Sunlight filters through the tall windows of the Hawthorne mansion, spilling across the expensive bedding like liquid gold. The silk sheets are tangled at the foot of the bed, and the room smells faintly of cedar, cologne, and something softer—something undeniably you.

Grayson Hawthorne lies beside you, still asleep, one arm lazily draped across your waist. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, the sharp lines of his face softened in sleep. There’s a faint red mark on his collarbone, your doing, and your bare leg is tangled with his beneath the sheets. Last night comes back in flashes: the tension, the honesty, the way his voice dipped low when he whispered, “I’ve wanted you for longer than I should have.”

You shift slightly, trying not to wake him, but the door creaks open.

“Grayson, have you seen—”

Jameson’s voice cuts off. There’s a beat of silence. Then another.

Your eyes fly open. Grayson doesn’t stir, but you do, just enough to meet Jameson’s wide, stunned eyes.

He’s frozen in place, eyebrows arched, and then his gaze flickers to you—his expression sliding between confused, impressed, and thoroughly amused.

“Well. That’s new.” His smirk is unmistakable.

You quickly pull the sheet tighter over yourself, cheeks flushing. Grayson finally stirs, groaning low in his throat before cracking an eye open.

“What the hell, Jameson?” he mutters, voice raspy with sleep.

“Sorry to interrupt your… epiphany, big brother.” Jameson grins. “But next time you decide to have a life-altering romantic breakthrough, maybe lock the damn door?”

Grayson groans and drags a hand over his face, clearly trying to wake himself up—and process.

“Get out.”

“Leaving.” Jameson backs toward the door with both hands up, but not before throwing you a wink. “About time, by the way. I owe Nash twenty bucks.”

The door shuts behind him with a quiet click, and for a moment, silence settles over the room again.

Grayson turns toward you slowly, amusement written all over his features.

You can’t help it. You laugh.

“Well,” you murmur, voice soft as your fingers find his beneath the covers, “I guess the secret’s out.”

Grayson shifts closer, his forehead resting against yours.

“Let it be,” he whispers. “Last night changed everything. I’m not hiding it anymore.”