Page 142 of Double Standards
He’s standing in my office like he owns it—door shut, locked behind him—like the whole world’s paused for his dramatic entrance. And I hate how much I love it. How much Imissedhim, even when I’m still mad as hell.
I hang up mid-call without an apology, leaning back in my chair to study him. Calm. Composed. Except for the way my stomach knots with the force of his gaze on me.
“What are you doing here?” I manage, forcing my voice into something confident.
He steps closer. “We need to talk.”
“We do?” I raise a brow, pretending like I don’t already know why he’s here. Like I didn’t storm out of his house three nights ago, furious, heartbroken, and still aching for the bastard. He never called. Never texted. I thought I was making a point, but now he’s here, and the energy between us is already coiled too tight to ignore.
“You know we do,” he says flatly, and I hear it—his frustration. His disappointment. Like I’m the one who lefthim.
He walks around my desk like a panther, smooth and dangerous. I instinctively roll my chair back, but he just follows, positioning himself between me and whatever I was working on.
“Cassie,” he murmurs, crossing his arms, gaze locked on mine. “Do you remember when I asked if I could trust you?”
I nod slowly, even as doubt creeps in. His voice is too calm—toomeasured—like he's balancing on the edge of something sharp and refusing to let it cut him. And that scares me more than if he’d shouted. I know Axel. I know what silence means when it comes from him.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip, trying to dam the flood of thoughts behind it. All the things I want to say—need to say—but can’t. Not yet. The words feel jagged in my throat, and I’m terrified that if I let one out, they’ll all come crashing through like glass shattering on tile.
Then he moves.
His hand reaches for me—slow, deliberate, no hesitation—and I feel it like a jolt. Not rough. Not rushed. Justsure.Fingers curl around my arm first, warm and firm, grounding me in the storm of my own indecision. The space between us disappears in a breath, and before I can stop myself, I lean into it—into him.
There’s something in the way he touches me—like he’s not just reaching for my body but for all the parts of me I keep barricaded behind walls and logic and self-preservation. His hand slides up, finding the curve of my neck, then tangling in my hair like a man who’s been starving for the feel of me.
And maybe he has.
Maybe I have, too.
The air between us thickens, tension humming like a live wire, and I don’t pull away.
I can’t.
Because I know this—us—whatever twisted, beautiful mess we are, it’s not finished. Not by a long shot.
He pulls me from the chair like it’s nothing, cages me against his chest, fingers weaving into my hair like he’s claiming territory he never really lost. My hands land on his chest, and it’s solid, warm,safe.
“I trust you,” he murmurs into my hair, voice low and guttural. “I trust you so much that it scares me. But having Hunter follow you—that was only ever about your safety. I won’t apologize for that.”
I tilt my head back, meeting his eyes. There’s no mask this time. No calculated charm. Just Axel, stripped bare in a way only I get to see. And it hits me like a punch to the ribs—how much I actually love him.
“I should’ve told you,” he adds, softer now. “That’s on me. But it was always to keep you safe.”
I close my eyes, resting my forehead against his chest. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, even if I don’t know exactly what for—maybe for walking away. For not understanding. For not trusting him the way he needed me to.
“I don’t want your apology, Cassie.” His hands lift to my face, tilting it gently so I’m forced to meet those piercingly dark eyes, the ones that hold so much violence. I swear I could fall into them and never hit the bottom.
“Then what do you want?” I ask, barely breathing, my gaze flickering to his mouth. He sees it. Iwanthim to see it.
“You. I only want you.” His voice is low, almost reverent, but there's a tension behind it, like he’s afraid if he says it too loud, it’ll all disappear. He holds my face like I’m fragile and dangerous all at once—like I could shatter or detonate, and he’s willing to risk either just to keep me close. His thumb brushes my cheek, slow and trembling, like he’s memorizing the feel of me.
“You’ve ruined you, Cassie. I don’t know how you did it, but I’m fucked if I have to live a life without you.”
The words hit me like a sucker punch.
I blink, stunned. Not because of the confession—not really. Iknew. Deep down, beneath all the smirks and arguments, beneath the tension that crackled every time he said my name like it meant more than it should—I knew he felt something.
But it’showhe says it.
