Lexie’s pulse drummed wild in her throat as the steel door clicked behind her. The storage room was suffocating with heat and anticipation. Her lover—sunburned neck, calloused hands—waited, gaze hungry, mouth bruising hers before she could speak. They moved together in frantic silence, his fingers knotting in her hair, her hips arching off crates stacked with cable. Everything was rushed, skin scraping cold metal, need eclipsing guilt, until she heard a voice—a woman’s voice—calling, echoing down the concrete hall.

Panic shredded her pleasure. “Shit,” Lexie whispered, clutching her jeans as she straightened. Her lover’s wedding ring glinted. Feet pounded past, too close. The handle rattled, but the woman moved on. “You said she’d never come here,” Lexie hissed, shoving him away. His answer was a hollow apology, easy, practiced. Shame gutted her as she hid, spine to steel, waiting for her heart to slow.

Outside, Em stood on the unfinished third-floor landing, sunlight patterning her pale arms through scaffolding. Her fiancé, suited and smug, gripped her elbow where workers could see. "Why didn't you return my calls?" he asked, voice careful but loud enough for Theo, who watched from below, hands stuffed in his pockets. Em’s laugh was brittle. "I'm working," she said, pulling free.

Theo’s gaze burned—jealous, protective, helpless. He wanted to intervene, wanted to grab Em’s hand and pull her into some uncharted, private space. But Em’s fiancé looked past him as if he didn’t exist, squeezing Em’s arm with a proprietary grip. The exchange left Theo haunted by a wanting he couldn’t voice.

Up on the open deck, Dean braced himself at the crane controls, jaw set. The foreman barked orders—“Move it or lose it, Torres!”—but Dean hesitated, recalculating the high-risk swing they demanded. Eyes watched, ready for him to break or fly. Lexie found him after, voice light but eyes steady. “Don’t let them push you, Dean,” she said, a tremble buried beneath her smile. Dean’s hands shook as he tucked them in his pockets; he wanted to trust her, needed her steadiness.

Em paced, agitated, searching for Theo. The wind whipped her words into fragments when she found him—“He doesn’t own me, you know.” Theo leaned in, gravel voice soft. “You deserve someone who sees you.” The intimacy of that confession left her bare, exposed. She pressed her palm to his chest, feeling his heart race—they almost kissed, would have, if Lexie hadn’t burst in, breathless and shaken.

“I need you,” Lexie said, voice cracking to Em, but her eyes darted to Theo, pleading for space. Em turned away, swallowing her longing, as Lexie blurted the truth in hushed, broken fragments—a wife, a risk, the taste of being disposable. Em wrapped her in a fierce hug, anger rising at the man who’d made Lexie feel so small.

In the breakroom, the crew’s laughter curdled as someone read aloud a message left in Lexie’s locker. A woman’s handwriting, looping and angry: I know what you did. Lexie froze, world tilting, humiliation burning her skin. Dean met her eyes from across the room—hesitant, gentle, offering a silent lifeline.

Em’s fiancé cornered Theo by the steel beams. “Stay away from her,” he said, every word an unspoken threat. Theo stood his ground, but when Em appeared, eyes red-rimmed, he faltered, guilt stamped across his face. Em pulled Theo aside, her touch trembling. “Don’t make me choose,” she whispered, longing tripping over fear.

Above, on the darkening deck, Lexie’s phone vibrated—her lover’s wife, relentless. Lexie read the message, stomach churning: Meet me tonight. If you don’t, I tell everyone.

All around them, secrets pressed in like concrete, impossible to breathe around. Em and Theo parted in the hallway, neither daring to look back, but both desperate to close the distance.

Outside, dusk bled violet over the unfinished skeleton of the Fulton. Lexie lingered in the shadows, torn between running and staying, as headlights traced the parking lot. Dean appeared at her side, unasked but welcome, and for the first time Lexie reached for his hand, gripping tight. She was shaking.

A car door slammed in the lot below, and Lexie stiffened. The wife was here.

To be continued...