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"There is nothing wrong with revenge. The wrong has already been done, or there would be no need to even the score."

- Ashly Lorenzana

Waking up with Hector's arm wrapped around my waist, his big hand resting on my lower back, felt right in a way I hadn't even realized I was missing. My head was on his chest, one of my legs tossed over his hip like I belonged there.

I tried piecing together how I ended up in his bed, but my memory was a blur. The last thing I clearly remembered was falling into an exhausted sleep against his chest after our intense sparring session. He must've carried me at some point, tucked me in beside him.

Weird. I was a notoriously light sleeper—years of sleeping with one eye open as a kid, always on guard against anyone who might try to grab or hurt you, will do that to you. It wasn't exactly a choice, more like survival instinct. And yet, here I was, completely knocked out in Hector's bed like I had no worries in the world.

Then, last night came rushing back—his jealousy, the way his whole body tensed when I mentioned Michael Radley. The fire in his eyes, the barely-checked violence. I'd never seen him like that before. It was reckless. Dangerous. Intoxicating.

Peeling away from his lips, pulling back from his warm breath and the longing in his eyes without him saying a word, took immense effort. But I had to.

I rolled out of bed, grabbing my heels from the corner. "I need to go home and get ready for my meeting," I said, heading for the door.

"You need a ride? I'll drop you off," Hector offered, already moving to follow me.

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to," he said, catching my hand before I could leave. "Let me take care of you today."

Well, damn. Put like that, how the hell was I supposed to say no?

"Alright," I said, exhaling. "I appreciate it."

Hector dropped me off a few minutes later, and I rushed inside, relieved that Sawyer wasn't lurking around, ready to chew me out for disappearing overnight. He was dramatic like that—always talking about heart attacks and panic episodes like he was a worried parent instead of my personal security.

I hurried into my attached bathroom, slipped out of last night's little black dress, took a quick shower, and changed into a sharp black pantsuit with my usual pumps. My hair was still a little wild, but I didn't have time to wrestle with it. After a half-assed attempt at drying it, I grabbed my bag and headed back outside—only to stop short when I saw him.

Hector was still there, leaning against his Jeep like he had all the time in the world, arms crossed, completely unbothered by the absolute death glare Sawyer was sending his way. If looks could kill, Hector would've been six feet under. But of course, he didn't even blink.