Addison stepped into the loan office where Wyatt waited, his mask discarded on the desk like shed armor. His scarred features were tense, arms folded across his chest in defensive posture that couldn’t conceal the vulnerability blazing in his eyes.

As she moved closer, sweet mint enveloped her like phantom embrace. The scent triggered memories that crashed through her defenses—mornings when he’d pull her close beneath tangled sheets, his breath warm against her throat as he whispered her name like prayer; nights when his hands traced every curve of her body with reverent hunger, mint still fresh on his lips as he kissed paths down her spine that made her arch beneath his touch; intimate moments when they’d share the same breath, the same heartbeat, the same desperate need that consumed them both completely.

“Dové,” he said softly, the endearment carrying the weight of everything they’d lost.

“Wyatt,” she replied, her voice catching on his name.

“Am I doing the right thing?” he asked with uncertainty that transformed his commanding presence into something fragile. “These interrogations, this confrontation—am I making the right choices?”

She studied his face, noting doubt that cracked through tactical composure like fractures in stone.

“You’re doing what you believe is right,” she said with gentle conviction. “That means everything is as it should be.”

He stepped closer, unfolding his arms as vulnerability replaced defensive positioning. “Because right now, I’m not sure of anything except how much I’ve missed you.”

His hand reached for hers with careful precision, fingers intertwining like puzzle pieces finding perfect fit.

“I’m tired, Wyatt,” she confessed with exhaustion that went beyond physical fatigue. “I just want to go home.”

“Where is home?” he asked with quiet intensity that demanded honest answer.

“I don’t know anymore,” she replied with devastating honesty that cut through both their hearts. “I just want this nightmare to end.”

“I want it to end too,” he whispered with voice that cracked under emotional weight. “I’m exhausted from fighting, from hiding, from watching you from the shadows. I want to finally be with you again.”

“But?”

“But I need proof,” he said with tactical determination that warred against personal longing. “I need Jaxon’s confession about those contracts. Without it, justice stays buried.”

“I’m not sure he has any evidence to give,” she said carefully, loyal instincts protecting the father of her child despite her confusion.

“He does,” Wyatt declared with steel conviction. “And I’ll prove it to you.”

“I can talk to him,” she offered with hesitant cooperation. “But Wyatt, I don’t believe he’s a killer. Whatever signatures exist, whatever payments went through—there has to be another explanation.”

“Then he can provide that explanation publicly,” Wyatt replied with intensity that promised devastating revelation. “In front of witnesses who deserve the truth.”

The space between them crackled with electricity as five years of separation collided with present reality. They stood close enough to share breath, close enough for memories to bridge impossible distances.

“I missed you,” he confessed with a voice that broke under accumulated longing. “Every second of five years. Every breath without you was agony.”

The memories exploded through her consciousness like wildfire—whispered promises in rumpled sheets, shared dreams of white picket fences and children with his eyes, the engagement ring she’d worn for eight months before grief consumed everything.

“I remember,” she confessed with tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Then remember this too,” he whispered, his lips finding hers with five years of suppressed longing.

The kiss detonated through her defenses like lightning strike, igniting responses her body had never forgotten. She melted against him despite every rational thought screaming warnings, her hands fisting in his tactical gear as passion overwhelmed logic.

They kissed with desperate hunger that spoke of separation and reunion, of love that had survived abandonment and corporate manipulation. His familiar taste, his scent, his touch—everything triggered memories that made present reality fade into background noise.

“Choose me,” he whispered against her lips between desperate kisses. “Choose what we had over what he’s offering.”

“I—”

The office door exploded inward with violent force.

“ADDISON!”

Jaxon stood frozen in the doorway, his bruised face transforming into something dangerous as he witnessed his pregnant fiancée kissing the man who’d once owned her heart completely.

The tableau froze like a photograph capturing devastating betrayal—two lovers caught in passionate embrace while territorial fury prepared to destroy everything they’d built from the ashes of their former lives.