Page 11 of Omega on the Rocks
Light filtered through the slats of the blinds in soft, golden streaks, slicing across the wooden floorboards and crawling up the walls like the world was gently reminding me that time hadn’t stopped, even if I wished it had. Outside, the forest was quiet, blanketed in dew and birdsong, but inside the cabin, everything felt painfullystill.
I hadn’t moved in hours. I didn’t want to.
Kieran lay behind me, wrapped around my body like I belonged there—like I always had. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath, his warmth pressed along the length of my spine, his hand resting lightly on my lower belly. Possessive, but soft. Protective in a way I didn’t know how to breathe around. He didn’t say anything in his sleep, but his touch spoke louder than words:Mine. Still mine.
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and closed my eyes again, just for a moment, pretending.
Pretending I could stay. Pretending the real world didn’t exist beyond this cabin in the woods.
But reality was tapping at the door of my consciousness like a ticking clock I couldn’t silence. I had responsibilities—people who depended on me, contracts signed in blood, cameras waiting to devour every expression I couldn’t afford to feel in public. Malachi Grant wasn’t just a man. He was a brand. A face on posters. A star on screens. A fantasy for millions. And the kind of intimacy I’d just experienced with Kieran? That wasn’t part of the role.
I couldn’t afford to belong to anyone. Not even him. Especially not him. I stirred gently, shifting under the weight of his arm.He mumbled something unintelligible, pressing a sleepy kiss to the back of my neck, and the tenderness of it almost undid me. I wanted to sink back into the mattress, turn toward him, bury myself in the safety of his scent and warmth.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I slipped out of his hold, careful not to wake him. The cold air hit my bare skin immediately, stark and sharp in comparison to the cocoon I’d just left. I stood for a moment, spine stiff, arms wrapped around myself, before I forced my body into motion.
My clothes were scattered around the room, still rumpled from last night, smelling like him. Likeus. Each piece I picked up was like peeling back another layer of something I wasn’t ready to lose. I tugged on my pants, then reached for my shirt. It was wrinkled, soft cotton, black buttons down the front—simple, familiar.
Each button I fastened felt like a door closing.
One.
I have to protect my career.
Two.
He doesn’t know who I am.
Three.
He deserves someone who isn’t a walking illusion.
Behind me, I heard movement.
“Morning,” Kieran’s voice rasped, still thick with sleep, gravel-rough and slow like warm molasses sliding over my skin.
I didn’t turn around.
“Morning,” I murmured, trying not to let my voice shake.
He yawned softly and I could feel his gaze trail across my back, the tension in the air shifting from sleepy to alert.
“You’re already getting dressed?” he asked.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak yet.
A beat passed, heavy and quiet.
“You’re leaving?”
I stiffened. My fingers paused on the next button, and I forced them to move again, even though it felt like they were tying me into a lie.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve got work to do.”
There was a pause.
Then, gently: “What kind of work?”
