With a low, contented grunt, he slowly rolled off of you, the sheets rustling beneath his weight. The air was still heavy with heat and the scent of sweat and skin. For a moment, he simply lay there—chest rising and falling, lips parted, eyes on the ceiling like he was trying to make sense of the choices he’d just made.

Then, almost instinctively, his arm reached for you.

He pulled you in without a word, his touch no longer lustful but protective, maybe even possessive. Your bare skin slid against his as he curled around you, your head tucking neatly under his chin. One hand found the small of your back, the other resting along your waist. His body was warm, heart beating steadily beneath your cheek.

A slow, smug smile spread across his face—satisfied, yes, but tinged with something else. Something deeper. Something dangerous.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

Not with you.

You were too young. Too bright. Too soft in ways he wasn’t sure he deserved anymore. And he was married, technically—wasn’t he?

To Cassandra.

The name alone stirred something unpleasant in him. That carefully curated, camera-ready marriage had been a farce from the start. No real affection. No true connection. Just business. Optics. A mutual understanding to play the roles expected of them. Husband. Wife. Power couple. Puppets.

But no matter how fake it all felt behind the scenes, the rules still applied. No stepping out. No scandals. No sleeping with someone on the side.

And yet, here you were. In his bed. Again.

It wasn’t supposed to go this far. At first, maybe it was just a distraction—a way to feel something when everything else in his life felt hollow and rehearsed. But somewhere along the line, it shifted. Somewhere between late-night texts and stolen glances, between lingering touches and whispered nothings, he started craving more than just your body.

The sex? Sure, it was incredible. Addictive, even.

But the real problem—the part that kept him up at night—was the way he caught himself watching you after, like this, when the chaos faded and the room was quiet. How he memorized the way your lashes brushed your cheeks when you drifted off. How he wanted to hold you longer than he should. How part of him wondered what it would be like if this… wasn’t a secret.

If it was real.

And that terrified him more than anything else.

Because for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just breaking the rules.

He was breaking his own heart.