The car stopped outside my building. We sat in silence for a moment, my palms sticky with sweat, fingers still intertwined with his. But the closeness between us had shifted into a stiff uncertainty. The air was heavy with unspoken words: What happens now?

"I get it if you don't reach out for a while," I started cautiously, casting him a quick glance, only to be met with the sight of his curls falling against his back as he stared out the side window.

 "That's up to you," he replied with a slight shrug, his words leaving more questions than answers. 

I bit my lip a few times, struggling with what to say. "So... can I call you sometime?" I mumbled eventually, realizing too late that I sounded like an awkward teenager trying to invite him to make out after prom.

Embarrassed, I turned to look out my own window, my gaze climbing to my apartment. It looked unbearably empty. The driver's seat slid back, and the hand still holding mine gave a subtle tug. He didn't need to ask twice—fuck, he didn't even need to say a word before I was straddling him 

My pulse quickened as his hands slipped beneath my shirt. Every movement screamed impatience, and frustration flared as I wrestled one of my shoes off, letting it hit the car floor with a thud. It wasn't long before both of us were fumbling with zippers and jeans, our motions hurried and clumsy. Fingers traced the curve of my spine, and the waistband of my boxers slid down. I barely had time to register what was happening before he pressed himself into me. The sharp sting had me biting down hard on his shoulder. 

He growled, grabbing a fistful of my hair to pull my mouth from his skin. "Damn it, leech, what did I tell you? No teeth!"

"Sure babe, but can you please calm the fuck down and go easy on me," I panted, trying to relax and ignore the faint, metallic taste of blood on my lips as I moved cautiously over him a few times. 

The hand in my hair released its grip and trailed downward, his arms pulling me into a tight embrace. He buried his face in the hollow above my collarbone, his voice a soft murmur against my hair. 

"Sorry..."

I accepted the apology, letting my lips brush gently over his warm skin. "Eager, aren't you?" I muttered, ignoring the burning sensation inside me as our hips began to move in a steady rhythm.

I felt him hesitate, so I decided to kiss away whatever guilt that was stirring behind those serious eyes. Soon enough, the pain gave way to soft moans, and the uneasy tension dissolved, replaced by sounds of pleasure, fogging windows and the rhythm of our bodies moving together.

Our bodies were pressed together, and for a moment, we didn't give a damn about what anyone else thought. By all accounts, we were supposed to hate each other, but who had the energy to care about prejudice and all that crap? 

Conor's fingers gripped my hips firmly, guiding my movements. He tilted his head back, exposing his throat entirely. I couldn't resist leaning in to taste his warm skin—no teeth this time—and inhaling his scent. The steady pulse in his neck was maddeningly tempting, but I quickly pushed the thought aside.

Two more thrusts, and I collapsed against him like a ragdoll, spent and breathless, unwilling to move. The steering wheel pressed into my back, my legs shook with exhaustion, but I was completely satisfied, floating in my pink haze. 

"I hope, for your sake, that wasn't a goodbye fuck," I panted against his skin.

His chest heaved beneath me, and I felt the brush of lips against my neck. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart."

"Good," I whispered, tightening my arms around his neck. "Neither am I."

I rested in his arms for a while, until he had to go, and reluctantly I left him behind and trudged up the stairs to my apartment. 

But as I reached the landing, a wave of panic hit me—the door was ajar. 

"What the hell..." I ran a hand through my hair, bracing myself for the worst, though nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. 

Inside, the apartment was chaos, a mirror of my inner state. The first thing I noticed was the overturned hall table. Hats, gloves, and random junk spilled across the floor in a haphazard mess. My pulse quickened, but my senses told me the place was empty. Stepping forward, my toes hit something hard. With a sigh, I picked up the fallen photo of Marianne and me and hung it back on the wall. She looked happy in it, perched on my back with her blue bubble gum and wild blonde hair. No one would've guessed she was a notorious spy in the vampire world. God, I didn't miss that life.

On edge, I stepped over the mess in the hall and made my way to the living room. The silence reassured me that whoever had broken in was long gone. Still, the sight that greeted me made my heart sink. I wasn't prepared for this. Some asshole had invaded my space, rifling through my memories and the things I loved.I swallowed hard, fighting back emotions, and my thoughts wandered to Clock. This was his fault. If he'd just left me alone, if he'd let me handle things my way... 

Tears burned behind my eyes. Why did he always make me feel like a lost kid who couldn't do anything right? Not like Conor, I thought, forcing down the lump in my throat. With him, I felt strong and free. 

I ignored the living room—I couldn't deal with it. Instead, I stumbled into the kitchen. The fridge was open, and the blood bags were gone. Vampires. Of course. I sighed, half-expecting to be staked through the heart when I headed to the bedroom. Sliding a hand into my pocket, I pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over Clocksworth's name. He deserved a hell of a rant, but I was too drained. Instead, I found Conor's number. The line rang a few times before I heard the hum of a car in the background. 

"How far did you drive?" I asked quickly, not even waiting for him to speak.

"I can turn back around," he said without hesitation. 

 "Okay, thanks," I mumbled in a shaky voice, kicking a pile of DVDs scattered on the floor. It would take forever to sort them back onto the shelf anyway. 

 "Do I need to hurry?" 

 "Preferably." My eyes landed on a set of keys half-hidden in the mess. My knees buckled, and I collapsed into a sobbing heap. 

 That's how he found me. With my knees pulled up to my chest, tears streaming down my face, clutching an old set of car keys in my hand. The wolf rarely said more than necessary. I often wondered if he was like that with everyone or just with me. Right now, it was exactly what I needed. Footsteps approached, and a heavy body sank down beside me. Seconds later, I had curled up in his lap like a child, too exhausted to keep up appearances. 

 "I'm so fucking naive," I sniffled, closing my eyes as I rested my forehead against his neck. "Vampires don't start over. We're stuck in the same mess no matter where we go." My free hand gripped his shirt tightly, as if I was afraid he might be another one of my countless fantasies and daydreams of a better life. "I'd give anything to be human again." 

 A hand found its way into my hair, gently massaging my scalp as I gasped for air, the kind of hiccupy breaths you take when you've cried too much. 

 "I guess you get used to it eventually? You're still pretty new to this, right?" 

 I nodded against his collarbone. "Would you want to live for hundreds of years?" 

 "Tough question, but probably not," he answered softly. "Too many bad memories to carry around." 

 "I thought I'd get some good ones eventually." 

 His arms tightened around me, and I felt the tension in his muscles. "There's still time, princess. Don't go down that black hole just yet, okay?" 

 Princess. He wasn't the first to call me that, but when it came from him, it sounded affectionate. Not like when Roch had used it as an insult. I pushed the memories of the castle away and looked at the keys in my hand. "We were going to fix it together, me and my dad," I began. "One of those cheesy father-and-son projects that was more his dream than mine." I smiled faintly as I ran my thumb over the worn metal. "But we never got around to it. I ended up helping him with customers' cars instead." I wiped my tears and sighed. "He's so damn proud that I managed to leave the place I grew up in and actually became something." I let out a dry laugh. "He'd lose his mind if he knew what I am." 

 "He sounds like the kind of guy who wouldn't care, as long as you're okay. Happy and all that."

 Tears ran down my cheeks again. Damn it. I had been so close to a normal life. So damn close. "Can I stay at your place tonight?" 

 "You know you can." 

 I got to my feet on shaky legs and held out a hand. "Can we leave now? I can't stand to look at this mess anymore." 

 He stood up, brushed away a stray tear from my cheek, and handed me the car keys. "Wait in the car. I'll pack a bag." 

 I walked down the stairs with slightly lighter steps. He helped. He helped so fucking much. With a faint smile, I slid into the passenger seat and took a deep breath. Tomorrow, I'd call Clocksworth, and I'd tell him to go back to Paris and never come near me again. Never again. I'd start over, and I was going to be happy.

The car keys felt heavy in my pocket, a reminder that it was time to take charge of my life. Time to shape it the way I wanted, not by anyone else's tune. 

 Conor worked all night, and I figured he'd be home soon. Despite the empty bed, I'd slept like royalty, wrapped in the scent of wolf and rosy, fluffy thoughts. Now, I sat in the kitchen, at a foreign table in someone else's home, because mine was completely wrecked. Just like me. 

 The breakfast coffee in my cup had gone cold ages ago, and my eyes were glued to my phone. Call him, Bel, just call and speak from the heart. My hand picked up the phone, and I hit "Call" before I could change my mind. Two rings. Only two, and then he answered. 

 "Bel?" 

 Damn. His voice sounded like home—so safe, so familiar—and I noticed how my pulse picked up. "You need to stop following me, Clock," I sighed, spinning the coffee cup so the porcelain scraped against the wood. 

 He was silent on the other end. I could hear him breathing, but no words came. "I can handle myself. Honestly, I'd be doing better if you hadn't gone after him." 

 "What happened?" he finally asked, with that commanding tone he used when giving orders to his men. 

My trembling voice must have given me away, but I refused to involve him further. "This is your fault. Why are you even here? We agreed, Clock! We agreed we weren't good for each other, but you're still here stirring shit up!" I took a shaky breath, hiding my face in my free hand. God, I hated this. 

 "Because I'm worried about you, Belmont," he muttered softly. "The guy you bought the blood from is just a middleman, and you know how that works." 

 "No, I don't know how that works!" I snapped. "You never let me into that world, Clock. I handled paperwork, in case you forgot!" I inhaled sharply, trying to compose myself. "You've always treated me like some porcelain doll, protecting me from everything. And I'm so tired, Clock. I'm so fucking tired of never being able to just be me." 

 "Because I love you." 

 We were silent for a long time before I opened my mouth again. "It's too late," I choked out. "We've fought too much." 

 "Belmont, can you just tell me what happened?" he asked cautiously. "Please." 

 I got up, walked to the sink, and poured out the cold coffee, keeping the phone pressed to my ear. "My apartment is completely destroyed," I mumbled as I filled the coffeemaker with fresh grounds, added water, and turned it on. 

 "You'll take him down easily, kid. It's the bigger fish that..." 

 "I know," I interrupted curtly, "but I'm not going to get revenge. I'm not even going to care. That way, they'll calm down, and I can go back to my life with..." 

 "With the wolf?" he interjected, bitterness dripping from his voice. 

 "That's the plan. The rest is up to him," I muttered, nervously fingering some old flyers and junk scattered across the kitchen counter. 

 "But it's what you want?" he stated more than asked. 

 With resolve in my voice, I answered simply, "Yes, Clock. It's what I want." 

 He took a deep breath, and I suspected he was filling his lungs with thick cigar smoke. "Let me do one thing, then," he said, his tone flat. "Let me fix my mistake, okay?" 

 "Okay," I whispered, pouring fresh coffee into my cup. 

 "Then I'll leave. I promise." 

 "Okay," I whispered again, because I didn't have a better answer. But it was what I wanted. Wasn't it? "I might head to my dad's," I added, "should be quiet there now." 

 "You can't go back to France yet," he warned. "It's too soon." 

 "Okay," I sighed, my irritation with the life he'd dragged me into building again as I toyed with the car keys in my pocket. A reminder of how my life could've been if he'd never given me his blood. "Fix your damn mistake, then. And after that, I don't want to hear a word from you again. Not ever." 

 I hung up with a lump in my throat, convincing myself that this was for the best. We weren't good for each other. 

 The warm coffee filled my mouth, spreading a comforting heat inside me. Even better was the sound of a key sliding into the lock and the front door opening. Everything would work out, I told myself. Everything would work out.