Chapter 3
I woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of rain still falling.
For three seconds I didn't remember where I was. Then it hit me like a freight train.
I sat up, pressed my palms to my eyes, and breathed.
When I padded into the kitchen, Kade was at the stove with his back to me. He'd changed into gray joggers that sat low on his hips. No shirt. His back was a landscape of muscle — broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, every line defined.
He turned when he heard me.
"Morning. Eggs?"
I tried very hard to keep my eyes on his face.
"You don't have to cook for me."
"I know. Sit down."
He set a plate in front of me — scrambled eggs, toast, fresh fruit — and leaned against the counter with his own coffee, still shirtless.
The rain light from the windows cut shadows along his abs. There was a trail of dark hair below his navel that disappeared into the waistband of those joggers.
I focused aggressively on my eggs.
"Elena. I had my lawyer pull your marriage records this morning."
I looked up. "You what?"
"The house is in Marcus's name. But the renovation — the $200,000 renovation — that was your money. Your inheritance from your grandmother."
I went still. He was right. I'd sunk Gran's entire estate into that house because Marcus said it was "our investment."
"You have legal standing to recover that. If you want to fight."
"I—" My phone rang. Marcus.
I stared at the screen. Kade watched me.
"Answer it or don't. Your call."
I picked up.
"Elena. Where are you?" Marcus's voice was clipped. Irritated. Like I was an employee who'd missed a meeting.
"Not your concern anymore."
"I need you to come get your things today. Naomi's moving in. She needs the closet space."
The audacity punched the air from my lungs.
"She's — you're moving her into our bedroom?"
"It's my house, Elena. And she's carrying my child. Be reasonable."
I hung up. My hand was shaking again.
Kade set his coffee down.
"I'll send movers. You don't have to go there."
I shook my head. "No. I'm going myself. I'm not letting them pack up my life like I'm already dead."
Kade studied me for a long beat.
"Then I'm coming with you."
An hour later, I was back in that house. My house. The one I'd painted every wall of. The one I'd designed the garden for.
Naomi was already there, in a silk robe, rearranging my bookshelf.
She turned and saw me — then saw Kade behind me in the doorway.
Her mouth fell open.
"Who—" She recovered fast. Slid right back into the doe-eyed act. "Elena. I'm glad you came. I want us to talk. I want us to be sisters again."
"I'm here for my things," I said. "Stay out of my way."
I went upstairs. My closet — half-emptied already. Naomi's clothes were hanging where mine had been.
Something in me went very, very cold.
I packed efficiently. Clothes, documents, jewelry Gran had left me.
When I came back down with two suitcases, Marcus was home. He was staring at Kade, who was leaning against the kitchen island, scrolling his phone, looking like he owned the place.
"Who the fuck are you, and why are you in my house?" Marcus snapped.
Kade didn't look up from his phone. "I believe you already know who I am, Marcus. We met last night. You stammered."
Marcus's face purpled. He turned on me.
"You're already with someone else? It's been twelve hours!"
"You announced your affair in front of two hundred people yesterday," I said, hauling my suitcases to the door. "You don't get to be offended."
Marcus grabbed my arm. "We're not done talking—"
Kade's hand closed around Marcus's wrist. He'd moved so fast I hadn't seen it.
"Take your hand off her." Quiet. Absolute.
Marcus let go like he'd been burned.
I walked out.
In the car, my heart was hammering. Kade's hand was still curled into a fist on his thigh.
"Elena."
"What."
"If he touches you again, I won't just grab his wrist."
I looked at his profile — the hard set of his jaw, the tension in his neck — and my stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
That night, back at the penthouse, I couldn't sleep again.
I kept thinking about Marcus's hand on my arm. About Kade's hand replacing it. About the heat of his chest that morning in the kitchen.
At 1 a.m. I gave up and went to get water.
Kade was in the living room. On the couch. In those same low-slung joggers and nothing else.
He was awake, laptop open, but he closed it when he saw me.
"Can't sleep?"
"No."
He shifted over. I sat beside him. The city lights painted the room silver and blue.
"Kade. Why did your face go so dark when Marcus grabbed me?"
He turned his head. His eyes were very close.
"Because no one puts their hands on you. Not while I'm standing there."
The air between us thinned. I could feel the warmth rolling off his bare skin.
"We haven't seen each other in six years," I whispered. "You don't owe me protection."
"This has nothing to do with what I owe you."
His gaze dropped to my mouth. Held there.
My breath stopped.
He leaned closer — slowly enough that I could have pulled away. I didn't.
His lips brushed mine. Barely there. Testing.
Then his hand came up to the back of my neck, and he kissed me for real.
For three seconds I didn't remember where I was. Then it hit me like a freight train.
I sat up, pressed my palms to my eyes, and breathed.
When I padded into the kitchen, Kade was at the stove with his back to me. He'd changed into gray joggers that sat low on his hips. No shirt. His back was a landscape of muscle — broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, every line defined.
He turned when he heard me.
"Morning. Eggs?"
I tried very hard to keep my eyes on his face.
"You don't have to cook for me."
"I know. Sit down."
He set a plate in front of me — scrambled eggs, toast, fresh fruit — and leaned against the counter with his own coffee, still shirtless.
The rain light from the windows cut shadows along his abs. There was a trail of dark hair below his navel that disappeared into the waistband of those joggers.
I focused aggressively on my eggs.
"Elena. I had my lawyer pull your marriage records this morning."
I looked up. "You what?"
"The house is in Marcus's name. But the renovation — the $200,000 renovation — that was your money. Your inheritance from your grandmother."
I went still. He was right. I'd sunk Gran's entire estate into that house because Marcus said it was "our investment."
"You have legal standing to recover that. If you want to fight."
"I—" My phone rang. Marcus.
I stared at the screen. Kade watched me.
"Answer it or don't. Your call."
I picked up.
"Elena. Where are you?" Marcus's voice was clipped. Irritated. Like I was an employee who'd missed a meeting.
"Not your concern anymore."
"I need you to come get your things today. Naomi's moving in. She needs the closet space."
The audacity punched the air from my lungs.
"She's — you're moving her into our bedroom?"
"It's my house, Elena. And she's carrying my child. Be reasonable."
I hung up. My hand was shaking again.
Kade set his coffee down.
"I'll send movers. You don't have to go there."
I shook my head. "No. I'm going myself. I'm not letting them pack up my life like I'm already dead."
Kade studied me for a long beat.
"Then I'm coming with you."
An hour later, I was back in that house. My house. The one I'd painted every wall of. The one I'd designed the garden for.
Naomi was already there, in a silk robe, rearranging my bookshelf.
She turned and saw me — then saw Kade behind me in the doorway.
Her mouth fell open.
"Who—" She recovered fast. Slid right back into the doe-eyed act. "Elena. I'm glad you came. I want us to talk. I want us to be sisters again."
"I'm here for my things," I said. "Stay out of my way."
I went upstairs. My closet — half-emptied already. Naomi's clothes were hanging where mine had been.
Something in me went very, very cold.
I packed efficiently. Clothes, documents, jewelry Gran had left me.
When I came back down with two suitcases, Marcus was home. He was staring at Kade, who was leaning against the kitchen island, scrolling his phone, looking like he owned the place.
"Who the fuck are you, and why are you in my house?" Marcus snapped.
Kade didn't look up from his phone. "I believe you already know who I am, Marcus. We met last night. You stammered."
Marcus's face purpled. He turned on me.
"You're already with someone else? It's been twelve hours!"
"You announced your affair in front of two hundred people yesterday," I said, hauling my suitcases to the door. "You don't get to be offended."
Marcus grabbed my arm. "We're not done talking—"
Kade's hand closed around Marcus's wrist. He'd moved so fast I hadn't seen it.
"Take your hand off her." Quiet. Absolute.
Marcus let go like he'd been burned.
I walked out.
In the car, my heart was hammering. Kade's hand was still curled into a fist on his thigh.
"Elena."
"What."
"If he touches you again, I won't just grab his wrist."
I looked at his profile — the hard set of his jaw, the tension in his neck — and my stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
That night, back at the penthouse, I couldn't sleep again.
I kept thinking about Marcus's hand on my arm. About Kade's hand replacing it. About the heat of his chest that morning in the kitchen.
At 1 a.m. I gave up and went to get water.
Kade was in the living room. On the couch. In those same low-slung joggers and nothing else.
He was awake, laptop open, but he closed it when he saw me.
"Can't sleep?"
"No."
He shifted over. I sat beside him. The city lights painted the room silver and blue.
"Kade. Why did your face go so dark when Marcus grabbed me?"
He turned his head. His eyes were very close.
"Because no one puts their hands on you. Not while I'm standing there."
The air between us thinned. I could feel the warmth rolling off his bare skin.
"We haven't seen each other in six years," I whispered. "You don't owe me protection."
"This has nothing to do with what I owe you."
His gaze dropped to my mouth. Held there.
My breath stopped.
He leaned closer — slowly enough that I could have pulled away. I didn't.
His lips brushed mine. Barely there. Testing.
Then his hand came up to the back of my neck, and he kissed me for real.