*𝔇𝔬𝔫’𝔱 𝔍𝔲𝔡𝔤𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔅𝔞𝔯𝔰 𝔟𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔲𝔰𝔱* ƘԼƳƦƖƇƛԼ ƦӇƳMЄƧ ™ Elijah’s first night out felt like a dream someone else was living. After seven years behind bars, even air had taste. The city buzzed with its cruel blend of beauty and noise. He checked into a small room on the outskirts of town, quiet, hidden, forgettable. Just how he liked it. But even in that silence, he needed to see her. Nalia. He didn’t call her right away. Not the first day. He needed to breathe before he saw the reason he still believed in love. But on the third night, high off the thrill of freedom and whiskey he’d earned, he called. She answered in seconds. “Hey stranger,” she said, voice tight like she hadn’t slept. He looked at her through the screen and smiled. “Miss me?” Her eyes softened. “More than you know.” Then, before she could say anything else, a girl appeared behind him on the screen. Laughing. Barely dressed. She kissed his neck, bold, teasing. Nalia froze. Elijah met her eyes. “You watching?” he asked. Her jaw clenched. She didn’t speak. He turned, took the girl’s face in his hand, kissed her deeply, slow, messy, intentional. Then turned back to the camera. “Would you want me to do that to you?” he asked. His voice wasn’t cocky. It was raw. Honest. Tired of pretending. Nalia’s silence cracked. “You asshole,” she whispered. “Am I?” he said. “Or do you just hate seeing someone else get what you’ve been dying for?” She ended the call. Two hours later, she was at his door. No knocking. Just a slam as it burst open and she stepped inside, fury wrapped in her uniform. Her eyes found him. The room smelled like sex, but the other girl was gone. Gone before Nalia arrived, like Elijah knew how she’d respond. “You think this is funny?” she hissed. He stepped forward, shirtless, unashamed. “No. I think it’s honest.” Her hand rose to slap him, but he caught her wrist mid air. Their bodies clashed, breathing hard. Silence, tension, then... She kissed him. Hard. Hungry. Like the taste of him was something she'd been dying to remember. He pinned her to the wall, mouth on hers, his hands pulling her uniform open, exposing the skin beneath. She groaned into him, melting into the desire she had buried for too long. He lifted her, carried her to the bed like she weighed nothing. Laid her down, eyes never leaving hers. “You came,” he whispered, undoing her belt. “Didn’t you?” She nodded, biting her lip. “Then let me give you what you’ve been craving every night since that blackout.” His tongue traced the curve of her neck, her collarbone, down her stomach. She gasped when he slid into her, slow, deep, knowing every inch of her was aching for him. Their bodies moved like they were syncing the broken clocks of the time they’d lost. She moaned his name. He cursed hers. It wasn’t just sex. It was a memory unpaused. A prison visit they were never allowed. A fantasy once whispered through steel, now finally real. She trembled beneath him, nails digging into his back. He held her tighter, faster, rougher, until her body broke in waves. She cried out his name, louder than she meant to. He followed, collapsing into her, breath heavy against her neck. Minutes passed. Then silence. Their bodies tangled, sweat cooling between them. “You’re dangerous,” she whispered. He kissed her shoulder. “And you still came.” She sighed, brushing her fingers over his chest. “I hate that I love you.” He smiled. “You loved me before you knew you weren’t supposed to.” But love doesn’t fix what the world wants buried. The next morning, he handed her the flash drive. She didn’t ask what was in it. Not until she saw the news. He was dead two nights later. Murdered by federal agents. They called it "resisting arrest." But she knew. The sex hadn’t been closure, it was his goodbye. He knew they were coming. In rage, she tried to turn him in, blind with grief, convinced he tricked her. But when she saw what was really on the flash drive, corruption, murder, her own department complicit. She realized she’d almost handed over the only truth he had left behind. She betrayed him. And then, she redeemed him. The world would remember Elijah as a fallen whistleblower, a convict who died trying to clean the rot he was thrown into. But Nalia? She would remember the man who made her feel alive in a place built to kill.