Lexie’s hands shook as she pressed the elevator button, knuckles white, her breath caught high in her chest. Her phone buzzed with a new message—one word: Enough. She blinked tears before they could fall, gathering herself by summoning that old, practiced smirk. The moment the doors slid open, she conjured up easy laughter, weaving seamlessly into the lunchroom banter, but her gaze kept darting to the door, afraid the secret would walk in alongside the next hardhat.

Em found her in the corridor, voice low, gentle. “Hey, Lex. You okay?” The question lingered, weighted with real worry, and for once Lexie didn’t brush it off. She looked into Em’s eyes, searching for judgment, finding only kindness.

“I ended it,” Lexie whispered, clutching her own arms, nails pressing crescents through denim sleeves. “I had to. He was—she almost caught us. I can’t—I can’t breathe in here.” Her voice trembled, brittle and small.

Em pulled her into the electrical closet, shutting out the fluorescent world. Lexie fell into her arms, the sob ugly, relief and grief tangled together. “You’ll be okay,” Em murmured, stroking her hair with gentle fingers, grounding her. “You’re not alone. Not ever.” Lexie clung tighter, letting herself break for the first time in months.

Theo crossed the site with a purpose that felt like compulsion, blueprints clutched in his fist, jaw set hard as steel. Every muscle thrummed with the awareness of Em—her scent, her laughter echoing somewhere just out of sight. When he finally found her in her makeshift office, she was bent over plans, her brow furrowed, lips pursed in deep thought. The urge to touch her, to pull her into his orbit, smoldered beneath every measured step.

She looked up, startled, as he invaded her space. Their gazes locked—something wild flared, unspoken, unsustainable. He exhaled her name, voice hoarse: “Em.”

She crossed to him before she could talk herself out of it. “We can’t—”

But he was kissing her, urgent and hungry, his hands threading into her hair, dragging her flush against him. The blueprints scattered at their feet. She gasped as he lifted her onto the desk, her thighs drawn around his hips, his mouth trailing heat down her neck. She yanked at his shirt, needing his skin on hers, needing to feel the world fall away.

“Lock the door,” she whispered, breath already ragged.

He did, never breaking their gaze. Their mouths crashed together as if it might save them. Clothes peeled away in frantic hands—her blouse open, his jeans shoved down, the cold edge of the desk biting her back. Theo’s body pressed into her, every thrust a confession, every shudder a prayer. She clung to him, nails scraping his shoulders, their rhythm uncoordinated, desperate, pure need. Her head fell back, hair spilling over blueprints and spreadsheets and secrets, the line between pleasure and pain vanishing beneath his touch.

He pulled her closer, their foreheads pressed together, sweat mingling. “Tell me this is real. Tell me you want this as much as I do,” he pleaded between gasps.

“I do,” Em choked out, voice trembling with release and terror. “I need you. I can’t—” She kissed him again, silencing everything but the frantic pounding of their bodies. In that tangle of heat and longing, they forgot consequence, lost in the taste of something that felt dangerously close to love.

After, she lay across his chest, heart racing, fingers tracing scars old and new. He pressed his lips to her temple, still lost in the wonder and ruin of her.

The office door rattled—her phone vibrating wildly in the pocket of her jeans. She sat up, panic flooding her face. Theo watched, helpless, as she read the message. Her skin went cold.

“It’s from him,” she managed. “My fiancé—he knows about the rooftop. About us.” She found, snagged beneath the leg of the desk, a scrap of blue fabric—Theo’s shirt, left behind. Dread choked the air.

Theo swallowed. “What does he want?”

Em stared at the screen, voice hollow, sick with fear. “He’s coming for you.”

To be continued...