted, her body pressed into mine like she belonged there.

I was gone.

But I still didn’t speak.

Because I wanted to see just how far she’d go to make me break.

Her hand slid away from my chest, down my stomach, slow and deliberate like she already owned me.

And maybe she did.

I felt her fingers reach the waistband of my pants. My breath caught, muscles locking as she traced the button—light at first, then firmer.

She was silent.

So was I.

She unbuttoned it with a soft click, the sound cutting through the dark like a trigger. Then the slow drag of the zipper—deliberate, slow, merciless—made my spine press harder against the wall.

Still, I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

Every cell in my body was screaming to take control, to flip her against the wall and remind her who I was.

But she already knew.

And this wasn’t about power anymore.

This was about surrender.

Her hand hovered just inside the waistband, not touching anything yet—just there, hovering, teasing, letting the heat build like a fuse waiting to snap.

I exhaled through my nose, rough and shaky. She heard it. I knew she did.

“Still nothing?” she murmured, her lips brushing against the shell of my ear, breath hot. “You gonna just lie there and let me break you?”

I turned my head slowly, jaw clenched, voice low. “You’re not breaking me.”

Her fingers dipped lower, grazing skin.

“No?” she whispered. “Then why are you trembling?”

And the worst part was—

I was.