The early morning light slipped through the curtains in golden threads, brushing softly against the pale sheets that were tangled around the form of Raine Callahan. Her breathing was slow and even, strands of hair fanned across the pillow like a frame around a painting. The room smelled faintly of chamomile, warmth, and something deeper—something shared.
Jeff stood near the edge of the bed, fully clothed now in the same maroon long-sleeve shirt and black pants from the night before, but they felt heavier somehow. Wrinkled, lived in. Marked by something irreversible.
He glanced back at her—her bare shoulder exposed above the sheets, the rise and fall of her chest calm and unaware.
Last night had not been planned.
But it hadn't been a mistake.
It started with laughter. With tea mugs abandoned on the coffee table and quiet jokes under dim light. With a closeness that had slowly melted into something else entirely. Something hungry. Gentle. Real.
They had touched like two people who weren't used to letting anyone in—and finally chose to. No grand declarations. No dramatic confessions. Just breathless honesty in every kiss, every shiver of fingertips down skin. It wasn't about lust.
It was about release. Trust.
Raine had led him to her bed like it was a sanctuary. And Jeff—Tristan—had followed like a man who didn't know if he deserved to be there, but couldn't stop himself from reaching out.
Now, in the morning light, the weight of reality returned in full.
He wasn't just Jeff, the quiet helper, the fake gardener with awkward charm and stolen smiles.
He was Tristan Vaughn.
CEO. Mafia heir. The devil behind the luxury. And she didn't know it. Not really.
She knew his kindness, his shyness, the quiet pain in his eyes—but not the blood on his hands. Not the tattoos inked across his back that marked a darker story. Not the violence that nearly erupted just nights before. Not the reason he couldn't sleep most nights.
Last night, she'd given herself completely. And he… he had too.
But now?
Tristan reached down and gently brushed her hair from her face, his fingers trembling.
"I'm sorry," he whispered so quietly it vanished before it touched her skin.
He scribbled a short note on a piece of paper he found by her fridge:
Had to step out early. Thank you… for last night. I'll see you soon.— Jeff
He placed it carefully on the nightstand and turned back one last time.
Raine shifted slightly in her sleep but didn't wake. Her expression was peaceful. Trusting.
It almost shattered him.
And then he left.
Outside, the sky was overcast, a soft gray stretching above the city like a sigh. Tristan walked with his hands buried in his pockets, the secondhand car already back at the lot. He didn't want to be followed. He didn't want to be found.
He walked because he needed to feel the pavement beneath him. Because the guilt clung too thick to his skin and he didn't know what else to do with it.
Nick's voice rang in his head from a hundred conversations past.
"You think you can separate the two? Be Jeff and still be you? That kind of lie doesn't last, Tris. Not when it matters."
He hated that Nick was right.
But what was the alternative?
Tell her the truth? That Jeff wasn't real? That she slept beside a man with a violent empire? That her soft words and warm milk were given to someone who didn't deserve them?
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. Conflicted. Ashamed.
He didn't regret her.
But he regretted the secret.
He regretted leaving her without an explanation—but what was he supposed to say?
Back at his penthouse, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked tired. Lost. The tattoos on his back peeked just slightly above the collar of his shirt, and for a moment, he hated them. Hated everything they represented. Hated that she hadn't seen them—because maybe if she had, she wouldn't have let him in.
He sat on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands.
Maybe he had to choose.
Maybe he couldn't be both.
But even as he tried to pull away, the memory of her—soft laughter, open arms, whispered name in the dark—held on.
And in the silence of the morning, it echoed louder than any gunfire.