The sun had barely risen when Daisy stood before the penthouse window, arms folded across her chest, gaze distant. The city stretched below her restless, fast, ever-moving. Unlike her, who felt trapped in a beautiful golden cage.
Behind her, Xander lay tangled in silk sheets, bare chest rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. He looked peaceful, almost innocent.
She knew better.
The flash drive still sat on the nightstand, untouched since he revealed it. Daisy hadn't asked to see it again. She wasn't ready. Not yet.
Because whatever truth it held redemption or deeper betrayal she needed to face it on her terms. And she hadn't decided yet if she could.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: "Are you really free, Daisy? Or have you just switched cages?"
Her stomach turned.
It wasn't just the words. It was the implication.
Someone was watching her.
She turned sharply, scanning the room. Nothing.
Just her and Xander.
But the message stayed burned in her mind.
By the time Xander stirred awake, Daisy had dressed in jeans and a cropped hoodie, pacing near the kitchen with a mug of untouched coffee. Her hair was messy, her eyes stormy.
He walked in shirtless, as always, wearing just his pajama bottoms and that unbothered smirk that ignited her and infuriated her in equal measure.
"You didn't sleep," he noted.
"No," she replied shortly.
"You want to talk about it?"
She met his gaze. "Do you?"
Xander narrowed his eyes. "Meaning?"
"Meaning… every time I get closer to you, I feel like I'm losing a piece of myself."
"Or maybe you're just shedding the parts of you that were never really yours."
She blinked.
That was deep.
Too deep.
"You always twist things into your control," she muttered.
"Control keeps people safe," he said. "You think this world doesn't want to eat you alive? I protect what's mine."
"But I'm not yours," she snapped.
His jaw ticked.
"Then stop crawling into my bed every night."
That one hit.
Hard.
Because he was right.
But so was she.
They were trapped in each other's gravity equally addicted, equally afraid.
Daisy looked down at her coffee. "I need some space today."
"To do what?"
"To breathe."
He didn't stop her. He didn't grab her wrist. He just stared for a moment, then stepped aside.
"Go then," he said.
"But don't pretend you're walking away from this when it's the only place you've ever truly belonged."
Daisy took the elevator down, heart pounding like she was escaping prison. She didn't know where she was going just that she needed fresh air, noise, life.
She found it in a crowded street cafe.
There, while sipping lukewarm tea, she let her mind drift to her father.
To the deal that changed her life.
To the contract that started it all.
And to Xander.
She hated how much she missed him already.
The scent of him.
The bite of his words.
The way he looked at her like she was the only one that mattered.
She touched her lips absently.
She needed to go back.
But this time she needed to do it on her own terms.
By nightfall, Daisy returned to the penthouse. The door opened to silence.
No music.
No laughter.
No shirtless CEO with arrogant eyes.
"Xander?" she called, walking deeper.
No response.
She passed the living room and froze.
The flash drive.
It was gone.
Her heart dropped.
Then came the sound water running.
She moved to the master bedroom and peeked into the bathroom.
There he was.
In the tub.
Eyes closed.
Whiskey glass on the edge, his head leaned back.
Steam rose around him like smoke from a sleeping dragon.
She stepped in.
He didn't open his eyes.
"You left," he said simply.
"I came back."
"Why?"
"Because leaving didn't fix the ache."
His eyes opened slowly.
She stepped closer.
"I want you," she whispered. "But not on your terms anymore."
He didn't move.
She climbed into the tub fully clothed, jeans soaking instantly, and straddled him, water splashing around them.
He stared at her like she'd lost her mind.
"I'm tired of pretending," she said, gripping his face. "Tired of hiding from what this is."
He didn't speak. He kissed her.
Hard. Desperate. Dangerous.
The water sloshed, their soaked clothes clinging to each other as their lips crashed, hands roaming, breath catching.
She unzipped herself slowly, his eyes following every movement.
"You like breaking rules?" he rasped.
"I like breaking yours," she breathed.
And he took that as a challenge.
He pulled her onto him, the wet denim dragging against his thighs, his hands gripping her hips as she began to move, grinding, writhing, claiming him.
"You're mine," he growled against her lips.
"Tonight," she gasped. "I'll be yours tonight."
They didn't make it to the bed.
Not right away.
From the tub to the sink to the wall, their bodies were relentless.
He lifted her, pressed her against the cold marble, her legs around his waist, her head thrown back.
"Tell me what you want," he demanded.
"You," she moaned.
"Where?"
"Everywhere."
He gave her that.
Kisses that bruised.
Hands that explored.
Tongues that tasted.
They collapsed on the rug afterward, panting and soaked, laughing breathlessly like two mad people caught in a forbidden fairytale.
Lying beside him on the floor, wrapped in a towel, Daisy finally asked the question she'd been avoiding:
"Who else knows about my father?"
Xander didn't answer right away.
Then: "People who want to see you destroyed."
Her blood chilled.
"Why?"
"Because your father protected something bigger than you know. And now you're the last person standing between them and it."
She blinked.
"What does that mean?"
He turned his head to her.
"It means you're not safe, Daisy. Not even with me."
Just then, the penthouse phone rang.
Xander sat up, grabbed the cordless.
He answered.
Listened.
Then froze.
Daisy watched his face drain of color.
"What is it?" she whispered.
His voice was tight when he answered:
"They found your mother."
Daisy sat upright.
"My mother is dead."
Xander's jaw clenched.
"Not anymore."