Asher POV
I woke to warmth.
Not sunlight. Not blankets.
Her.
Rose lay sprawled across my chest like she owned the entire world and decided my body was a more comfortable throne. One of her legs had hooked over mine sometime during the night, her arm draped across my waist, her face nuzzled into my skin like she was burrowing into me.
Like she belonged there.
Her hair—God, her wild, beautiful, chaotic hair—was everywhere. A mess across my chest, across the pillows, covering half my neck. I didn't brush it away. I wanted the imprint of her on me for as long as I could keep it.
I breathed her in.
Her scent clung to the air—soft, dangerous, innocent and wicked at the same time. A paradox. A storm wrapped in delicate skin. My storm.
She shifted, nuzzling closer, making a soft sound in her sleep. It punched breath right out of me. How the hell did I go from being a man who didn't let anyone close… to waking up with a girl sleeping on my chest and feeling like I would murder anyone who tried to take this moment from me?
I traced a finger down her cheek. Slowly. Reverently. Worshipping her like she was the only religion I'd ever bow to.
She was chaos, unpredictable, infuriating—and I was addicted.
God help me, I was addicted.
My mind drifted back to the first time I saw her—the memory burned into me like a brand I never wanted erased.
Her mother's ballroom.
The Varela Hotel.
The chandeliers.
Her standing at the podium, silk and danger wrapped into one body.
Calling herself Chaos with a smile that could ruin empires.
That moment when our eyes met across the room
The pull.
The recognition.
The fucking certainty that she was mine.
She walked out like she owned the night, and I followed her like a man who had no control over his legs or his fate. The chase had been instinct. The confrontation in the parking lot, the arrest, the stubbornness, the sweet defiance all of it carved into me.
Now here she was.
Asleep on me.
Like the world hadn't tried to rip us apart already and still is.
That was the beginning.
I should have walked away. Should have kept my distance. Should have called it what it was—trouble.
But I didn't.
Because the moment she looked at me—for half a second across that ballroom—I felt something shift violently inside me.
Something crack.
And I fell.
Fast.
Hard.
Like an idiot.
and I will do it again.
She had no idea what she did to me that night. How she tore into my world with a single glance and settled there like she belonged in the place I kept locked from everyone else.
And she still doesn't know the half of it.
I brushed hair away from her forehead, kissing the spot gently, careful not to wake her. She looked softer in sleep. Less guarded. Beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.
She made me feel… something I hadn't let myself feel in years.
Peace.
And danger all at once.
The combination was addicting.
Everything was worth it.
She was worth it.
I slipped out from under her slowly, careful not to wake her, adjusting her head onto the pillow. She made a soft sound a little unhappy hum, like she noticed I was gone but didn't wake. The shirt she had stolen last night slid off her shoulder, exposing the curve of her neck. I swallowed, forcing myself to look away before I crawled right back into bed and forgot the world existed.
I left the room quietly and padded down the hallway, stretching my neck.
Her mansion was silent.
Empty.
She sent all the workers away yesterday "reducing collateral damage," she had said so casually over dinner that I nearly choked.
Of course, she said it like she was discussing weather.
I made my way down the giant staircase, appreciating the architecture again. The house was enormous, all clean lines and marble, modern edges softened by luxury finishes. Everywhere I looked, I saw her fingerprints—her taste, her style. Expensive, dramatic, sharp.
Just like her.
I headed for the kitchen to cook well, attempt to. I wasn't useless. I could handle breakfast. Mostly.
I opened the fridge and blinked.
Nothing.
Not "barely stocked."
Not "low supply."
Nothing.
Completely empty except for a jar of jelly, half a lemon, and what looked like a single piece of lettuce clinging to life like it had committed a crime.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"Of course," I muttered under my breath. "Why would Rose Varela buy groceries? Chaos doesn't shop. Chaos improvises."
I reached for the jelly jar just as my phone vibrated on the counter.
I didn't even check the caller ID.
Only one person called this early.
"Asher."
A low chuckle. Male. Familiar. Too casual to be friendly.
"I see you're playing house."
My eyes narrowed. "Say what you want or I'm hanging up."
"Tsk. Always grumpy. I guess only she can soften you." He sounded amused, like this was a game to him.
My grip tightened on the phone.
"Touch a single hair on her head," I said quietly, dangerously, "and you'll wish the grim reaper got to you before I did."
Another dark chuckle.
"Relax, nightmare. I would never. We need her alive… you know that."
My blood ran colder, then hotter. Fury and fear and protectiveness mixing into something deadly.
"Don't forget the plan, Asher," he continued. "We need to move fast so we can all have our break. Good day."
The line clicked.
I stared at the screen for several seconds before lowering the phone.
Good day, my ass.
The plan hadn't changed. I wasn't stupid. I knew the stakes. But right now?
Right now all I could think about was her sleeping upstairs, wearing my shirt, trusting me without knowing what it cost.
I twisted the jelly jar again.
It didn't budge.
"You've got to be kidding..."
I tried harder, grunting, muscles straining. The damn thing refused to open.
That's when I heard footsteps rushing toward the kitchen.
Then
She exploded into the room.
Gun raised.
Eyes blazing.
Hair wild.
My heart nearly stopped.
"What the ? ROSE!" I took a step back. "Why the hell are you holding a gun?"
She stood there, barefoot, wearing nothing but my shirt, looking like an avenging angel ready to send someone to hell.
And I...
I was gone all over again.
Completely, stupidly gone.
"I know your chaos and all," I said, staring at her like she was unbelievable, "but baby, please… let's have breakfast in peace."
Baby.
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
Her cheeks flushed instantly. Her posture faltered. Her grip on the gun loosened like her brain short-circuited.
Good.
She dropped the gun on the counter and marched over, snatching the jar out of my hand with attitude only she could pull off.
Twist.
Pop.
She opened it effortlessly.
"If you need help with jar cases, I'm always available, Mr. Detective," she teased.
I didn't answer.
I was too busy staring at her and wondering when the hell she became the only thing in my world that mattered.