Page 30 of Ripper's Redemption

Wooden beams stretch overhead, and the scent of pine mixes with the faint aroma of woodsmoke.

There’s a warmth here that’s missing from the cold reality we left behind.

“You go ahead and get comfortable,” Ripper says, setting down the bags. “I'll get the rest of the stuff.”

“Thanks,” I reply, taking off my coat and hanging it by the door.

I look around, absorbing every detail—the quilted throw draped over the couch, the worn rug underfoot, the simple but sturdy furniture.

It feels safe, almost too perfect.

Is this part of the act, too?

“Actually, if you want, get a bubble bath, or do something to relax. I can handle the rest of this,” he adds, disappearing back outside.

“Maybe I will,” I say to myself, needing a moment alone.

The weight of everything—our ruse, the danger, my feelings—presses heavily on me.

When we started this, I never knew I’d be feeling so conflicted.

I find the bathroom and draw myself a bubble bath.

The water is hot, steam filling the room and fogging the mirror.

I sink into the tub, letting the warmth envelop me, soothing away the tension in my muscles.

For a few precious minutes, I can pretend none of the complications exist.

It’s just me, the bubbles, and the soft sound of water lapping against the porcelain.

I close my eyes for a moment and lean my head back against the built-in pillow, wondering what the hell I’m actually doing.

Sure, I started this with Ripper as a ruse, as a way to piss my father off since he pissed me off so badly, but what about now?

Now—things are far more complicated than I want them to be.

I like him, but I’m forcing myself to remember the reason this is happening in the first place is because it’s fake, it’s a scam, it’s not real.

He only came with me to make our relationship seem entirely more convincing to outsiders.

Opening my eyes, I know I can’t stay in this hot bubble bath forever.

I drain the tub and wrap myself in a thick, soft towel, padding back to the main room, expecting nothing more than the simple comfort of the cabin.

What greets me instead takes my breath away.

The table is set with plates of steaming food, and candles flickering gently in their holders.

Two glasses of red wine sit waiting, and the smell—oh, the smell!

Rich and savory, it makes my stomach rumble in anticipation.

Ripper stands near the fireplace, his expression unreadable but his eyes watching me closely.

I’m unable to hide my surprise. “What's all this?”

“Just wanted to do something nice,” he says with a shrug, as if it’s no big deal. But the effort he’s put into this, the romance—it’s more than I’ve had in a long time.

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