Chapter 11: The Secret Unveiled

Harper woke Monday morning in a bed that wasn't hers, silk sheets tangled around her legs, the faint ache in her muscles a testament to the night she'd spent with Zane Carver. The master suite was a cocoon of navy and shadow, mirrors reflecting the chaos they'd left—her silver dress shredded on the floor, his slacks crumpled beside it, the air still thick with the scent of sweat and sex. She rolled over, expecting to find him, but the bed was empty, the indent of his body cold. A pang of something—disappointment, maybe—hit her, sharp and unexpected.She sat up, wincing as the sheets slid over her bare skin, every nerve still raw from their breaking point. Last night had been a collision—fierce, unrestrained, a surrender that had left her breathless and claimed. I'm yours, she'd gasped, and he'd taken her, over and over, until the world narrowed to just them, silk and mirrors and the sound of her name on his lips. Now, in the quiet aftermath, reality crept in, heavy with questions she wasn't ready to face.Voices drifted from the hall—low, tense—and she grabbed his discarded shirt from the floor, pulling it on as she padded barefoot toward the sound. The living room glowed with morning light, the city skyline a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside her. Zane stood by the windows, phone to his ear, his back rigid, dark jeans slung low on his hips, shirtless and tousled. His voice was clipped, a rare edge of vulnerability cutting through."No, I don't care what she says," he snapped, raking a hand through his hair. "Tell her to fuck off. I'm done with this."Harper froze, hovering near the kitchen island, the marble cool under her palms. He hadn't seen her yet, too caught in the call, and she debated retreating—until he turned, his gray eyes locking onto hers, softening for a split second before hardening again."I'll handle it," he said into the phone, then ended the call, tossing it onto the couch with a force that made it bounce. "Morning," he said, his tone rough, crossing to her with a stride that carried last night's intensity."Who was that?" she asked, keeping her voice steady, though her pulse kicked up under his stare.He hesitated, leaning against the island, arms crossed over his bare chest—muscle and shadow she'd mapped with her hands hours ago. "No one worth talking about.""Bullshit." She mirrored his stance, the oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder, exposing the bruise he'd left on her neck. "You don't snap like that over 'no one.'"His jaw tightened, a flicker of something—pain, maybe—crossing his face before he masked it. "You want the ugly truth?""Always." She held his gaze, unflinching, the air between them thickening with more than just their usual heat.He exhaled, sharp and resigned, and grabbed a bottle of water from the counter, twisting it open but not drinking. "My ex-fiancée. Lauren. She's trying to claw her way back into my life—again."Harper blinked, caught off guard. "Fiancée?""Was." He set the bottle down, his voice dropping to a growl. "Two years ago. Caught her fucking my business partner in my own damn office. Took half my trust with her when she left."The words hit like a punch, raw and unguarded, and she saw it—the crack in his armor, the reason for his control, his walls. "That's why you're…" She trailed off, searching for the right word."An asshole?" He smirked, bitter and self-aware, stepping closer. "Yeah. Trust doesn't come easy after that."She swallowed, her chest tightening—not pity, but understanding. "I get it. But I'm not her, Zane.""I know." His hand lifted, brushing her jaw, his thumb tracing the edge of her lips. "You're fire. She was ice. That's why this—" He gestured between them, his voice softening. "It scares the shit out of me."Her breath caught, his vulnerability stripping her bare in a way last night's passion hadn't. "Me too," she admitted, quieter, leaning into his touch. "But I'm not running.""Good." His fingers slid to her neck, grazing the bruise, and his eyes darkened—not with hunger, but something deeper. "Come with me.""Where?" She didn't resist as he took her hand, leading her through the penthouse, past the bedroom's wreckage, to a glass door she hadn't noticed before."Hot tub," he said, pushing it open to reveal a private terrace—city views sprawling below, a sleek tub bubbling under a canopy of dusk. "Need to clear my head. You're helping."She arched a brow, but the heat in his gaze—soft, not demanding—pulled her in. "Fine. But I don't have a suit.""Don't need one." He smirked, shedding his jeans with a casual flick, stepping into the tub naked, water lapping at his hips. "Get in."Her pulse spiked, a mix of nerves and want, but she didn't hesitate—slipping his shirt off, letting it fall, baring herself to him and the night. His eyes roamed over her, slow and reverent, as she climbed in, the warm water enveloping her, soothing the ache in her muscles. She settled across from him, the jets pulsing against her back, but he shook his head, reaching for her."Here," he murmured, pulling her onto his lap, her legs straddling his thighs, water sloshing around them. His hands settled on her hips, gentle but firm, and she felt him—hard, ready—but he didn't push, just held her, his forehead resting against hers."Zane—" Her voice trembled, her hands sliding to his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the weight he carried."Shh." He kissed her—not fierce, not claiming, but slow, tender, a brush of lips that deepened into a sensual dance. His tongue traced hers, tasting her, and she melted into him, her fingers threading through his damp hair, pulling him closer. The water swirled, hot and intimate, their bodies pressed together, skin slick and warm.His hands roamed, sliding up her back, down to her thighs, exploring with a patience that unraveled her. "You're not her," he whispered against her lips, echoing her words, his breath ragged. "You're everything."Her chest tightened, emotion tangling with desire, and she kissed him harder, her hips rocking against him, feeling him pulse beneath her. He groaned, low and deep, his hands guiding her, lifting her just enough to tease, the tip of him brushing her entrance. "Slow," he rasped, a plea or a promise, and she nodded, sinking down, taking him inch by inch, the stretch and heat drawing a moan from them both.They moved together, unhurried, the water amplifying every sensation—his hands on her breasts, thumbs circling, her nails digging into his shoulders as she rode him. The city glittered beyond, a distant audience to their quiet intensity, steam rising around them like a shroud. His mouth found her neck, kissing the bruise he'd left, then lower, sucking her breast as she arched, the pleasure building slow and steady, a tide she couldn't hold back."Harper," he groaned, his voice breaking, his hands tightening on her hips as he thrust up, deeper, matching her rhythm. She gasped, her head tipping back, water splashing as she chased the edge, his name a chant on her lips. He pulled her down, kissing her fierce and desperate, and she shattered—her climax rolling through her, soft but overwhelming, her body trembling against his. He followed, a guttural sound as he spilled into her, his arms banding around her, holding her through the aftershocks.They stayed there, locked together, water lapping at their skin, breaths mingling in the steam. His hand slid to her face, brushing wet strands from her cheek, and he kissed her again—soft, lingering, a seal on the vulnerability he'd let her see. "Stay," he murmured, his voice rough with more than just lust.She nodded, too spent to argue, resting her head on his shoulder, the hot tub's heat sinking into her bones. Tomorrow, they'd face the world—work, secrets, the mess of them—but tonight, in this bubble of water and trust, she let herself belong to him, and he to her.