Mia's POV
The morning after was always the hardest.
Not because of what happened in my room—I hadn't slept, not really—but because of what happened in his. Even if I couldn't see it, I heard enough. The low, breathy gasps. The occasional creak of a headboard. The haunting sound of Diane's laughter—like a bell being rung to remind me of my place.
I wasn't his.
Not his lover.
Not his wife.
Just a name on a contract and a warm body to fill the role of caretaker. For Eric.
Eric, who was currently curled against me on the couch, still warm from sleep, breathing softly as I brushed my fingers through his tousled hair. He stirred slightly, smiling in that sleepy way that made my chest tighten with something far too tender.
I wasn't going to cry over a man like Ryan Saint.
Not when I had this sweet boy needing pancakes and a packed lunch for his weekend tutoring session.
Still... when I saw Ryan emerge from his room fully dressed, hair wet, jaw clenched, with not even a hint of Diane behind him, I couldn't stop myself from asking.
"You always treat women like that?"
He paused. His eyes, those cold silver eyes, locked onto mine.
"Like what?"
"Disposable."
He scoffed lightly. "You're misreading things. She wanted something, I gave it. She left satisfied."
"And what about you, Ryan?" I pushed, stepping into his space. "Do you ever feel anything at all?"
He moved so fast I barely had time to blink. One step and I was backed against the counter, his hand braced beside my head. His scent surrounded me—crisp cologne, heat, and something I couldn't name.
Something wild.
"I feel enough to know I shouldn't be having this conversation with you."
"Why? Because I'm just the babysitter?"
His gaze dropped to my lips.
"No," he said, voice low and rough. "Because if I touch you, Mia, I might not stop."
My heart thundered.
But he didn't move closer.
He didn't kiss me.
He stepped back, his face a blank slate once again.
"We have a deal. Let's stick to it."
Then he left the kitchen, leaving the tension hanging like a blade between us.
---
Ryan's POV
I'd crossed a line.
Too damn close.
She was fire without meaning to be—soft, stubborn, and maddeningly good with Eric. Her presence in the penthouse was like a scent I couldn't shake, seeping into the corners of my thoughts, my space… my instincts.
And instincts were dangerous.
Especially for a vampire trying to blend in among humans.
I needed a distraction. Something familiar. Something controllable.
I found it in my office drawer.
The black envelope.
Stamped with the seal of the Elders.
Chloria was waiting.
A request—no, a demand—for my presence at the next council meeting. The growing tension between bloodlines, the whispered unrest… and the fact that my "human wife" was now living with me under Saint security.
If they found out she was human for real…
I closed the file and leaned back.
I couldn't let her find out who I was.
And I couldn't afford to fall for her either.
But somehow, both things were already unraveling.