#ceo!bucky

No answer.

But then—music.

Soft at first, something slow and hazy, vinyl crackle woven through it. It drifts down the hallway from the bedroom, warm and inviting in a way nothing else in his world ever is.

Bucky pauses, something in his chest tightening—not with concern, but anticipation. Because he knows you. Knows that sound, that mood.

And God, he’s already gone for you.

He follows it, steps quiet on the hardwood, pushing the bedroom door open just enough to slip inside—

—and then he stops.

You don’t notice him right away.

You’re in the middle of the room, back to him, swaying lazily to the music. One of his dress shirts hangs off your shoulders, oversized and slipping down just enough to expose the delicate lace underneath. It brushes against your thighs when you move, soft and teasing, like it was made for this.

For him.

For this exact moment.

His breath catches.

You hum along to the song, turning slowly, fingertips trailing along your own skin like you’re caught in your own little world. Carefree. Unbothered. Beautiful in a way that knocks the air straight out of his lungs.

Bucky has negotiated billion-dollar deals without blinking.

He has stared down senators, CEOs, enemies.

But this?

This undoes him.

“Jesus…” he murmurs under his breath.

You finally glance up, catching him in the doorway.

And then you smile.

It’s soft at first. A little playful. Like you’ve been waiting for him to see you.

“Hi, baby,” you say, voice light.

Bucky swears his heart stutters.

“Hi,” he manages, already stepping toward you without thinking, drawn in like gravity shifted in your favor.

You don’t move away. If anything, you drift closer, that slow, swaying rhythm never breaking. The music wraps around the two of you now, filling the space between each step until you’re right in front of him.

Close enough that he can see the details—lace pressed against your skin, the faint flush creeping up your chest, the way his shirt hangs open just enough to make his thoughts spiral.

“Missed you,” you murmur, reaching for his tie.

Your fingers hook into it, tugging him down just slightly, playful but deliberate.

Bucky lets you.

Always lets you.

“Yeah?” His voice is rougher now. Lower. “This how you welcome me home?”

You shrug, lips curving. “Thought I’d try something new.”

God.

He laughs softly—disbelieving, breathless—as his hands finally find your waist. Warm, steady, grounding himself in you like he needs it.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says.

You lean in, brushing your nose against his jaw. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time.”

You giggle, and it’s the sound that does it—the way it bubbles out of you, light and unfiltered. It cracks something open in him, something softer than all the armor he wears outside these walls.

Your hands slide up his chest, smoothing over the fabric of his suit like you’re undoing him piece by piece. Then you tug again, guiding him back a step.

“Sit,” you say, gentle but firm.

Bucky raises a brow, but he listens. Drops onto the edge of the bed, eyes never leaving you as you step between his knees.

He doesn’t deserve this.

The thought hits him hard, sudden and uninvited.

Doesn’t deserve you—your softness, your light, the way you look at him like he’s something good.

“Hey,” you murmur, like you can read him. Like you always can.

Your fingers come up, tilting his chin until he’s looking at you properly.

“Don’t go all serious on me now.”

He huffs out a quiet breath, shaking his head. “Just… look at you.”

You smile, softer this time.

“Yeah,” you say. “Look at me.”

And then you move.

Not anything elaborate—just a slow sway, a gentle shift of your hips as the music plays on. Your hands slide into his hair, guiding him closer, your body fitting between his legs like it belongs there.

Because it does.

Because you do.

Bucky’s hands settle on your thighs, thumbs brushing absent patterns against your skin. He watches you like he’s memorizing it—every movement, every breath, every tiny expression that flickers across your face.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he mutters.

You lean down, pressing your forehead to his. “Pretty sure I do.”

“Yeah?” His lips brush yours, barely there. “Think you know how insane I am for you?”

You kiss him then.

Soft. Slow. The kind of kiss that lingers, that builds instead of burns. Your fingers tighten in his hair, and his grip on you deepens, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you at all.

It’s not rushed.

Not desperate.

Just… full.

Full of everything he doesn’t say enough. Everything he feels too much.

You shift, settling onto his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, still swaying gently to the music. His hands slide up your back, flattening against the fabric of his own shirt on your body, grounding himself in the fact that you’re here.

That you chose him.

“You’re unreal,” he whispers against your mouth.

You hum, brushing another kiss over his lips. “And you’re mine.”

Bucky exhales, something deep in his chest loosening.

“Yeah,” he says, voice steady now. Certain. “I am.”

Your smile turns soft, fond in a way that makes his heart ache.

You rest your head against his shoulder, still moving gently with the music, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along his collar.

And for once—just once—the world outside doesn’t matter.

Not the headlines.

Not the pressure.

Not the version of him he has to be for everyone else.

Here, with you in his lap, dancing in lace and his oversized shirt, kissing him like he’s worth something—

He believes it.

He believes he got lucky.

There’s a banner taped crookedly across the far wall that reads HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY, TEAM! in blocky letters that look like they were printed at home and cut out by hand. A small table is set up in the middle of the open office space, covered with a red tablecloth you’re ninety percent sure used to be a spare bedsheet. On it: a bowl of those chalky conversation hearts, a stack of little paper valentines, and a heart-shaped box of chocolates that definitely cost more than the office coffee budget.

And standing in the center of it all, sleeves rolled up, tie already loosened at ten in the morning like he’s been working very hard—

Bucky freezes when he sees you.

“Oh,” he says, far too quickly. “You’re early.”

You blink at him. Then at the banner. Then back at him.

“…Bucky.”

He clears his throat. “So. Uh. As you know.”

You cross your arms, fighting a smile. “Do I?”

“Yes. Obviously. Today is February 14th.”

“Mmhm.”

“And as CEO—” he gestures vaguely at himself, like the title still feels a little ridiculous “—I felt it was important to foster morale. And team bonding.”

“Team bonding,” you repeat.

“Yes.”

You glance around the office. “Between…?”

He winces just a little. “The team.”

“Which consists of—”

“You,” he says quickly, pointing at you, “and me.”

You can’t help it. You laugh.

It’s warm, fond laughter, the kind that makes his shoulders relax even as his ears turn pink. You’ve been working together for five years now. Rented office space in Brooklyn, too much coffee, not enough sleep, late nights spent arguing over spreadsheets that somehow always ended with your legs tangled under the desk.

But still. He tries. Every time.

“So,” you say gently, stepping further into the room. “Is this another company party?”

His mouth twitches. “It’s a Valentine’s party.”

“For the company.”

“Yes.”

“Which is just us.”

“Correct.”

You hum, nodding. “Are we doing anything special?”

He brightens immediately, like a kid whose science project has finally been noticed. “Actually, yes. There’s a structured itinerary.”

You stare at him.

“A what.”

He reaches behind the table and pulls out a clipboard.

“I made a schedule.”

Of course he did.

“Ten a.m.,” he reads, very seriously. “Valentine exchange.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Secret?”

“Very secret.”

“Even though there are only two of us.”

“Especially because there are only two of us.”

You grab one of the paper valentines from the table, flipping it open. Inside, written in his unmistakable blocky handwriting: You make coming to work the best part of my day.

Your chest does a small, traitorous flip.

“Oh wow,” you say. “Whoever wrote this must be very handsome.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Real mystery.”

“And then?” you ask.

“Employee recognition,” he says, straightening. “Employee of the Month. February edition.”

You snort. “Let me guess.”

“Nope.” He shakes his head firmly. “You’ll never guess.”

“Bucky.”

“I will be announcing it formally.”

He clears his throat, moves around the table, and stands in front of you like he’s about to address a room full of shareholders instead of his girlfriend in her winter coat.

“After careful consideration,” he says, voice deep and earnest, “the award for Employee of the Month goes to—”

He pauses, glancing down at the clipboard like he’s building suspense.

“—you.”

You clutch your chest. “Oh my god. I’m shocked.”

“I know,” he says solemnly. “You’ve only won it thirty-eight times.”

“Forty,” you correct. “You forgot the first two months.”

He looks stricken. “I did?”

You laugh and step closer, tugging his tie until he’s leaning down into your space. “I’m kidding.”

He exhales, relief obvious. “Okay. Good.”

There’s one last envelope on the table, thicker than the others. Your name is written on it in careful letters.

“What’s this?” you ask.

He shrugs, trying—and failing—to look casual. “Just. You know. Standard Valentine’s stuff.”

You open it slowly.

Inside is a card, a photo tucked behind it—one from the early days, the two of you sitting on the office floor surrounded by unpacked boxes, both exhausted and smiling like idiots. There’s also a small key taped inside, with a handwritten note.

Thought we could use a bigger office. And maybe… somewhere closer to home.

You look up at him, eyes stinging just a little.

“Is this—?”

“A new space,” he says softly. “Still Brooklyn. Still us. Just… next step.”

You don’t say anything. You just lean in and kiss him, slow and sweet, clipboard dropping forgotten to the floor.

When you pull back, you rest your forehead against his.

“You know,” you murmur, “you could’ve just said this was a date.”

He smiles, boyish and proud. “Yeah. But then I wouldn’t get to expense the chocolates.”

You laugh, kiss him again, and decide that if this is what running a company looks like with Bucky Barnes, ridiculous banners, fake parties, and a man who falls in love with you a little harder every day—

bucky chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “that’s my wife. she’s buying our cat a whole wardrobe worth of sweaters. says it makes her feel included, whatever that means.” he set down the report that he’d been reading through. he shifted in his chair just enough to look at yelena, stifling a laugh at the look of pure confusion on her face.

“it makes the cat feel included?” yelena had heard some stuff in the years that she’d been working in here, she had enough stories to last her several lifetimes and somehow this was the most out there one she had. “i don’t get it.”

“my wife is a woman who’s made to be loved, not understood. this—” he nodded towards the ipad in her hands that had just pinged with another transaction notification. “this is just her being loved. anything else that comes through, just approve it, she’s worth it.”

“does that include $6004.89 for louis vuitton?” she asked as she glanced down at the tablet. bucky just laughed as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “yeah, sure does. includes wherever she goes today, just run all of it.”

because when his own phone buzzed, and he pulled up your text only to be greeted with a picture of his favourite white furball in probably the most expensive sweater to ever adorn a cat, with you grinning in the background— it was all worth it. 

Bucky had been gone for three days.

Three days of back-to-back meetings overseas, constant phone calls, time zone differences, and barely a moment to breathe, let alone talk to you.

You weren't supposed to miss him this much. He was your dad's best friend. His business partner. His co-CEO. The man you were never supposed to be involved with. But that hadn't stopped you from falling into bed with—let alone falling for entirely.

But you had. A long time ago.

Monday — 8:47 PM

The office building was dark and quiet after hours. You slipped inside Bucky's office like you had done so many times before, only this time, he wasn't there waiting like he usually would.

The scent of his cologne lingered in the room—musky, expensive, familiar, and so delicious, making the ache between your thighs worse.

You flicked on the desk lamp, bathing your scene, the mahogany surface, in a soft glow. With trembling fingers, you propped your phone, framing the shot—making sure it caught the desk and you. The phone caught your reflection: hair done, lips glossed, tight black skirt hugging your curves, and heels on.

You looked like temptation, and it would drive Bucky insane.

Your heart thudded against your chest as you reached into your purse and pulled out the small metal toy he had left you, the weight cool and heavy in your palm.

You swallowed the nervous flutter in your chest and hit the call button. The phone barely rang once before his voice came through.

"Miss me already, doll?"

You bit your bottom lip, cheeks warming at the sound of him, knees nearly giving out.

"More than I should," you murmured, already breathless.

"You in my office?" he hummed, the smirk evident in his tone. He already knew the answer. He had cameras in the building and in the room. Of course he knew.

"Just me, your desk," you purred, slow and sultry, "and the butt plug you gave me."

A harsh, guttural groan tore through the line, making your knees buckle again. "Fuck. Turn the camera on. Now."

Not a request. A demand.

You turned it on, making sure it captured the desk, and then slowly you stepped into view, hips swaying, your ass tight in the skirt he loved.

"You gonna be good for me tonight?" he murmured, voice thick and possessive. "Or are you gonna be my filthy girl?"

You glanced over your shoulder at the camera, lips curled into a smirk.

"Why can't I be both?"

That earned you a low, dark, and dangerous laugh. "Show me."

You kicked off your heels and slowly peeled off the skirt with teasing slowness, giving him a show, revealing a lace thong that barely covered anything, earning a deep growl on the other end.

"Look at you, baby," he rasped. "Fuck, look at that ass."

You gave it a little shake, earning another growl, before sliding your panties down and crawling onto the desk on all fours. Your elbows rested on the cool surface. Back arched, ass high.

You spread your legs a little wider, letting the glow from the lamp catch the glistening between your thighs, both your holes on display for Bucky. Your body ripe and aching for his touch. You could feel your heartbeat pulsing between your legs, pounding against your chest.

You reached down and teased your clit in slow, tight circles, making Bucky's breath catch.

"That's my girl," he rasped, hot and ragged. "Just look at that fucking view. Your sweet little pussy dripping for me, and that tight ass... fuck, baby. All for me. All mine."

Your fingers reached for the plug, slicking it through your folds, coating it in your arousal, before guiding it to your tight rim. You gasped at the cold kiss of metal, breath shaking as you slowly pushed it in until the plug stretched you open and filled you completely.

Bucky witnessed it all—the tremble of your hips, thighs quivering, the glistening pooling where you needed him the most.

You imagined him on the other end—eyes dark with need, jaw clenched, palming himself over his trousers as he watched you give yourself over to the pleasure on his desk. And the worst part? He wasn't here. He couldn't touch you.

"I feel so full, Bucky," you whispered, rolling your hips in slow, needy circles while teasing your clit.

"Yeah?" His voice was wrecked. "Fuck, baby. I know you're making that fucked-out expression I love. You always do when I've got you stuffed like that. Ass full with my cock as I tease your clit."

You whimpered, rolling your hips more firmly to feel the plug press deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, your orgasm threatening at the edges.

"I wish you were here, Bucky," you panted. "I wish you were here to fuck me through it."

"Trust me, princess," he said, voice tight, "when I get back, I'm wrecking that pussy, and ass. You won't be able to sit properly for days when I'm done with you."

"I'll let you ruin me on your desk," you whispered, playing with your clit, fingers teasing your entrance. "Bend me over and use me."

His growl was pure sin. "Oh, I will." He promised. "I'm gonna fuck both your holes until you forget your name."

You moaned, pussy clenched around nothing, yearning for his dick inside you, filling you, completing you.

"Tell me what you want, doll," he demanded. "Talk to me while you fuck yourself on my desk."

You plunged two fingers deep in your pussy, curving them like Bucky would. Your vision blurred with heat and need as you moaned at the fullness.

"Fuck," you whimpered. "I-I want your mouth all over me... I want your fingers inside me, your tongue on my clit... I w-want you to choke me while you fuck me deep and hard... Bucky, please."

"You're such a filthy girl for me," he rasped into the phone, groaning. "Jesus fuck."

You glanced over your shoulder at the camera, eyes hooded, fingers deep in your pussy, butt-plug stretching your ass. "Only for you, Bucky."

You pulled out, rubbing slow, teasing circles on your clit as your hips rocked back and forth, the plug hitting the perfect spot inside you.

"F-fuck," you gasped, plunging your fingers deep again and curling them. "I-I'm gonna come..." Your voice was almost a sob now.

"Don't you dare," he cut in, rough and commanding. "Not until I say so."

You whimpered, the need for release clawing at your insides, making your back arch. "Please, Bucky. I need it, I need you..."

"Tell me what you'll do when I get home," he demanded, voice firm. "Tell me how you'll make it up to me for being such a bad girl and teasing me like this. Then, I'll let you come."

"I'll let you bend me over and fuck me raw, stretch me open, make me come until I can't speak... then I'll get on my knees and suck your cock until you're shaking..."

His breath hitched. "You're gonna be the fucking death of me. Jesus fuck," he groaned.

Your fingers moved faster, desperate, pressure building fast. "Please... let me... please, let me come, Bucky. Please..." you whimpered, clenching around your fingers.

A beat of silence, making you teeter on the edge of bliss. Then:

"Come for me, doll. Show me how pretty you look when you fall apart."

And you did. Hard.

You cried in bliss. Your body shook as the orgasm ripped through you—back arched, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around your fingers while the plug held firm and deep. Your mouth dropped open, the moan long and broken in the empty office, hips bucking against the pressure.

"Fuck," Bucky groaned heavily. "You're so fucking perfect, baby."

You collapsed onto the desk, cheek pressed against the cool surface, heart racing, breath ragged.

"You better hurry home soon, Bucky."

"You better be waiting for me like that," he uttered." Legs spread, plug in, pussy wet and ready for my cock."

You smiled to yourself, slow and wicked. "I'll be here..."

Thursday — 8:07 AM

Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floor, nerves buzzing beneath your skin as you crossed the familiar lobby of your father's company. Polished tile, towering glass. All the same as yesterday.

But today it felt different.

Off.

You hadn't slept.

Not really.

Not after last night. Not after what you did in Bucky's office, bent over his desk, ass in the air, moaning his name into the silence while he watched from thousands of miles away.

You could still feel the weight of the plug inside you. The ache between your legs. The rasp of his voice through the phone as you came for him.

He wasn't supposed to be back yet.

Two more nights. Two more days of pretending your skin didn't burn when your dad said his name. Two more days of pretending you weren't so far gone for the man you were never supposed to touch.

But when the elevator doors opened, your body froze.

There he was.

Bucky Barnes.

In the flesh.

Standing beside your father, calm and composed in a tailored suit that hugged his broad chest, perfectly pressed as though he hadn't just spent hours on a plane.

His expression was unreadable, smooth and professional, but his eyes?

His eyes were on you.

Your pulse skipped, and you almost choked on your breath. He wasn't supposed to be back yet. And he sure as hell wasn't supposed to be looking at you like that. Like he was already imagining what he's going to do to you once he gets you all alone.

You forced your legs to move, stepping into the elevator between them, trying to keep it casual, but your heart was racing.

"Morning, sweetheart," your dad said, barely glancing from his phone, distracted. "Bucky surprised us. Landed early and came straight here."

Your gaze flicked to him.

Bucky met your eyes, calm and cool, but behind that exterior was fire. Possession. Hunger. Amusement.

His jaw ticked as his gaze dropped to your lips, then lower, to the fitted skirt you wore.

"Couldn't stay away," he said, voice smooth and rich. "Business here needed my attention."

Bullshit.

You knew exactly why he came back.

And judging by the heat in his eyes, you were the reason.

5:26 PM

You had barely made it halfway across the quiet office floor after hours when a firm grip wrapped around your wrist—Bucky. He didn't say a thing as he walked to his office, pushing you inside.

"Bucky—" you started, but your breath was stolen when he pressed your back against his office door, one hand gripping your jaw while the other slid around your waist, pulling you flush to him.

He kissed you hard, all tongue and heat. It was messy, desperate, teeth grazing lips, tongue sliding into your mouth like he couldn't get enough. Everything about it—the pressure, the scent of his cologne, the scrape of stubble against your skin—made you head spin and knees go weak.

"You think I was gonna sit through another fucking night without touching you after your little show for me?" he growled against your mouth. "That tight little skirt. That fucking temptress body of yours. Bent over my desk. Playing with that plug. Touching yourself in my office. Calling my name like that..."

You whimpered, clutching his suit jacket as he lifted your thigh up against his hip.

"I wanted you to see," you whispered, voice shaky. "Needed you to know how much I missed you. How much I needed you."

His mouth found your neck, licking and biting the same spot he always claimed when he needed to remind you who exactly you belonged to.

"You think I didn't watch that shit on repeat the second you hung up. You think I didn't jerk off in the hotel bathroom like a fucking animal because I couldn't wait to get back to you?"

You moaned at his words. "Please," you gasped, "need you, Bucky."

"Fuck, need you naked," he muttered, tugging at your blouse buttons, undoing them with impatient fingers until the fabric slipped from your shoulders.

You let it fall.

His eyes dragged down your body, devouring every inch like he hadn't already seen it a thousand times.

"So fucking gorgeous," he growled under his breath as his hands slid around your back, undoing your bra with ease before tossing it aside.

His mouth was on your chest before you could speak, kissing, sucking, biting your breasts like he was trying to mark every inch of you.

You gasped as he licked across your nipple and tugged it between his teeth, while his hands worked on pulling your skirt down your hips.

You stepped out of it with trembling legs, now standing almost naked in his office, back pressed against his door.

"Been thinking about this body for three fucking days," he muttered, eyes drinking you in. "Thought about your little hole stretching around my cock. Thought about you dripping down your thighs just like you were last night on the phone."

He pushed your panties aside and slipped two fingers inside without warning. You clenched around him, body already close from the teasing tension built all day.

"So tight, baby doll," he groaned. "You wet like this all day thinking about me?"

You nodded, barely able to breathe.

He withdrew his fingers and shoved them into your mouth. "Taste yourself. Taste how ready you are for me."

You sucked on them greedily, eyes wide, throat bobbing.

"Lock the door and then get on my desk," he ordered as he started to undress and walk backwards.

You did as told, heart racing, hands trembling. As soon as the lock clicked, you scrambled to him, and he was on you again: jacket off, shirt half-open, belt unbuckled.

His mouth found yours with an urgency that made your whole body ache. He lifted you effortlessly onto the edge of his desk. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging him closer, and he stepped between your legs like he never left—like he hadn't been halfway across the world just this morning. You moaned softly as his hands slid up your thighs.

"Missed this," he whispered, kissing along your collarbone. "Missed you."

Your eyes fluttered closed when his lips brushed over your nipple. But just as he was about to claim your body—

His phone rang.

He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder with a sound that was nearly a growl. "Fucking hell."

You giggled, breathlessly. "Ignore it."

"I can't." His voice was thick with annoyance as he fished it out of his pocket and checked the screen.

Your dad.

Bucky pressed the answer button and lifted the phone to his ear, but he didn't move away from you. If anything, he slid his hand higher on your thigh, fingers brushing where you needed him the most. He was playing a dangerous game.

"Hey," he said, voice impressively calm.

You couldn't help yourself in playing a dangerous game as well. You leaned forward, brushing your lips along his neck, your teeth nipping gently at his jaw.

His hand squeezed your thigh in warning.

"No, I'm still at the office," he said casually, clearing his throat. "Yeah, figured I'd knock out a few things before heading home."

You ran your fingers down his chest, slow and light, until you reached the bulge in his pants.

He didn't flinch, but the muscles in his jaw ticked as you palmed him through it.

"Uh-huh... no, I've got that handled. I'll send it over tonight." His voice stayed smooth, but his free hand was gripping your thigh so tightly now, you were sure it would leave marks.

You mouthed you're so good at lying, then bit your lip.

He shook his head slightly, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Thanks. Yeah, I'll catch you in the morning."

He hung up. The second the call ended, he tossed the phone to the side.

He grabbed your chin and kissed you again, slower, deeper. All tongue and heat.

"You fucking tease. So desperate for me even when I'm on the phone with your father. You have no idea what I'm about to do to you."

"Show me."

He dropped you to the floor and then turned you around. Bending you over his desk and spreading your legs, discarding your panties with urgency.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he dropped to his knees behind you. You gasped and arms buckled slightly against the desk when you felt the hot drag of his tongue along your folds—one slow, deliberate lick from your clit to your entrance.

"So sweet, baby," he murmured, breath brushing over your wetness. "Been thinking about this pussy ever since you hung up last night."

"Bucky—" you moaned, words dying on your tongue as his mouth returned to you, hungrier now, relentless.

His tongue flattened and licked you open, tasting every drop like it was the last thing he would ever eat, savouring you.

His groan vibrated against your clit, making your thighs tremble. He gripped your hips harder, pulling you back onto his face, burying himself deeper.

"God, baby," he growled into your pussy, "you're soaking for me. You taste so fucking good. I missed this pussy. Mine. All fucking mine."

You whimpered, nodding, forehead pressed against the cool surface of the desk. "Yours, Bucky. All yours."

He hummed in satisfaction and zeroed in on your clit, tongue flicking fast, purposeful strokes before switching to slow, lazy circles that had you gasping. He sucked your clit between his lips, drawing tight, wet pulls that made your eyes roll back into your skull.

"F-fuck," you cried, voice cracking, pushing your hips back against his face. "Bucky, please. Please don't stop."

He didn't. He latched on tighter and fucked you with his mouth like he was trying to pull the orgasm straight from your soul. Every lick, every suck sent sparks down your spine, and it was hitting you fast.

"You gonna come on my tongue, doll?" he rasped, voice low and filthy as he thrust his tongue into your dripping entrance, fucking you shallowly before sucking your clit again. "Come on. Let me taste it."

"Oh my God! Bucky—"

Your whole body tightened as the heat coiled up, higher and higher until it finally snapped. You came with a cry, thighs shaking, your fingers clawing at the edge of the desk as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you.

"That's it," he growled against your pussy, licking you through it, mouth wet and messy as he devoured your orgasm like he had been starving for it. "That's my good fucking girl."

You were panting hard, your wetness dripping down your thighs as he pulled back with one last soft lick.

When he stood, his chin was glistening, lips swollen, eyes dark and wild.

"Good girl," he rasped, running his palm over your ass before giving it a sharp slap. You yelped—the sting delicious.

He undid his pants and lined up behind you, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, teasing your entrance, making your thighs tremble at the sensitivity.

"You ready for me, baby?" he asked, low and rough.

"Yes, sir," you moaned, the title falling off your tongue without a second thought.

He groaned and slammed into you in one deep thrust, your back arching as your mouth fell open in a wordless scream.

Full. Finally full. His cock stretching you to the brink.

Bucky fucked you like he meant it. No teasing. No holding back. Just brutal, perfect strokes that made the table creak and your voice break.

"Mine," he grunted, fingers digging into your hips. "This pussy. This body. All fucking mine."

His hips snapped forward again, burying himself to the hilt as your nails clawed at the slick surface of the desk for something to hold onto. His cock dragged along your walls, thick and perfect, hitting that spot that made you see stars every time.

"Fuck, Bucky," you gasped, voice cracking as you pushed back to meet his punishing thrusts, desperate for more. "You feel so good... I needed this," you cried.

"I know you did," he growled behind you, one hand sliding up your spine before fisting in your hair and yanking your head back just enough to make your breath catch. "You wanted to tease me? Rile me up? Play with that plug and tight little pussy? Make me watch?"

You whimpered. Part guilty, and part turned the fuck on.

His free hand landed a sharp smack to your ass. "Answer me."

"Yes! Yes, sir," you gasped.

"Goddamn right you did. I fucking knew what you were doing. Bent over my desk like a perfect little slut, showing me both of your tight holes. You wanted me to wreck you when I came back, didn't you?"

"Yes. Yes, Bucky. I wanted to drive you crazy."

"You did, princess."

He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in again. The slap of skin on skin was loud and filthy in his quiet office. Your body jolted with every thrust, tits bouncing with each powerful roll of his hips.

You were a mess, drooling, moaning, back arched so deep your spine ached. But Bucky didn't slow down. If anything, he went harder. Rough, claiming strokes that sent shockwaves of pleasure up your spine.

"Tell me whose pussy this is," he snarled, fucking you deep, his grip bruising on your hips.

"Yours," you sobbed. "It's yours, Bucky. Always yours."

"Say it again," he growled, smacking your ass.

"Yours! All yours, Bucky. Fuck!"

"Good fucking girl."

He bent down, chest to your back, his mouth hot and dangerous against your ear. "You're gonna be leaking me all night and day, baby. Every time you sit down tomorrow at a meeting, you'll feel me dripping out of you. Just like I fucking want."

A helpless moan fell from your lips, your body trembling under him, every word sinking deep and making your pussy clench around his cock like it never wanted to let go.

Your whole body was shaking now, legs starting to give out as the pleasure built hard and fast in your core.

"B-Bucky," your voice was weak, wrecked. "I-I'm gonna—"

He didn't let up for a second, hips thrusting into you, each stroke deeper than the last. His hand slid around your waist, pressing flat against your belly to anchor you in place, to feel how deep he was inside you.

"Yeah?" he panted, teeth gritted. "You gonna come for me, babydoll?"

You nodded frantically, tears stinging at your lashes. "I can't... fuck! I can't hold it!"

"Yes, you can," he growled, voice pure sin against your ear. "You're my good girl. You take this cock so fucking well."

His hand dropped lower, fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing rough, messy circles while he kept slamming into you from behind. The overwhelming sensation shattered through you like lightning.

"Come for me, doll. Come on this cock. Let go. I need to feel it."

And that was all it took.

Your scream cracked in your throat as the orgasm ripped through you—legs shaking, eyes rolling back, mouth dropped open in a silent cry of bliss. You came around him hard, clenching down so tight on him that Bucky let out a strangled fuck as he chased his own release.

"Bucky! Oh, fuck!"

You were shaking, twitching, wrecked, and still, he didn't stop. His hips pushed into you with punishing force, dragging your sensitive pussy into overstimulation.

"Fuuuuck," he dragged out. "Shit, baby," he grit through clenched teeth, head dropping to your shoulder. "You're gonna make me come."

You whimpered something under your breath, body spent beneath him, helpless to do anything but take it.

"Keep squeezing me like that. Fuck, good girl," he snarled, his voice breaking on a groan. "You want my cum, don't you? Want me to fill up this pretty pussy?"

"Yes," you sobbed. "Please, please, Bucky. I want it, want all of it—"

With a loud, guttural moan, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, cock pulsing deep inside you. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you still as thick, hot ropes of his release filled you up and dripped down your thighs. The heat of it made you shiver.

"Fucking hell," he rasped, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, completely wrecked. "You're perfect, baby. You're fucking perfect."

His breath stuttered against your back. Neither of you moved, both too ruined to do anything but pant in silence.

He slowly softened inside you but stayed buried deep, like he couldn't bear to pull away. You could feel his heartbeat against your spine, feel the way his hands softened where they gripped your waist.

And then he kissed your shoulder softly. Like an apology for how hard he had just ruined you.

You both stayed like that for a moment, tangled in sweat and panting breaths. His heartbeat thudded heavy against your back as his cock twitched inside you, still buried deep, still claiming you.

But you weren't done.

With a wicked little smirk tugging at your lips, you shifted beneath him, and Bucky groaned as he slipped out of you. You turned, ass resting on the edge of the desk, your fingers stroking down his abs, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch.

"You came so hard," you whispered, licking your lips as your hand wrapped around his softening cock. "Bet I can make you do it again."

"Fuck, doll," he muttered, voice gravelled and thick, "you're gonna kill me."

You smiled sweetly and then dropped to your knees.

He sat back in his chair, muscles tense, arms hanging heavy over the armrests as you crawled between his spread legs. You kissed along his inner thigh, slow and teasing, making him groan, before wrapping your lips around the head of his cock. He was still slick from fucking you, salty and warm, and you moaned at the taste of both of you together.

"Jesus fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth, head tipping back.

You took him into your mouth slowly, wet and warm, letting your spit drip down his shaft as your tongue swirled around his tip. He was already hardening under your touch.

You sucked him deeper, letting your throat relax as you took more and more, until your nose was brushing the trimmed hair at his base. You gagged softly around him, tears prickling the corners of your eyes, and he growled low in his chest.

"God, look at you," he groaned, fisting your hair. Not pulling, just holding. "Taking my cock like a good fucking girl."

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, watery and blown wide with lust. His cock throbbed on your tongue as you bobbed your head, the room echoing with lewd, wet sounds—messy, filthy, and perfect. Your spit coated his shaft, dribbling down your chin, strings of it connecting your lips to his cock every time you pulled back and dove back in. His thighs trembled under your palms as you gripped them for balance.

"Shit, doll... just like that... fuck, baby..."

You sucked harder, letting your tongue drag up the underside of his cock with each stroke, tracing his thick vein. One of your hands moved to cup his balls, rolling them gently as he bucked his hips up, chasing the wet heat of your mouth.

"Gonna come," he warned, voice tight and strained. "Wanna come down that tight, pretty throat."

You moaned around him in approval, humming low and greedy against his cock, and that was all it took.

"Fuck, baby! Shit. Take it. Take it like a good fucking girl."

Hot salty ropes of his release spilled into your mouth, and you swallowed every drop, eyes fluttering shut as he groaned your name—loud, rough, ruined.

He twitched as you kept sucking, coaxing every last bit of his cum from him. Only when he hissed from the oversensitivity did you finally pull off, licking your lips, spit and slick glistening on your chin.

You wiped it away with the back of your hand, looking up at him with that soft, fucked-out smile he adored. You barely had time to catch your breath before Bucky was on you again, devouring you with his eyes.

Still panting, still wrecked. He was not done with you yet.

He reached down and grabbed your arm, pulling you gently but firmly to your feet. You barely had a moment to react before he lifted you with ease and placed you back onto the desk, right where he'd had you earlier. Only this time he didn't turn you around.

"You think I'm gonna let this pretty pussy go without one more taste?" he rasped, voice low, dark, and absolutely feral.

Your breath caught in your throat as he spread your legs wide, fingers digging into your thighs, pushing them up and back until your knees were nearly against your chest. You gasped as the angle bared you completely to him. He looked down at your tight rim and glistening pussy—still, swollen, still dripping, still twitching from everything he had done to you.

"Look at this fucking view," he groaned, tongue swiping over his bottom lip as he spread your pussy with his thumbs. "You're a mess, doll. My mess. That's what fucking heaven looks like," he muttered, and dropped to his knees.

The second his tongue touched you, you moaned—loud and helpless. Your body jolted at the sensation, still so sensitive but craving more. You always craved more with Bucky.

His mouth was slow at first, lapping gently at the slick and mess between your folds, tongue parting you and dipping into your entrance before dragging up to your clit, sucking just enough to make your hips jerk.

"So good, baby," he murmured against you, eyes flicking up to watch the way your head fell back. "My gorgeous girl. Mine."

You reached for the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white as he buried his face in you. He sucked your clit, hard, tongue flattening and circling, his groan vibrating through your core. The wet, obscene sound of his mouth on you echoed in the office, and it was fucking perfect.

"Bucky! Oh my God..."

You gasped as he lifted your legs just a little higher, spreading you wider. His fingers gripped your thighs hard, and you felt his tongue drift lower, licking through your arousal, tracing wet circles and open-mouthed kisses further down until he hovered just over your other hole.

Your breath caught.

"Bucky—"

"Shh, baby," he murmured, spreading your cheeks a little wider. "I just wanna taste all of you," he growled, voice thick and ruined.

You whimpered as his tongue dragged between your cheeks, slow and dirty, licking your tight little hole with just enough pressure to make your head spin.

"Fuck! Fuck, Bucky!"

He moaned against you like he was starved for your ass, like this was his reward for every second he had been away. Wet, greedy circles around your rim, teasing and filthy, while one hand moved back up between your thighs to rub your clit in slow, lazy circles.

"Such a perfect fucking ass. Next time I'm fucking it hard," he muttered, biting the soft curve before diving his tongue back in between your cheeks.

You couldn't speak. You could barely breathe as he alternated between your pussy and ass, licking and sucking, tasting everything. Your body trembled under the attention, toes curling, thighs quivering as he moved back to your clit, lips wrapping around, needing you to fall apart on his tongue.

"B-Bucky—fuck! I-I'm gonna—"

"Yeah? You gonna come? You gonna give me one more, baby?" he asked, voice wrecked and full of hunger. "Wanna feel you come all over my face, doll. Just one more."

"Yes!" you cried, arching into him. "Please, don't stop! Don't stop—"

He didn't.

His tongue moved fast, relentless, and when he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you were overwhelmed by sensation. You tried to close your legs, but he growled and slapped them open. "Take it, baby," he said roughly. "Give it to me. Right now on my fucking tongue."

And you did.

You shattered, again. Your back bowed, mouth open in a silent cry as your orgasm ripped through you. Your thighs shook around his head, and still, he didn't stop, making you sob.

He licked you through it like a man possessed, tongue, finger,s and lips dragging out your release until you were gasping and trembling, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

When he finally pulled back, his chin was slick with your release, his lips swollen from his actions, and his eyes feral with satisfaction.

He pressed one soft kiss to your trembling thigh before he stood and leaned over you, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach... then your breasts... then your mouth.

You tasted yourself on his tongue, and it made you moan into the kiss.

"You okay, doll?" he murmured, brushing hair from your face, his voice a little smug, but also soft and tender.

You nodded, breathless, eyes heavy-lidded. "Better than okay," you breathed out. "That was... fuck... amazing."

He chuckled softly, pressing one last soft kiss to your lips before he helped you down, tugging you into his lap as he dropped into his chair. His arms wrapped around you, your cheek pressed against his chest, his heart beating hard beneath your ear.

6:24 PM

You were curled up on Bucky's lap in the leather chair behind his desk, your body completely spent. His dress shirt hung over your shoulders like a makeshift blanket. It smelled like him—delicious and expensive—and it made you feel safe.

He had one arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you snug against his chest, and the other hand gently stroked your hair.

His lips pressed to your temple in a kiss so soft it made your breath catch.

"Next time," he murmured against your skin, voice dark and warm, dangerous in the way that made your toes curl, "you film yourself in my office, I expect to be in it."

You giggled softly and tilted your face up to look at him. "Yes, sir."

He smirked, eyes dark, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. "Not just watching. In it. Balls deep. Hands around your throat. You moaning my name like it's the only word you know."

Heat fluttered between your legs again, even though your body had already been pushed past its limit.

"You're insatiable," you whispered with a grin.

"And you're mine," he simply replied. "So yeah, I get greedy."

You leaned into his chest again, cheek against his skin, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. His hand slipped under the hem of the shirt, rubbing gentle circles into your bare thigh. Not with lust this time, but with something softer—protective and grounding.

"I missed you," you said quietly, almost to yourself. "I feel empty without you by my side."

Bucky's hand stilled for a second, then curled tighter around your leg.

"I missed you too, doll." He kissed the crown of your head. "And now that I'm home... I'm not letting you out of my sight."

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut. Whatever happened tomorrow—in the office, with your dad, with the secrets you still had to keep—none of it mattered right now. Not here. Not with Bucky holding you like this.

Because for tonight, you were exactly where you belonged.

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Daren froze mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air. Slowly, he turned to Bucky with wide eyes, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“Please take her,” he said with absolute sincerity. “Just give her the numbers and a good car. She’ll say yes.”

Your head snapped toward him. “Daren.” You reached over and pinched his ear sharply. “The adults are talking.”

“Ow!” He jerked away, rubbing his ear like you’d shot him. “I’m helping you get a job!”

What he didn’t say—though you knew it well enough—was that he wanted you out of the house before you started turning his summer vacation into a boot camp. You were exactly like Dad in that way: disciplined, structured, relentless. Levi, on the other hand, had always been the easier sibling. The one who let him stay up late and sneak snacks.

Bucky’s soft chuckle broke through the small chaos. It was quiet but unmistakable, and it made both you and Daren glance at him.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Bucky said, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “It’s just… I’ve never had this. Sibling banter. It’s nice.”

Daren blinked. “You’re an only child?”

You reached under the table and pinched his thigh, not hard enough to injure but enough to make him flinch. “Ouch!” he hissed.

Bucky looked down at his drink, swirling the liquid absently. “I do have brothers,” he said, quieter now. “But we’re not… close.”

Something shifted in the air. His voice carried a heaviness he hadn’t meant to show. For a moment, he wasn’t the composed CEO everyone saw—he was just a man sitting across from you, shoulders slightly tense, eyes shadowed by something unspoken.

You and Daren both stilled. He looked almost out of place, like a stray dog watching families pass by on a rainy street. A part of you—the same part that always stepped between others and their pain—tightened in your chest. The instinct was strong: you wanted to fix it, to soften whatever ache made him look like that.

Bucky seemed to catch himself, clearing his throat before the silence grew too heavy. “Anyway,” he said, lifting his head, “do you want to go to the arcade after this?”

Daren’s face lit up instantly. “Please! Adopt me. Be my brother instead.”

You nearly choked on your water. “Daren!”

Bucky laughed, this time fuller, easier. “Tempting offer,” he said.

You shook your head, mortified, but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your own lips.

For a man who claimed he wasn’t close to his brothers, he looked like someone who could have been. Maybe even wanted to be.

*****

The arcade buzzed with neon lights and bursts of electronic music. Machines chirped, coins clinked, and somewhere in the corner, Daren’s victorious shout carried over the noise. He was playing side by side with Bucky, both of them focused on a racing game, their hands slamming buttons and wheels. You sat on a nearby bench, cradling your sore shoulder. Every sharp twist of their competition reminded you why you couldn’t join—not today, not yet.

You glanced down at your phone instead. A notification flashed across the screen: Levi just posted a photo.

Paris.

She stood beneath the Eiffel Tower, smiling with a freedom that was almost foreign to you. She looked lighter. Happier. Maybe this was what she needed all along.

“Good for you,” you murmured, tucking the phone away.

The noise of the arcade felt heavier now, and boredom set in. You rose from the bench, scanning the rows of games until the claw machine caught your eye. A ridiculous choice, but at least it would keep your hands busy.

You slipped in a token and aimed for a small stuffed fox. The claw dropped, closed weakly around the toy, then let it fall.

“Figures,” you muttered. You tried again. And again. Five times in total. Each attempt ended the same way—with an empty claw and your growing irritation. You leaned your forehead briefly against the glass. “I’m out of practice. Or maybe these things really are rigged.”

“You’ve been at this for a while,” a voice said behind you.

You turned, startled. Bucky stood there, one hand casually in his pocket, the other holding a soda cup. He looked… amused.

“I tried five times,” you admitted, exhaling. “Still failed.”

He glanced at the toy pile, then at you. “What do I get if I win one?”

You crossed your arms. “The satisfaction of wasting your money?”

He tilted his head, smirking. “If I succeed on the first try, you work for me.”

You laughed softly. “Fine. Sure. These games are impossible anyway.”

Bucky slid a token into the machine, his expression suddenly serious. He bent slightly, eyeing the angles, adjusting the joystick with deliberate, careful movements. The claw dropped, closed with precision, and—unbelievably—lifted a stuffed fox clean off the pile.

He whistled under his breath as the prize fell neatly into the chute.

Your eyes widened. “No way.”

He retrieved the toy and held it out to you. “You promised.”

You accepted it, still stunned, fingers brushing against the soft fabric. “That was luck.”

“That was skill,” he corrected. “And now, you’re hired.”

You hugged the toy to your chest, avoiding his gaze. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

He shrugged. “The perks of having money.”

Your lips twitched into a small smirk, but you asked quietly, “Why me, though?”

Bucky’s easy smile faded into something steadier. “Because I need someone who can actually clear out the rot. My company’s been infested with the kind of people who don’t just slow progress—they poison it. I need someone who knows how to handle that.”

You looked at him carefully. “You’re saying your office is basically a zombie graveyard.”

He chuckled softly. “Exactly.”

You let the silence stretch for a beat. “There are plenty of people with corporate experience. I’m not one of them.”

“I don’t need another polished résumé,” he said. “I need someone who does what’s necessary.” His gaze softened. “You’ve always been that person. Even in school. You were popular, but you never acted like it. You were just… there for everyone.”

Heat crept to your cheeks, and you looked away. “I wasn’t—”

“I even sent you a Valentine letter,” he said suddenly, cutting you off.

You froze. “What?”

He nodded, almost sheepish. “Yeah. Senior year. I left it in your locker.”

Your pulse stumbled. “I never got a letter.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Levi told me you were buried in them every year. Flowers, chocolates, notes. She said you probably didn’t notice mine.”

You blinked. That didn’t sound right at all. You’d only ever received Valentine chocolates from one person—your dad. It had been a McCain tradition: a small box each for Mom, Levi, and you. That was it.

Your grip on the stuffed fox tightened. Did Levi lie to him? Did she take it? Hide it? Why?

Before you could untangle the knot in your chest, Daren appeared, sipping a vanilla milkshake like he hadn’t just abandoned you mid-arcade. He looked at Bucky, then the toy in your hands.

“Whoa. You actually got one?!” Daren’s eyes flicked to Bucky. “And she’s taking the job?”

Bucky smiled faintly. “She is.”

“Thank God,” Daren said with exaggerated relief. “Finally, someone else can deal with her 5 a.m. drills.”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s go home.” You grabbed Daren’s wrist and tugged him along. Then you glanced back at Bucky. “I’ll start next week.”

“Good,” Bucky said. “And let’s pick the car you want together.”

Daren gasped. “Can I come?”

You flicked his forehead. “You’re going to school.”

He clutched his head dramatically, whining all the way to the door, while Bucky stood where you’d left him—watching, with something unreadable in his eyes.

*******

The house was quiet by the time you slipped down the hallway. Soft lamplight spilled from your parents’ room, and the hum of the television carried faintly from downstairs where Daren had probably passed out mid-gaming. You moved like a shadow, barefoot, careful not to let the floorboards creak as you reached Levi’s door.

It opened with a soft click.

Her room still smelled faintly like her—lavender shampoo and the sweet perfume she always wore. The bed was neatly made, and the faint Paris postcard she’d pinned to her corkboard fluttered under the ceiling fan.

You stood there for a moment, breathing in the stillness, before crossing to the wardrobe.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting to find—maybe nothing. Maybe proof that you were overthinking this, that Levi would never hide something so… trivial. Except it wasn’t trivial. Not now.

You crouched down, sliding open the bottom drawer. Stacks of old boxes greeted you—shoeboxes, jewelry boxes, the little mementos people like Levi kept because they couldn’t bear to throw away pretty things.

Your fingers hovered before pulling one open.

Photos. Movie stubs. Ribbon-wrapped letters.

And then you saw it.

A small cream envelope, edges softened by time. Your breath hitched as you turned it over. The handwriting was neat, masculine, deliberate.

J. Barnes.

Your chest tightened as if something invisible had cinched around your ribs. Slowly, you slid the letter free, unfolding the paper with hands that suddenly felt heavy.

The words blurred for a moment before they came into focus—a note that was simple but warm, the kind of thing meant for someone special. Someone he’d chosen.

You swallowed hard. Your thumb brushed over the signature, tracing it like it might rewrite the truth.

“Levi…” The whisper slipped out before you could stop it. A single word, soft and cracked at the edges. “Why?”

The room didn’t answer.

You sat there on the floor, the letter trembling between your fingers. Your phone was beside you, screen lighting up with the faint reflection of your face. You picked it up, opened Levi’s contact. Your thumb hovered over the call button.

You wanted to ask. You wanted an answer.

But after a long breath, you locked the screen and set it down.

It was in the past. For Levi. For Bucky.

But for you? It wasn’t.

*****

The glass doors of the company slid open with a whisper, and for the first time, you stepped inside as yourself. Not Levi. No neat skirts, no pastel blouses. Just you—boots, blazer, and that quiet authority that clung to you like a second skin.

Heads turned instantly. The hum of chatter faltered. Employees froze mid-sentence as you walked past the reception desk. Their faces flickered through stages of confusion, recognition, and finally, discomfort.

You didn’t blame them. They’d spent months watching Levi take every jab, every whispered insult, and shrink smaller in the process. But you weren’t her. You didn’t have her soft edges or the way she swallowed hurt like medicine.

And it showed.

Even when you didn’t speak, your eyes said everything: Try me. I dare you.

Near the elevator, voices carried—low, smug tones you’d recognize anywhere.

Bucky’s stepbrothers. Three of them, lounging by the glass railing in their designer suits like they owned the building.

You almost walked past, but then one of them saw you—and choked.

“The hell—” He straightened so fast his phone clattered to the floor.

The other two turned. Their smirks died in perfect unison.

“That’s… not Levi,” the tallest one muttered. “Right?”

“She looks exactly—” The third brother swallowed hard. “Jesus Christ. There’s two of them.”

You stopped. Tilted your head, slow and deliberate. “Is there a problem?”

All three stiffened like you’d drawn a weapon. The bold one forced a laugh, though his voice cracked. “No problem. Just… surprised.”

“Good,” you said simply. “Keep it that way.”

They didn’t move until the elevator doors closed behind you, and even then, you could feel their unease like static in the air.

The ride up was too quiet. Too fast.

By the time the doors slid open on the executive floor, your pulse was a drumbeat in your ears. You stepped out, boots clicking against polished marble, every inch of you projecting calm—even as your thoughts tangled like barbed wire.

And then you saw him.

Bucky looked up from behind his desk, sunlight spilling across his shoulders, his sleeves rolled to the elbows. His head lifted, and for a second, nothing else existed but the way his blue eyes locked on yours.

Not Levi.

You.

Something flickered across his face—recognition, relief, something warmer—but you couldn’t breathe past the weight in your chest. Because now you knew.

The letter burned in your memory like an open wound.

J. Barnes.

The words he’d written. Words meant for you, not Levi.

And all this time, you thought it was just a crush—high school nonsense you’d buried under missions and miles of desert heat. But now? Standing here in his world, feeling his gaze sweep over you like it belonged there, you hated it.

You hated that your chest was tight, that your throat felt raw, that the past wasn’t as dead as you pretended.

You hated high school crushes.

Because they didn’t stay in high school.

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"You know," he began with a light smile, "ZENES is having a concert next week."

The name hit you like a spark. ZENES? So that was where he was steering this. Testing you. Of course, you knew the band. Levi had recommended a few of their songs years ago, mostly their quieter acoustic tracks. It wasn’t a mainstream group; only a small circle followed them.

You nodded, steady and easy. "Oh, ZENES? Yeah, I saw that on my feed this morning. Their new live album's actually decent. Not as good as their studio stuff, but I guess that’s normal." You smiled faintly, trying to layer your answer with just enough detail to sound natural.

Bucky's eyes softened slightly, as if you’d passed some invisible test.

He smiled back. "Yeah, you're right. The studio version’s cleaner."

But beneath his nod, the weight in his gaze remained. He was still watching.

As the morning moved on, you carefully followed the routine Levi had described. But one misstep nearly slipped through.

You placed a cup of hot tea beside him after lunch. No matcha today. He glanced down at the steaming cup and then back at you, brow slightly furrowed.

"You didn’t have your matcha this morning," he said gently. "You always drink it first thing."

Your heart skipped. Another test. You kept your tone casual, almost dismissive.

"Doctor’s orders," you replied, waving your hand. "No sweet drinks while I’m taking the new meds. Matcha’s off the list for now."

Bucky gave a small, apologetic laugh, shaking his head. "Right. Silly me. I forgot."

You could feel his eyes lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Testing. Always testing.

Stay calm. You knew this game.

When the day wound down, both of you made your way to the lobby. The moment the glass doors slid open, chaos greeted you. A crowd of journalists and camera crews swarmed outside, blocking the exit. Microphones shot forward like spears.

"Mr. Barnes, is it true your negligence caused thirty employees to be hospitalized?"

"Is it true the Planning Department was operating under unsafe conditions?"

"What about the fire? Are you responsible for those homes being destroyed?"

Bucky tensed beside you. His jaw locked. The camera flashes reflected off his suit, making him blink rapidly.

Before he could speak, you stepped forward. Years of military drills made the weight of camera equipment and microphones nothing compared to the field gear you'd carried.

"Back off," you said firmly, raising your hand. You pushed a reporter aside with practiced ease, forcing a path forward. Your voice stayed calm but cutting. "You’re obstructing company business. Step back."

Bucky stood frozen, eyes wide. He wasn’t used to seeing Levi move like that.

Once you were past the crowd, you let out a small wince, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Ah... I think I pulled something," you said, adding a weak smile for effect.

It was bad acting. Even the nearest cameraman arched an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. But it worked well enough. The reporters eased off, sensing the scene was dying.

Inside the safety of the car, Bucky let out a long breath, still looking at you like you were something unfamiliar.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

You gave a faint nod, keeping your eyes forward.

"I’m fine. Just a little sore."

****

The car hummed softly as the city lights blurred past the window. For a few moments, it was calm, until Bucky’s phone lit up again. He sighed before answering. You watched his jaw tense, his hand gripping the phone a little tighter than before.

"Yeah," he said flatly.

The voice on the other end was loud enough that you could hear bits of it leaking through. His stepbrothers. Again.

"Bucky, you really screwed up this time. The board is furious. The press won’t stop talking about the hospitalizations and the fires. Do you have any idea how bad this looks for the company? Dad’s ready to let you take the blame for all of it."

Bucky's lips tightened into a hard line. He stayed silent, letting them vent.

"You always wanted control, didn’t you? Well, congratulations. When the company falls apart, it’s all on you."

The call ended with a sharp click. He didn’t say a word for a while, staring out the window as if the darkness outside might offer him some kind of answer.

"What an asshole," you muttered, breaking the tense silence.

That pulled a faint, tired smile from him. "They all are."

"So you're just gonna sit here and let them mock you like that?" you pressed, your tone sharper than you intended. You couldn’t help it. Watching him quietly absorb all of their cruelty—it stirred something inside you. The part of you trained never to back down.

He glanced at you, the faintest amusement flickering in his eyes. "I feel like my drill sergeant is sitting beside me."

His words caught you off guard, and for a second, your breath hitched. He wasn’t supposed to say something like that. Was he… noticing?

You quickly covered, refusing to let your face betray you. "Well," you said, forcing your tone light, "after months of being bullied, I’ve learned to stop being quiet. Sometimes you’ve got to fight back."

He let out a low chuckle, his eyes still studying you as if searching for something beneath the surface. But he said nothing more.

"They want to remove me from the succession," he finally said, breaking the silence.

You turned your head, your gaze steady. "Your brothers?"

He nodded, his jaw clenched. "They're the ones who sent those journalists and reporters. Stirring the pot. Making sure my name stays tangled in the mess."

A quiet breath escaped you. "Do you know their weakness?"

He allowed himself a dry chuckle, eyes narrowing on the road ahead. "Of course. Being the outcast had its advantages. No one acknowledged me, but that meant they never cared to hide anything when I was around. I've heard and seen more than they realize."

You tilted your head, voice sharper now. "Then use it."

For a moment, Bucky glanced at you, his brows raised as if taken aback by your boldness. "Levi... you're kind of straightforward tonight."

"Being silent because of the bullying made me quit being silent," you said simply, voice calm but laced with something steel-like beneath. Your gaze returned to the window, but you felt his eyes linger on you a second longer.

He didn’t reply, but his thoughts raced. She’s different. Stronger. There was a depth to you now that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe… had he never seen it before? His grip on the wheel tightened as her words repeated in his head like a steady drumbeat.

Later that night, those words rang even louder.

Alone in his apartment, the city stretching endlessly outside his windows, Bucky sat at his desk. The screen of his laptop glowed in the dark. Enough. He'd had enough.

He opened file after file, digging into years of hidden scandals, offshore accounts, and quiet backdoor deals his stepbrothers thought were buried. All things he had heard in whispers, half-conversations, or drunken confessions they thought meant nothing.

One by one, he compiled everything. Every dirty secret, every transaction. Then he hit send.

By morning, the house of cards came crashing down. Their father’s furious voice echoed across the halls of the Barnes estate. His stepbrothers stood in front of him, pale and defeated. Disappointment burned in Mr. Barnes’ eyes as he stared at his sons.

"You’ve disgraced this family," their father said coldly.

And just like that, Bucky had flipped the board they tried to control.

******

A week slipped by, and only one week remained.

Surprisingly, the days spent with Bucky had become… pleasant. You shared quiet conversations over coffee, brief glances filled with unspoken words, and even the occasional bursts of laughter that made your heart tighten unexpectedly.

An invitation came.

The private house party was on a scale you hadn’t yet experienced. A helicopter waited for them on the rooftop, blades slicing the air as Bucky guided you toward it.

The weather had turned moody, dark clouds swirling above as the helicopter lifted off. Wind buffeted the aircraft, making it sway. The pilot’s voice shook slightly through the intercom. "Wind speeds are picking up, sir."

You calmly leaned forward, placing a hand on the pilot’s shoulder. "Steady on your pitch. Keep your nose slightly higher against the crosswind. Let the updrafts help you, not fight you."

The pilot blinked but nodded, following your calm instructions. The helicopter stabilized, cutting through the sky with surprising ease.

Bucky stared at you, utterly stunned. "You know aviation?" he asked, voice laced with disbelief.

You realized you may have slipped. You forced a soft laugh. "Our dad used to teach us a little bit of everything. He says it’s good for survival."

Bucky nodded, but a flicker of suspicion passed behind his eyes.

The mansion came into view. No, mansion wasn’t even the word. It was more like a private empire. Several helicopters rested on the pads, yachts floated lazily in the nearby private harbor. A different level of rich entirely.

The host greeted them with a wide grin, clapping Bucky on the shoulder and offering you both cigars. Bucky politely declined, but you took one.

You studied the cigar for a moment, fingers feeling its familiar texture before lighting it expertly. The rich aroma filled your lungs, and you exhaled slowly, savoring it.

The host laughed, clearly impressed. "Most ladies I meet don’t handle a cigar like that."

You smiled sheepishly. "Sometimes, after coming home for Christmas, I share one with my father. He enjoys the expensive ones."

The host’s laughter grew heartier, his impression of you warming instantly. Bucky, however, remained silent beside you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Levi never smoked. Not even a puff.

The party swirled around you in glittering conversations and empty politeness. The buzz of forced laughter, clinking glasses, and backhanded compliments grated on your nerves. After a while, you slipped away from the main crowd and found your refuge near a grand marble fountain.

You sat quietly, staring at the ripples in the water, lost in thought. Moments later, you heard footsteps approach.

Bucky sat beside you, his posture relaxed but his gaze quietly observing.

"These kinds of parties always exhaust me," you admitted softly.

He smiled faintly. "You and me both."

The silence settled between you before he spoke again. "You remember back in college? That tiny bar outside the campus. The one with the old upright piano in the corner?"

Your breath caught slightly. Careful.

"You used to play there sometimes," he continued. "Mostly late nights. I remember one night... you played ‘The Winter Waltz.’"

The memory tugged at something inside you. That night wasn’t Levi’s. That had been you. You were the one who had played that song, sneaking out after drills.

You gave him a faint smile. "I never could resist that song. The melody always stuck with me."

Bucky’s eyes locked onto yours for a heartbeat longer than necessary. The suspicion was there, quietly blooming behind his gaze. He didn’t say it aloud. But he knew.

Not Levi. Still, he stayed quiet.

*******

The sunlight poured gently through the tall windows of the McCain house as laughter echoed down the grand staircase. Levi had been getting stronger these past few weeks. The hollowness in her cheeks had filled in, her eyes brighter, her steps lighter. She was regaining herself, piece by piece.

Downstairs, the familiar voices of your team filled the living room. Casey, Ortiz, and Dom had arrived after being summoned by David. Their banter filled the air, making the house feel less like a hospital and more like home.

Levi took a deep breath, smoothing her sweater before stepping into the room.

Casey was the first to spot her, nudging Ortiz with a mischievous grin. They both fought back their laughter the moment Dom turned toward her, utterly oblivious since he didn't join when you rushed to the hospital.

Dom stepped forward confidently, his usual wide grin on his face as if greeting you.

"Boss," he said with a nod, his tone light but confused. "You look... different today."

Levi blinked at him, holding back a chuckle. "You don’t know, do you?"

Dom tilted his head. "Know what?"

"I'm your boss's younger sister," Levi said, her voice calm but amused.

Dom squinted, glancing back and forth between her, Casey, and Ortiz, trying to catch the joke. "Boss… you told me you have a younger sister."

"I am the youngest," Levi clarified, crossing her arms, a playful glint in her eyes.

Dom still stood there, completely frozen, as if his brain refused to process what he was seeing. His gaze shifted from Levi, to Casey, to Ortiz, then finally landed on the family photo displayed on the mantle. His jaw dropped.

"What?!"

Laughter erupted around the room, Casey doubling over, Ortiz wiping his eyes, even David chuckling as he stood with arms crossed, silently enjoying the scene. Levi couldn’t help but laugh too, shaking her head as Dom finally threw his hands up in defeat.

"You’ll catch up, Dom," Casey teased.

As the laughter died down, Levi’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. A new notification. A photo from one of the business party blogs.

The image displayed you standing beside Bucky at the party, his hand resting lightly on your lower back as he leaned closer to say something in your ear. You were laughing, your head slightly tilted toward him. The intimacy of the photo was subtle but undeniable.

Levi’s stomach tightened. She forced herself to breathe, but something inside her simmered, an unfamiliar ache twisting through her chest.

Without thinking, she dialed your number.

The phone buzzed again in your hand. You had been expecting it—dreading it, really.

You answered softly.

“Hey.”

Levi’s voice came through, calm but carrying a weight you could feel even across the distance.

“I’m ready to come back.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, your chest tightening. You had rehearsed this conversation in your head so many times, but now that it was happening, it felt heavier than you imagined.

“Okay.” You forced a smile, even though she couldn’t see it. “The office is running smoothly. He’s… waiting for you.”

There was a pause on the other end. Neither of you spoke for a few seconds. She was giving you room to say it, but you didn’t want to. Not directly. Instead, your voice softened.

“It’s… harder than I thought, Levi.”

“I know.” Her voice stayed calm and patient. Not accusing. Just… knowing.

That almost broke you more than if she had been.

“I packed my things,” you added quickly. “I’ll head back to base tonight. Everything’s ready for you to step back in tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Her answer was quiet, but final. “Thank you.”

The call ended.

You sat there for a while, the silence of the room pressing down on you. Your heart felt tight, heavier with every passing second. It was painful, not because you were leaving the job, but because you were leaving him.

You zipped the last part of your bag shut, took one long breath, and stood up.

Duty first. Always.

You quietly slipped out of the apartment that night, heading back toward your military base, carrying with you the weight of everything you didn’t say.

******

The next morning, Levi stood before the mirror, smoothing the wrinkles on her blouse and brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her heart fluttered with excitement and nerves. Today was her first day back at the office. After everything that happened, after everything her sister had done for her—it was finally her turn again.

She stepped into the company lobby, head held high. Familiar faces greeted her, though most didn’t notice anything different. She offered polite smiles and short nods as she made her way to her department.

When she entered Bucky’s office, he looked up from his paperwork and smiled.

"Morning, Levi."

"Morning," she replied softly, her voice calm and steady.

At first glance, everything seemed perfectly normal. But as minutes turned into hours, something began to gnaw at Bucky. The energy around her felt… different. The usual spark, that subtle sharpness he had grown accustomed to over the past few weeks, wasn’t there.

Instead, Levi carried a calm, more reserved demeanor—one that he vaguely remembered from before all the chaos. It was familiar, yes, but something was off.

Then came lunch.

As always, Levi walked to the break counter, humming faintly. She pulled out her usual matcha set—the one she had insisted on using every single afternoon.

The soft whisking sound filled the room, the earthy aroma of matcha drifting through the air.

Bucky stared at the cup in her hand, his mind racing. His chest tightened as realization struck.

This was Levi.

The real Levi.

His brows furrowed slightly as he closed the file in front of him. His eyes never left her.

"Levi?"

"Hmm?" She glanced over her shoulder, flashing him a soft smile.

His throat felt tight for a moment, but he forced the words out. "Where is your sister?"

Levi's hand paused, mid-stir. Her smile faltered, just for a brief second, but enough for Bucky to catch it. She straightened, placing the cup on the counter carefully.

"I…" she started, but no quick lie formed on her lips. She knew she was caught.

The room suddenly felt smaller, quieter.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, studying her with quiet intensity. His voice softened, but the weight of his words pressed into the space between them.

"I’ve known for a while," he admitted. "Or at least, I’ve suspected. You two may look identical, but you feel different. She didn’t drink matcha. She liked tea after lunch. She handled my brothers like a soldier, not like you. And yesterday, at the party…"

He let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished, heavy.

Levi lowered her gaze, guilt flickering behind her eyes.

"I didn’t want to drag her into this," she whispered.

"But she chose to be dragged in for you," Bucky replied gently.

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He laughs and offers a knuckle bump. “Clean job, Captain. You’ll get the brass off our backs for at least two weeks.”

Behind him, Casey whoops and twirls her rifle like a baton. “Permission to call this op a goddamn masterpiece?”

“You’d call it that even if we lost a leg,” Dom snorts, limping slightly with his pack slung uneven on his back. “You get weird after adrenaline.”

“Shut up, Dom,” Casey says, tossing him a canteen. “We pulled it off. No casualties. No surprises. That deserves at least one drink.”

“Ten,” Ortiz corrects. “We’re going home, remember? Full leave. We’ll be stateside by midnight.”

Cheers go up again. Someone claps you on the back, but your mind’s already drifting.

Home.

It’s a word that never feels quite real to you. You’ve lived longer in war zones than anywhere with walls and blankets that weren’t standard issue. But your sister’s there. She is your constant. Her soft voice over the phone. Her awkward texts. The way she tries not to make you feel guilty for never showing up.

You’re thinking of her when you board the transport. When the team settles in with helmets off and boots kicked up, comparing bruises like trophies.

Ortiz nudges your shoulder as the engines roar. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

“No, seriously,” he says. “When’s the last time you actually rested during leave?”

You raise a brow. “What are you, my mother?”

“Nope. Just the guy who has to carry your grumpy ass through every op.”

There’s laughter, the kind that only comes after a mission survived. The kind that releases tension built over days of silence and killing. It’s always loud after the quiet. Always messy after the clean shot.

As the transport lifts, Dom leans forward. “So what’s the first thing everyone’s doing when we land?”

“Pizza,” Casey answers immediately.

“Beer,” Ortiz adds.

“Shower,” someone mumbles from the back.

You smirk faintly. “Sleep.”

“No boyfriend waiting, Captain?” Casey teases.

You just stare at her. That shuts her up.

The hum of the engine fills the space between conversations. Outside, the sky turns golden with sunset. The kind of view that makes people homesick.

Your phone vibrates.

You frown, glancing at the screen. Unknown number.

You step away from the others, pressing it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Is this Miss McCain? The emergency contact for Levi McCain?” The voice on the other end stumbles. Young. Nervous. “I’m calling from Central Hospital. Your sister was just admitted.”

Your stomach tightens.

“What happened?”

“She—she overdosed. We think it was intentional. She’s stable… for now. But… we don’t know how long she was alone.”

Everything stops.

The engine hum. The voices. The light.

You stare ahead, unblinking, as the nurse keeps talking—but you’re no longer listening.

Ortiz appears beside you, reading your face like a battlefield map. “Captain?”

You shove the phone into your vest and push past him.

“I need a vehicle. I need to get to her.”

“Wait, what happened?”

“She’s in the hospital.” Your voice is low. Firm. “She almost—” You bite it back. “I need to move.”

“You’re supposed to report to the Colonel,” Dom says, confused.

“Screw the Colonel.”

You’re already walking.

Ortiz curses and signals the rest. “Gear up. We’re going with her.”

And without question, they follow.

Because no one’s ever seen you panic. Not once. Not in fire, not in blood. But now your steps are too fast, your hands are shaking, and your silence is loud enough to make them all afraid.

You’ve never asked for help.

But this time, they don’t wait for you to ask.

🏥🏥🏥🏥

“Levi McCain? Is she here?” you demand, breath sharp and uneven, as you rush to the front desk of the ER.

The nurse behind the counter startles, eyes darting from you to the uniformed soldiers flooding in behind. “Uh… yes. She’s in—uh—room six. But please—”

You don’t wait. Your boots hit the linoleum with a jarring rhythm, your team trailing behind in shocked silence.

You reach the room and freeze in the doorway.

There she is.

Your twin.

Levi.

Lying on the hospital bed like a broken version of herself. Her skin, once vibrant and flushed with the soft glow of moisturizers and tinted creams, looks gray under the fluorescent lights. Her cheeks are hollowed, clavicles sharper. She used to wear soft pastels, delicate accessories. Now, even the hospital gown dwarfs her frame.

She looks like a stranger wearing your sister’s face.

A nurse adjusts her IV line, and that’s when Levi stirs. Her eyes flutter open, disoriented at first—then she sees you.

She blinks, frowns faintly, and turns her face away.

“Who told her to come here?” she mutters, voice rough.

“That’s the first thing you say?” you breathe out, the ache rising in your throat. You cross the room in two strides and kneel beside her bed. “That’s what you say to someone worried to death?”

You pull her into a hug, your arms wrapping around her fragile frame.

It feels like hugging a memory.

God, when did she get this thin?

You hadn’t seen her in eight months. The last video call, she had looked tired, but you figured it was just work. Stress. The corporate world was brutal. But Levi always looked put together. She was the polished one. The softer one. The one who smiled at strangers and didn’t scare boys off just by standing too straight.

Now, her spine juts through the back of the gown. You can feel every rib.

You pull back, your hands trembling as you study her face—sunken, pale, eyes rimmed with dark circles. She refuses to look at you. Shame? Guilt? You can’t tell.

“Levi,” you say gently, tilting her chin so you can meet her eyes. “Look at me.”

Her lashes flutter, and she finally meets your gaze. There's something broken behind them.

“What happened?” your voice is low, steady. “Did someone hurt you? A stalker? An ex?”

You hate how your mind is racing with threats. Levi was always the one guys fawned over. Back in school, your locker was left untouched. Hers? Overflowing with chocolates, roses, handwritten notes. The golden twin. The soft one. The one they thought they could handle.

She shakes her head.

“No,” she murmurs and pushes your arms away, slowly lying back against the pillows. Her movement is tired, almost defiant.

You stare at her. Frustration rising like bile.

“Levi.” You step back but your voice sharpens. “You’re in a hospital bed. Don’t act like you’re fine.”

She doesn’t answer.

“I’ll call Mom and Dad.”

“No!” she snaps, grabbing your wrist with weak fingers. Her eyes widen.

You freeze.

“Why?” you ask, heart pounding. “Why are you being so secretive?”

“If Dad finds out…” she swallows hard, tears welling but not falling, “he’ll kill everyone.”

Your breath catches.

“Everyone?” you repeat. The word hits heavy. “So it’s not just one person who did this to you? What kind of hell did you get dragged into, Levi?”

She gives a bitter, humorless scoff. “Problem? You think this is just one problem? I’m drowning in it. All of it. You have no idea how deep it goes.”

You crouch beside her again, your voice softening. “Then tell me. Stop talking in riddles. I can help you.”

She looks at you. Silent. Torn.

“I’m not asking anymore.” Your jaw clenches. “If you don’t tell me, I will tell Dad.”

She flinches, lips parting like she’s been struck.

“No—don’t. Please.”

You hold your ground.

“Then talk to me.”

Levi’s fingers trembled as she held onto the edge of the blanket. Her voice cracked when she finally spoke, “It started with the manager.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

She looked at you then, her eyes glassy, and the words came out in a shaky rush. “There was a budget report. A mistake. I thought I was helping when I pointed it out. I did it privately, not to humiliate him, I swear. But... after that? Everything changed.”

You stayed quiet, listening, though your fists clenched at your sides.

“No one would sit with me at lunch. People stopped answering my emails. My desk got moved… shoved into the corner like I didn’t belong. I started getting dumped with work. Not just mine—everyone’s. Even intern jobs. Like printing flyers. Making coffee. Picking up supplies.”

She laughed bitterly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I thought I could bear with it. Keep my head down. I didn’t want to cause trouble, I thought… maybe it would pass. But it didn’t.”

Your heart sank as you watched your twin’s composure fall apart piece by piece.

“I was the popular one, remember?” she whispered. “People used to like me. I didn’t know how to be invisible. And then the silence, the fake smiles, the isolation… It was too much. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I just… wanted to feel normal again.”

You noticed her hand twitch over the thin hospital blanket.

“I started taking antidepressants. Just one at first. Then two. Then I didn’t count anymore. I didn’t even realize how many I took today until I was on the floor.”

Her voice broke, and so did something inside you.

“Fuck, Levi…” you gasped, your voice sharp with disbelief and fury. “I’m gonna kill them.”

“No! Don’t,” she cried out, grabbing your wrist with all the strength she could muster.

“Why do you care about them when they nearly killed you?” Your voice rose despite yourself. “Do you even realize what could’ve happened today?”

She looked away, biting her lip, eyes stinging with tears. “Because it was my dream job.”

You stepped back, stunned. “Your dream?”

“You don’t understand…” she said softly, the words barely forming. “You’ve always belonged in the military, just like Dad. You fit in, you have command, respect. I don’t. I never liked the field, the isolation, the rules. I liked people. I liked the city, the rhythm, the energy. I wanted to work in a glass building, wear heels, drink overpriced coffee, and be someone.”

Her voice cracked again, and you saw the girl who used to twirl in front of her closet, planning outfits the night before school, asking for your opinion even though she knew you’d just grunt and shrug.

You exhaled through your nose, jaw clenched. She wasn’t weak. She had just been broken by the very world she thought would lift her up.

Before you could respond, the door creaked open, and a doctor stepped in—a woman in a navy scrub top and tired eyes.

“The patient needs to rest,” she said kindly but firmly.

You nodded, even though you didn’t want to let go of your sister again.

“Get some sleep, okay?” you said quietly to Levi.

She didn’t answer, but you saw her grip the edge of the blanket again—like a child afraid to be alone.

You gave her one last glance before stepping out.

The hallway outside the room was quieter now. Your team stood at a respectful distance. You waited for the doctor to finish checking Levi’s IV and then approached her.

“Doctor,” you said, voice lower now, steady. “Can I ask what exactly happened to my twin?”

The doctor nodded. “She’s under extreme psychological stress. High cortisol levels. Insomnia, malnourishment, emotional collapse. Her body is running on fumes. She’s lucky she didn’t go into cardiac arrest.”

You felt your stomach twist.

“She needs time. Not just physically—but mentally. If she keeps going at this rate, we’ll be seeing her again. And next time, it might be too late.”

“I agree,” you said with a firm nod. “She needs to rest. Whatever it takes.”

The doctor gave a soft sigh. “We’ll run a few more tests. If everything looks stable, she might be discharged tomorrow. But she’s not out of the woods.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

You left the hallway and walked outside the hospital’s automatic doors. The night air hit you like a slap—cool, heavy with city noise and distant sirens.

You sighed.

It felt like the adrenaline from the mission earlier had evaporated. The celebration, the cheer of your team, the taste of victory—it all felt meaningless now. Because the person you’d spent your life protecting had been suffering right under your nose.

****

“Boss.”

The familiar voice made you flinch. You spun around instinctively, your hand twitching toward your holster.

“What the—?” you breathed. “Ortiz?”

He stood just a few feet away, hands raised in mock surrender, the rest of your team fanned out behind him in the shadows of the hospital parking lot.

“What are you guys doing here?” you asked, heart still pounding from the scare—and everything else.

Casey tilted her head with a dry smirk. “You seriously didn’t notice we’ve been tailing you since you left the ER?”

You blinked. “No.”

Honestly, how could you have noticed? Your mind was still spinning with the image of Levi’s pale face, the IV in her arm, and the way she clutched your wrist, begging you not to retaliate.

Your voice dropped, distant. “Wait… does that mean no one reported back to the Captain?”

“Well…” Ortiz rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “We sacrificed Dom instead. He’s probably getting chewed out by the Colonel right now.”

Despite everything, a breath of laughter escaped your throat. It was brief, but it grounded you for a moment. You looked at them—your team, your family in the field. And for the first time since Levi’s overdose, something settled inside you.

Casey stepped forward, voice softer. “We’re sorry about what happened to your sister.”

You nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thanks. I mean it.”

Their presence helped. A little. Enough to make you stand straighter.

Your eyes darkened. “I’m gonna deal with those bastards who bullied her.”

Your tone dropped so low it vibrated with rage, and the shift in energy was immediate. The entire team stiffened. You were known to be ruthless on mission—but this was personal. The kind of personal that made trained killers hesitate.

Ortiz raised an eyebrow. “You never told us you had a twin.”

“I did,” you said without looking at him. “I said I had a sister.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t exactly say she looked like your mirror image.” Casey added, crossing her arms. “That was kind of a shock.”

You shrugged, eyes fixed on the concrete. “Levi and I... we used to be inseparable growing up. But we chose different paths. She stayed in the city. Corporate dreams, bright lights. I took Dad’s rifle and joined the army.”

You looked up, jaw set. “We don’t see each other as much now. I thought she was happy…”

Casey’s face softened. “You didn’t know.”

You shook your head. “I should have. She’s my twin.”

There was a pause. Then Ortiz asked the question everyone was thinking.

“So… you going to take revenge for your sister?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, a slow smirk crept across your face. That dangerous, unhinged one that usually preceded a wild, nearly illegal plan.

“Of course,” you said. “Now we’re speaking the same language.”

Casey narrowed her eyes. “How?”

You cracked your knuckles and leaned against the hood of a parked SUV. “I’ve got a crazy idea. And I think you guys are going to think I’ve finally lost it.”

Twenty minutes later, anyone walking through the hospital parking lot would be confused—and maybe a little alarmed—at the sight of a group of soldiers in full tactical gear huddled in a tight circle, whispering like they were planning a heist.

Casey leaned back first. “That’s insane.”

“But you're not saying no,” you said with a grin.

She shook her head, exhaling sharply. “I’m not.”

Ortiz tapped the butt of his sidearm. “It could work. It’s risky as hell—but if anyone can pull it off, it’s you. Just depends on your timing.”

You looked at each of them in turn. These were the people who’d bled beside you, shielded you, and followed your orders into gunfire and chaos. Now, they were standing by you in a war that wasn’t waged with bullets—but with dignity.

You smiled, something feral in your eyes. “If I have you all backing me up, I can do anything.”

Casey extended her fist. “Then give them hell, boss.”

🏢🏢🏢🏢

Another day. But nothing about today felt normal.

You stood at the base of the high-rise tower, the glass windows reflecting the clouds above like the building was trying to scrape the sky itself. It was a far cry from the concrete and steel of the military barracks you were used to—no gun oil in the air, no shouted commands, no weight of a vest strapped across your chest.

And definitely no uniform.

Instead, you wore a fitted blazer over a soft cream blouse, a knee-length skirt hugging your frame, and black heels that clicked sharply with every step you took. Your hair was tied up neatly, your makeup done just like Levi would wear it—light, approachable, perfect.

Your spine straightened. You weren’t you today. You were Levi McCain.

You stepped through the revolving glass door, nodding slightly at the security guard stationed by the gate. Your heels echoed through the marble-tiled lobby as you approached the access gates. Flashing the ID badge that bore your sister’s name and face, you passed through without a word.

The elevator ride felt like a countdown.

By the time the doors slid open onto Levi’s floor, you were fully in character. Warm smile. Relaxed posture. You even adjusted your voice to match hers—softer, friendlier, a little hesitant.

Heads turned.

People paused mid-conversation, frozen like they'd seen a ghost. A junior associate dropped her pen. A guy by the water cooler stared like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Levi McCain,” came a voice from the far end of the room.

You turned.

The manager. Mid-forties. Too much confidence for too little talent. She strutted forward, arms folded, a condescending smile tugging at her lips.

“You're back from your sick leave,” she said, loud enough for the entire floor to hear.

You kept Levi’s warm tone, smile intact. “Yes. Feeling much better, thank you for asking.”

You bowed your head slightly and walked past her, graceful and calm. But inside, your fists were clenched so tight your nails bit into your palms.

You scanned the office with sharp eyes. Levi’s desk had been pushed aside, away from the windows, tucked behind a pillar near the printer—out of sight, out of mind. Her nameplate was gone. Her chair was missing a wheel.

The woman next to that desk shifted uncomfortably when you met her eyes. She looked away immediately.

You placed your bag down slowly and took your seat—Levi’s seat.

So this is how they did it. No punches. No bruises. No screaming.

Just slow, silent cruelty. Isolation. Overwork. Smiles that meant nothing and eyes that cut deep.

You glanced down at the corner of the desk. A tiny scratch in the wood. You imagined your sister sitting here, day after day, alone, drowning in work that wasn’t hers, pretending it didn’t break her.

It broke her anyway.

But they hadn’t counted on this.

They didn’t know that Levi McCain had a twin with military training, a temper, and a very different definition of what justice looked like.

You crossed one leg over the other and cracked your knuckles discreetly under the desk.

They didn’t use their fists here. But that was fine. You’d show them how.

*****

The car hummed steadily along the highway.

Ortiz had one hand on the wheel, the other tapping lightly to the rhythm of a rock song playing low from the speakers. Casey sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, occasionally glancing at the rearview mirror.

In the back seat, Levi stirred—eyes fluttering open. Her head leaned against the window, a small crease on her brow as she blinked, confused.

She straightened up slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice was groggy, soft. “Where... where am I?”

Casey twisted around in her seat, meeting her eyes. Even after a full mission, bloodshed, and chaos, the sight of Levi still sent a chill down her spine. Same face. Same eyes. But the expression—fragile, hesitant—was nothing like her twin.

“You’re safe,” Casey said gently. “We’re taking you home.”

Levi’s eyes widened, panic rising fast. “Where is she? Where’s my sister?”

“She’s handling your problem,” Casey replied, voice calm but firm. “Everything will be alright.”

Levi shot forward in her seat, fingers gripping the headrest in front of her. “No. No, no, no—you don’t understand! Anyone stuck in a room with her... they won’t survive!”

Ortiz laughed under his breath, eyes still on the road. “Well, that’s the point.”

He and Casey exchanged a knowing smirk as Levi shrank back in her seat, looking horrified.

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