"I got you," he whispers against my hair, his heartbeat steady under my ear. "Always."

I feel the truth of it in every touch, every breath we share. The tightness in my chest unravels, the sharp edges of my pain gradually smoothing under his careful hands. When my sobs quiet to hiccups, I pull back just enough to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes away a tear, so gentle it cracks open something new inside me—not destruction, but possibility.

"Hi," he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering on my cheek.

"Hi," I breathe.

His eyes search mine, seeing past the mascara tracks and tear-stained cheeks to the truth I can't hide anymore. "Len, what happened?"

"She… she has them, Nate," I whisper, my voice raw.

"Who?" His brows furrow, but I see the storm gathering in his eyes.

"Farrah. She has the photos."

His body goes rigid, the tenderness in his expression hardening to steel.

"Stay here," he says, his voice careful but brooking no argument.

"Where are you going?" Panic flutters in my chest as he steps away.

"I'll be right back," he promises, his touch lingering on my cheek before he strides past Camilla and through the door.

Camilla catches my eye and shrugs. We both know there's no stopping Nate when he's like this.

I slide down to the floor, exhaustion tugging at my bones. But even as the weight of everything threatens to pull me under again, I hold onto the one truth I know: Nate has me. In every way that matters, in all the ways that count, he has me.

63. He Can’t, But I Will

CHAPTER 63

HE CAN’T, BUT I WILL

NATE

Rage surges through me, raw and unrelenting. My chest constricts and my throat burns as my vision narrows to Farrah's smug smirk, her casual cruelty a knife twisting in my gut. The moment Nora's trembling voice told me what Farrah did—that she somehow got those photos I thought were destroyed—everything else faded away.

That fucker must've sent them to her before I got to him. My fists clench until my knuckles ache, but the pain is distant, meaningless compared to the fury coursing through my veins.

I cut through the crowd like a storm front. Farrah stands with Shay and Harlow and a crew of elite assholes, their laughter grating against my eardrums as she positions her phone for a selfie. Without hesitation, I snatch it mid-pose and slam it to the ground. The screen shatters with a satisfying crack that silences nearby conversations. I grind my heel into the pieces, reducing them to glittering dust.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Farrah's shriek pierces the air.

"What's wrong with me?" My voice emerges as a dangerous growl as I step closer, the scent of her expensive perfume turning my stomach.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Farrah? You threatened her? Do you have any idea⁠⁠—"