His POV

She was supposed to be just a girl I hired. No names. No strings. No questions.

But here I am—watching her from behind the glass balcony door like a fucking addict. She’s sitting on the edge, legs crossed, wearing nothing but my white shirt—too big, slipping off one shoulder—and a cigarette between her fingers. The ocean wind plays with her hair, but it’s her silence that gets me. Always has.

She doesn't ask for anything. Not more time. Not more money. And that’s the problem.

Because the one person who never asks… is the only one I want to give everything to.

She turns her head slightly and catches me staring. A half-smile curls on her lips.

“You forgot to bring one of your usual girls, huh?” she says, her voice soft but sharp. “So you dragged me to Hawaii?”

I should’ve answered with a smirk. Should’ve shrugged it off. But I didn’t.

“I never bring anyone to work,” I say. “You’re the exception.”

She snorts, flicks the cigarette off the balcony, and walks back into the room. Bare feet, silent steps. But her presence? It’s loud as hell.

I’m sitting at the edge of the bed when she stops in front of me. Not touching, not speaking. Just looking at me like she knows I’m unraveling.

“You’ve been weird today,” she says after a pause. “Quiet. But… clingier.”

I lean back on my palms, eyes tracing the length of her legs up to the hem of my shirt.

“You don’t usually look at me like I might disappear.”

I exhale, jaw tense. “Because you could. Any fucking day.”

Her expression flickers—just a second. Then she crosses her arms, leans against the bedpost.

“You pay me. I come. I leave. That’s how this works.”

But she’s wrong. That’s how it used to work.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

The words fall out before I can stop them.

She blinks, slow. “Why?”

I look up at her. And for the first time in years, I don’t have a lie ready. No sharp retort. No mask.

I just… kneel.

My knees hit the floor in front of her like gravity dragged me down. My hands rest on her waist, holding her gently, like I’m afraid she’ll vanish if I grip too hard. I rest my head against her stomach, feeling her tense. Then, slowly, her fingers slide into my hair.

“I can’t think straight when you’re not around,” I mutter, voice rough. “And that scares the shit out of me.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t tease. She just holds me there. Her silence louder than any bullet I’ve ever fired.

Then, softly—so fucking softly—it nearly wrecks me, she whispers, “You can fall for me slow. I won’t leave until you’re ready to say it out loud.”

I lift my head. Eyes meet. Close. I kiss her. Not rough. Not greedy. Just… honest.

And for the first time in my fucked-up, blood-soaked life—I’m not looking to take anything from her. I just want to stay.

On my knees. With her.