Dane’s POV
The door opened, revealing Hailee in nothing but a shirt... her red hair dripping water like she’d just stepped out of the shower. Our eyes locked, and she froze—terror flashing across her face, as if I was the last person in the world she expected to see standing there. My chest clenched, a bitter weight pressing down on . I knew that look. I’d seen it before. It was the look of soone hiding sothing.
"Hailee," I said slowly, my voice low, careful, though I could hear the pain creeping in, "you weren’t expecting ."
She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening on the edge of the door as if she needed to hold onto sothing to stay upright. Her lips parted, but no words ca out right away. That silence... it burned like acid in my chest.
The silence between us stretched, thick and suffocating. My chest tightened more with every second she kept her lips sealed.
I drew in a sharp breath, forcing the words out. "Were you at the mansion last night?"
Her eyes flickered—just for a heartbeat—and that was all it took to send my pulse into overdrive. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The silence was screaming at .
I let out a harsh, humorless laugh that caught in my throat. "You know what’s funny? I heard a rumor this morning. That you left the packhouse... very early. Almost like you were sneaking out." My voice cracked, betraying the hurt clawing up my chest.
"Hailee..." I took a step forward, my eyes narrowing. That’s when I saw it.
Her shirt collar had slipped slightly, and there it was—a dark mark staining her pale skin, bold and undeniable. A hickey.
My stomach dropped. My whole world tilted.
My jaw tightened so hard it ached. "Nathan..." I whispered, my voice raw. "You had sex with him. That’s why you look so drained."
Her lips trembled, her eyes glossy. And then... she broke.
"Yes." Her voice was a whisper. "Not just Nathan... Callum too. This morning."
The words hit harder than any punch I’d ever taken. My heart cracked wide open, pain flooding every vein. I stumbled back half a step, my throat burning.
I wanted to hate her. To walk away. To throw this hurt back at her. But gods, looking at her standing there—hair dripping, shirt hanging loose, eyes begging for not to hate her—I couldn’t move.
"Why?" I choked out, my voice breaking. "Why them and not ? Am I not enough for you, Hailee?"
Her tears finally spilled over, and before I knew it, my hand was on her cheek, rough with anger yet trembling with need.
And then—I kissed her.
It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t passionate. It was furious, desperate, aching. Her lips yielded under mine, and she kissed back with the sa ssy hunger, as if both of us were trying to pour every ounce of pain, betrayal, and longing into that single mont.
When we broke apart, breathless, I rested my forehead against hers, my voice hoarse. "Even if you tear apart... I can’t stop wanting you, Hailee... I love you... I want to be with you."
She swallowed hard and looked up at with tears-filled eyes. "I’m sorry, Dane." She apologized.
My heart twisted... why was she apologizing? Did that an she wasn’t choosing ? No. I shook my head and cupped her face, forcing her to et my eyes.
"I’m not letting go of you, Hailee... I’m not doing that." I muttered those words as a vow.
Her lips parted, as if she had sothing to say, but she closed them, shut the door, and took my hand, leading upstairs toward her room.
She pushed open her bedroom door and guided inside. The air slled faintly of her shampoo, warm and clean, and for a mont, I forgot how to breathe.
"Sit," she said softly, almost a whisper, but it was a command all the sa.
I sank down onto the edge of her bed, my eyes never leaving her. She stood before , droplets of water still sliding down her neck, disappearing under the fabric of her shirt. Slowly—deliberately—she tugged the hem upward, the loose cotton brushing over her damp skin until it slipped free over her head.
My throat tightened.
She stood there, naked, the pale light from the window painting every curve, every line. My hands curled into fists on my knees, fighting the urge to reach out.
"Hailee..." My voice was hoarse, warning, pleading. I didn’t even know which.
She stepped closer, her knees brushing mine, her gaze fixed on with a strange blend of defiance and vulnerability.
"I love all three of you," she said, her voice trembling but certain. "Nathan. Callum. And you."
The words sliced through like a blade. My jaw clenched. "That’s not—"
"Shh." She placed a finger against my lips, silencing . "They’ve had . Both of them. You think I’d let you be the only one I push away?"
I shook my head, my chest burning, but her presence, her scent, the heat radiating from her bare skin—it all pulled under.
She leaned in, so close I could feel her breath against my ear. "I’m not letting you leave like this, Dane. Not when I can still make you rember ."
Her words weren’t a plea; they were a challenge.
I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding, torn between walking away and pulling her into so tightly she’d never think of them again.
Slowly she got down to her knees in front of and went for the zipper of my jeans. With panting breath, I watched her unzip my jeans and pull them at the waist. I lifted myself up, and she pulled them along with my briefs down to my knees, displaying my semi-erect cock, which was already hard just from seeing her naked. She wrapped her fingers around my length and, holding eye contact with , she sank her mouth onto it.
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