Page 96 of Second Sin

I freeze. Not because I don’t want her to touch me, but because I do. So fucking much it’s pathetic.

She’s right there. And I can see it—that quiet fatigue under her eyes. The way her mouth tugs down like she’s carrying too much alone. I want to say something—make a joke, an apology, anything to bridge the distance I created.

But the words don’t come. They sit useless in my throat, too heavy, too late.

"You should go," she says quietly. “Before someone sees.”

I nod, but I make it three steps before the weight in my chest has me turning around, and walking back into her office, then shut the door behind me.

She turns fast. Eyes wide. Lips parting like she’s halfway to a breath or a protest—maybe both.

I reach for her face, hands framing her jaw like she might break apart if I hold her wrong. And I kiss her.

Quick. Rough. Real.

She sighs against my mouth. A soft exhale that makes my chest ache.

When she pulls back, her hands press gently against my chest. "Go," she whispers. "Before we both forget where we are."

My forehead rests against hers for a beat. Then I step back.

I open the door again, the light from the hallway spilling across the floor like a line I shouldn’t have crossed.

I cross it anyway.

Not because I’m ready to let go?—

Because I don’t trust myself not to stay.

CHAPTER 37

OLIVIA

The conference room hums with poised urgency. Volunteers in black dress shirts adjust centerpieces and align place cards with surgical precision. A string quartet tunes softly in the corner, their notes threading through the quiet tension. Across the room, someone’s directing a photographer near the step-and-repeat banner, while I’m smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from the edge of the silent auction table—for the fourth time.

It’s stupid. No one’s going to notice. But I need to do something with my hands.

My stomach’s a knot I can’t loosen. It’s not the event. It’s not the guest list or the logistics or whether the centerpieces are balanced.

It’s Sebastian.

He’s in the building. Somewhere.

And I haven’t seen him yet.

On the surface, nothing’s changed.

But I read people for a living. And I know when someone’s not okay.

There’s a weight behind his eyes. A tension in his jaw that doesn’t ease, even when he’s with me. He still falls asleep besideme like it’s the only place he wants to be.He still kisses me like he’s starving. Like he doesn’t know how not to.

But his quiet has changed.

And lately, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s drifting—even when he’s holding me.

And the worst part? I don’t know if it’s about me. Or hockey. Or the weight of whatever he’s carrying.

All I know is—he won’t let me close enough to find out.

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