Page 145 of Stolen Harmony
Small intimacies. The kind of domestic routine that felt both natural and revolutionary, given where we'd started.
In the kitchen, I went through the familiar motions of grinding beans and heating water, letting the routine calm the nervous energy that had been building since I'd gotten my lawyer's text. Tonight, everything would change. Either Victor'sinfluence over our lives would end, or this careful peace Rowan and I had built would shatter under the weight of truths that were too dangerous to speak.
“You're tense,” Rowan said from the doorway, wrapped in a robe that was too big for him and made him look almost fragile.
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
I handed him his coffee, let our fingers brush as he took the mug. The contact sent electricity up my arm, the same jolt I'd been feeling for days without acting on it.
“Work stuff. There's a situation I need to handle today.”
His eyes sharpened, reading something in my expression that I'd tried to hide. “What kind of situation?”
“One that requires a suit and a lawyer.”
“Elias.”
The way he said my name, like he was trying to see past whatever walls I'd built, made me want to tell him everything. About Victor's manipulation, about the ultimatum that had driven us apart, about the weeks I'd spent building a case that would finally free us both from my brother's shadow.
But not yet. Not until it was done and Victor could never hurt him again.
“Trust me,” I said instead. “Just for today. Let me handle this.”
Rowan studied my face for a long moment, coffee mug cradled between his hands like he was drawing warmth from it. Finally, he nodded.
“Okay. But if you're going into battle, you're not doing it on an empty stomach.”
He moved around the small kitchen with practiced ease, pulling eggs from the refrigerator, bread from the counter, creating a simple breakfast that felt like home. I watched him work, memorizing the way he moved, the unconscious grace ofsomeone who'd learned to take care of himself and was slowly learning to take care of others too.
“Caleb’s coming by later,” he said, cracking eggs into a pan. “We're going to walk around the city, maybe catch a show before the gig. You want to come?”
The invitation was casual, but I heard the hope underneath it.
“I wish I could. This thing tonight... it's important.”
“More important than us?”
“Nothing's more important than us,” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them. “That's why I have to do this.”
Rowan turned from the stove, spatula in hand, and the look in his eyes made my breath catch. There was something different there, something raw and open that hadn’t been present in the careful distance we’d maintained since I’d arrived in New York.
“Elias,” he started, then stopped, shaking his head like he was clearing it of thoughts too dangerous to voice.
“What?” I asked gently, setting down my mug.
“Nothing. Just... be careful tonight. Whatever you’re walking into.”
The concern in his voice, the way he was looking at me like I was something precious that might break, made my chest tighten. This—this was what love felt like, wasn’t it? The careful tending of another person’s wellbeing, the willingness to trust even when you didn’t understand.
After breakfast, I dressed carefully. My best suit—the one that made me look like someone who belonged in boardrooms and private clubs, someone who could play the games men like Victor had perfected. The mirror reflected a stranger: composed, dangerous, ready for war.
Rowan watched me from the bed, still in hisrobe, coffee mug balanced on his knee. “You look like you’re going to destroy someone.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Good.” The simple word, the fierce satisfaction in his voice, reminded me why I was doing this. Not just for abstract justice or moral righteousness, but for the man sitting on rumpled sheets, watching me prepare to fight for something that mattered more than my own safety.
