#nysm2

You were the one who kept the Horsemen all from completely falling apart.

You scheduled rehearsals, made sure everyone had their gear, organised the timing down to the second, and cleaned up the chaos left in the wake of their stunts. People thought you were cold, calculated, unflappable — and maybe, sometimes, you were — but that wasn’t the whole story. You cared. You cared a lot. You just didn’t make a show of it.

It was your job to be the one who stayed three steps ahead, who noticed when someone was about to make a mistake, who got between them and disaster before anyone else even realized it was coming. You managed the Horsemen the way some people manage a ticking bomb — calmly, precisely, and with a little prayer that it wouldn’t explode in your face.

And then there was Jack.

Jack Wilder.

The wildcard. The smile that made you lose your focus. The infuriating man who broke rules as easily as he broke hearts. You were supposed to keep him in line, keep him in check, keep him professional. And yet somehow, in the quiet moments, in the spaces between stunts and meetings, you found yourself pulled into him. Into his chaos. Into his ridiculous charm.

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

It was reckless. Unprofessional. And yet, when he looked at you the way he did — like you were the only person in the room who mattered, the only person who could see him — you realized it didn’t matter. You didn’t care about rules in that moment. You didn’t care about logic.

Because managing a team of illusionists was one thing. Managing your own heart? That was another entirely.

And from that precarious edge, your secret began. A secret you would hide from the Horsemen, no matter how close they were, no matter how much they suspected… at least, until the day you couldn’t.

the time you pretended to hate each other

You’d been managing the Horsemen for months, which meant you knew exactly how to predict chaos — all of it. Except for one thing. Jack Wilder.

He was impossible. Charming, reckless, infuriating, and somehow always distracting you at exactly the wrong moment. Which is why, when Atlas called the team into the briefing room that morning, you sat as far away from him as humanly possible. Not too far — people would notice — but far enough to send the right message.

Jack noticed immediately. Of course he did.

“Morning,” he said, sliding into his chair at the far end of the table, voice casual. Too casual. His eyes gleamed in a way that made your chest tighten.

You didn’t respond.

Merritt, ever the observant one, tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Why do you two always sit like a divorced couple?”

You didn’t even look at Jack. “Because he’s insufferable.”

Jack smirked. “Because she breathes too loud.”

You shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

Merritt groaned. “Ugh. You two are exhausting.”

Atlas cleared his throat, flipping through his notes like nothing was happening, but you and Jack both knew better. Under the table, your phone vibrated. You glanced down.

jack: you look really pretty today btw

Your stomach did a flip. Nearly choked. Your hand shook slightly as you typed a reply.

you: stop it. merritt is watching me like I’m about to explodejack: i always watch u like that. i like it

You cursed under your breath, shoving the phone into your pocket before anyone noticed.

“You okay?” Atlas asked, finally glancing at you, voice sharp but not unkind.

“Yes,” you said quickly, trying to steady your breath. “Just… coffee didn’t agree with me.”

Jack took a slow sip of his own coffee, hiding a grin that threatened to undo every ounce of professionalism you had cultivated.

And for the next hour, you sat there, pretending to hate each other, trading barbed comments, while secretly exchanging tiny smiles and texts under the table.

Perfect cover.

Well… for now.

2. the time you two almost got caught making out

The show in Buenos Aires had ended hours ago, but the theater still smelled faintly of smoke and perfume. You were supposed to be helping Jack pack up props, moving crates and folding costumes, keeping everything organized. Instead, you found yourself pinned against a costume rack, Jack’s hands tangled in your hair, his mouth claiming yours like he hadn’t seen you in weeks.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he murmured against your lips.

“Jack—” you warned, but he ignored you, lifting you onto a crate so your legs dangled precariously. Your hands clutched at him, unwilling to let go, and for a moment the world narrowed to just the two of you, the dim backstage lighting, the quiet hum of the empty theater.

Then a voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“HEY! Has anyone seen Jack?”

Your stomach dropped. Lula’s voice echoed down the hallway, casual but sharp, and suddenly all the intimacy you’d been wrapped up in threatened to unravel. You shoved him away so fast he stumbled backward, tripping over a fog machine with a loud clatter.

You straightened your shirt as though nothing had happened, while Jack sat on the floor, hair a mess, blinking at you like you’d just insulted his very existence.

“Does this look natural!?” he demanded, gesturing helplessly to himself.

Lula rounded the corner, saw him sprawled on the ground, and sighed. “…You’re so weird,” she said, shaking her head before walking away, clearly choosing not to involve herself in whatever ridiculousness you two were engaged in.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Jack grinned despite the mess he’d made of himself, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face.

“That was… close,” he admitted, his voice low and dangerous in that way that made your pulse speed.

“Too close,” you said, adjusting your own clothes and trying not to think about how close you’d been.

He leaned toward you again, a playful glint in his eyes, but you slapped his shoulder lightly, grounding both of you in reality.

“Not here, Wilder,” you warned.

“Noted,” he said, a wicked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Next time?”

“Next time… maybe never,” you said, exhaling, still shaky. “We nearly got caught.”

Jack laughed softly, brushing his thumb across your cheek as if to remind you that rules were optional when it came to the two of you. “Impossible,” he said. “We’re too good at this.”

“Or maybe we’re not lucky at all,” you muttered, though your heart still hammered in your chest.

One thing was certain: hiding this was going to be harder than either of you had imagined.

3. the time when he pulled a dangerous stunt

The stunt had been reckless, and you’d told him so. But Jack Wilder never listened to warnings—he thrived on adrenaline, and apparently, minor injuries were part of the thrill.

You found him in the small backstage safe room, leaning against the wall with a shallow cut across his forearm. The blood was darker than you expected, and a thin smear ran down to his wrist. His breathing was uneven, and the slight pallor of his face made your stomach twist.

“Jack,” you hissed, dropping to your knees beside him, eyes narrowing. “What the hell were you thinking?”

He tried to brush it off, waving one hand casually, but his grin faltered when he saw your glare. “Thought I could pull it off,” he said. “Slight… miscalculation.”

“Miscalculation?” you repeated, rolling your eyes. “You’re bleeding, idiot. That’s more than a miscalculation.”

He flexed his wrist, a weak attempt to make it look fine. “Technically, it’s not that bad.”

“Technically, I’ll throttle you if you move,” you snapped, grabbing a clean cloth and pressing it firmly to his wound. The iron scent of blood mixed with the faint perfume lingering in the room, and your fingers brushed the warm skin around the cut. You tried to focus, but the heat from your touch—and from him—made your pulse spike.

“You really get bossy when I’m hurt,” he murmured, voice low, teasing—but there was a vulnerability there, the kind that made your chest tighten.

“You shouldn’t be hurt, Jack. Ever,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. Your fingers lingered too long, and your pulse hammered.

Jack caught your gaze, his grin softening into something warmer. “And yet here we are.”

You groaned, shifting slightly so your knees weren’t pressing uncomfortably against the crate. “Stop flirting. Just stay still.”

“I worry you’re going to kill me with those eyes,” he whispered, and despite yourself, a small shiver ran down your spine.

“I am allowed to care about you,” you snapped, though your voice wavered. “A lot. Maybe too much.”

He reached out under the cloth, fingers brushing yours as he held your hand. The touch sent heat straight to your core. “I like that you care. About me. I like it… more than I probably should.”

Your breath caught. “Jack—”

A sudden click of the door made both of you spin. Atlas stepped in, frowning. “Everything alright in here?”

Jack sprang to his feet, straightening awkwardly, the careless grin back in place. “Yeah. Minor paperwork. Boss lady’s supervising.”

You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to calm the rapid thump of your heart. Jack leaned against the wall again once Atlas left, watching you with that impossible look—soft, intimate, and dangerous.

“You know,” he murmured, leaning just a fraction closer, “you could fix this faster if you wanted to.”

“I’m not kissing the patient,” you said, adjusting the cloth, though your fingers lingered a second longer than necessary on his arm.

“Patient,” he echoed, voice low, deliberate, almost teasing. “Is that a challenge?”

Your pulse jumped, heat rising to your cheeks. For a second, it felt like everything had narrowed to just you and him, the rest of the world gone. But you shook your head. “Not here, Jack,” you whispered.

He smirked, brushing his fingers over yours one last time before stepping back. “Fine. But… next time? Maybe I’ll let you.”

You rolled your eyes, though your chest still raced. One thing was clear: this secret was dangerous, and the closeness—the accidental touches, the teasing, the adrenaline—made it impossible to hide how much you felt.

4. the time you got jealous

The backstage corridor was still humming with post-show chaos when you walked through, flipping through your clipboard, trying to wrangle the team for load-out. You weren’t really paying attention—until you heard Jack’s laugh.

Not his stage laugh, not his crowd-standard charming smirk. The soft one. The one he used on you.

You looked up on instinct.

A girl was practically glued to his side, touching his arm, hair flipping like she practiced it in a mirror. And Jack—Jack was smiling politely, stepping back but not fast enough for your liking.

You felt something hot and sharp stab through your chest before you could stop it.

Ridiculous. Illogical. Dangerous.

You forced your voice steady as you walked over. “Jack. We’re overdue to load out. I need you backstage.”

The girl didn’t even look at you. “You’re the manager, right? You sound stressed.”

You blinked. “This is literally my job.”

Jack snorted under his breath and quickly covered it with a cough.

The girl leaned in closer to him. “So, Jack… if you’re free tonight, maybe you could show me a private trick? I bet you’re really good with your—”

Your eye twitched so violently that Jack actually flinched.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, backing up. “I’ve got responsibilities tonight.”

Her smile dropped. “Seriously? You’re bailing?”

Before you could react, Merritt appeared out of nowhere like a vulture smelling drama.

“Well damn,” Merritt said, grinning wide, “someone’s jealous.”

You stiffened. Jack froze.

“Excuse me?” you snapped.

“Oh, please,” Merritt laughed, waving a hand. “You were practically breathing fire. I’ve seen less rage from Lula when someone touches her props.”

“I’m not—jealous,” you sputtered. “I’m annoyed because Jack is off-schedule.”

“You don’t get annoyed like that about anyone else,” Merritt said, narrowing his eyes with delighted suspicion.

Jack’s face went bright red behind him. “Merritt—”

“No no, don’t stop me, kid.” Merritt pointed between you. “There’s something weird going on here and I intend to annoy both of you until I figure it—”

“Merritt,” you snapped, “leave before I assign your call time to 5 a.m.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You know what? I like sleeping. I’m gonna go find Lula.”

He disappeared down the hallway.

Silence rushed in behind him.

Jack stepped closer the second Merritt turned the corner. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body, the quiet steadiness he saved just for you.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You kept your eyes on your clipboard even though you weren’t reading a single word. “Fine.”

“Liar.”

You exhaled sharply. “Jack, I—just don’t take unnecessary risks with fans. They don’t know boundaries.”

His gaze softened instantly. “Hey.” He tilted his head, trying to catch your eyes. “I wasn’t flirting with her.”

“I know,” you said too quickly, too quietly.

Jack inhaled like the admission punched the air out of him.

“And…” he continued, stepping just a little closer until your arms brushed, “I kind of… really liked that you got jealous.”

Your head snapped up. “Jack! I was— I was not—”

He smiled, small and unbearably soft. “You were.”

Your chest tightened. “Someone could’ve noticed.”

“They didn’t.” His voice dipped to a whisper meant only for you. “Only I did.”

Your breath hitched in your throat.

Down the hall, someone shouted Jack’s name. Both of you jumped apart like guilty teenagers.

Jack stepped backwards, but his eyes lingered on you. “I’ll go load out. Before Merritt comes back with conspiracy theories.”

He turned, hesitated, then added under his breath:

“And jealously suits you. Just saying.”

You threw your clipboard at him. He dodged, laughing all the way down the hall.

When you bent to retrieve it, you realized you were smiling—helplessly, hopelessly—because loving him in secret was impossible. And hiding it was getting harder every day.

5. the time he caught you

You were mid-sentence, hands full of cue cards and a half-dead flashlight, weaving through the mess of cables that snaked across the backstage floor. You’d walked this area a thousand times — which made it all the more humiliating when your toe caught on a thick cord and the ground suddenly tilted.

You let out a sharp gasp.

But you never hit the ground.

Jack got to you first.

It didn’t even seem possible — one moment he was across the room, arguing with Atlas about some detail in the finale, and the next his hands were around your waist, pulling you upright with a speed that didn’t feel human.

You crashed chest-first into him, breath leaving your lungs in a stunned rush, the world still spinning.

His fingers were firm around your hips. His chest rose and fell against yours. His eyes were wide — terrified, then relieved.

“Careful,” he breathed, voice rough. “You okay?”

You blinked, dazed. “I—yeah. I didn’t even fall.”

“Because you were about to,” he muttered. His hands didn’t let go, not immediately. “And because you don’t look where you’re walking.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“You could’ve gotten hurt.”

His voice was too soft. Too honest. Too close.

Your heart thudded painfully, embarrassingly loud. You became acutely aware of how close you were — his grip, your hands braced against his shoulders, your faces inches apart.

Then—

Footsteps.

You both froze.

Henley appeared around a stack of crates, brows raised as she took in the scene: you pressed against Jack’s chest, his arms still wrapped instinctively around your waist like he’d forgotten how to let go.

“…why did you move faster than gravity?” she asked flatly.

Jack recoiled as if electrocuted, stepping back so quickly he nearly tripped over the SAME cable you had. His ears were bright pink. He shoved his hands into his pockets like that would erase the entire moment.

You cleared your throat, smoothing your hair, praying you didn’t look as flustered as you felt. “I just—uh. Tripped.”

Henley’s eyes flicked between the two of you, unimpressed. “Right. And he got to you before physics did. Totally normal.”

Jack gave an awkward laugh. “Good reflexes?”

“Mhmm.” Henley stared a second longer, then disappeared behind the curtains.

Silence swallowed the space she’d left.

Jack exhaled slowly. His voice dropped. “You almost fell,” he murmured, as if he still needed to explain himself. “I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

Your heart beat so hard you wondered if he could hear it.

“…thanks,” you said, softer than you meant to. “For the catch.”

He looked at you then — really looked — and the pink in his ears deepened.

“Anytime,” he whispered.

And the way he said it made it sound like he meant every time, in every possible situation.

Like catching you was the most natural instinct he had.

6. the time you were cold

You were shivering in the backstage corridor, hugging yourself as you tried to stay warm. The lights were dim, the crew was packing up props, and your teeth were clattering just slightly.

Jack appeared behind you like he had eyes in the back of his head. “You’re freezing,” he said, tone teasing, but you caught the edge of concern.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, tugging your jacket tighter around yourself.

Jack didn’t argue. Instead, he shrugged off his hoodie, still warm from his body, and stepped closer. “Here,” he said, draping it over your shoulders. Your hands brushed as he adjusted the sleeves, pulling them down just right. His chest brushed your back in the process, and you froze.

“Jack…” you began, your voice small, almost breathless.

“Shh,” he whispered, leaning just enough to make sure the hoodie sat comfortably. “No one’s around.”

Except someone was.

A soft cough echoed behind you both. You spun just in time to see Henley peering around the corner, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

“…What exactly is happening here?” she asked, voice suspiciously calm.

Jack’s hands froze mid-adjustment. He stepped back instantly, face flushing pink, trying to make it look casual. “Uh… she was cold,” he said, shrugging as though handing over a hoodie required no explanation.

You tugged the hoodie tighter around you, cheeks burning. “Yeah, cold,” you echoed weakly, pretending the warmth spreading through your chest was just the fabric.

Henley tilted her head, unconvinced. “Hmm. Right. Sure. Totally normal.”

She walked away, muttering something under her breath about you two being “ridiculous.”

You exhaled shakily, heart pounding, realizing just how close you’d come to being found out. Jack’s fingers brushed yours again as he stepped past, soft and casual — and suddenly, the hoodie felt like the safest, most intimate thing in the world.

“You know,” he murmured once Henley disappeared from view, voice low, “we really need to be more careful.”

You swallowed, biting your lip. “Yeah… about that.”

He smirked, sliding just a little closer. “But admit it — it was worth almost getting caught.”

And somehow, you knew it was.

the time they found out

The hotel room was tiny. One queen-sized bed dominated the space, leaving just enough room for suitcases and two very stubborn egos.

You dropped your bag with a groan, arms crossed. “Seriously? One bed?”

Jack slammed the door behind him, pretending to fume. “Seriously? One bed? This is outrageous.”

You matched his theatrics perfectly. “It’s absurd! Who thought two professionals could possibly share a bed?”

“Ridiculous,” he shot back, pacing. “I will not compromise my personal space.”

“Neither will I,” you spat, pointing at him. “Absolutely unacceptable.”

Atlas, standing in the doorway with a brow raised, blinked. “Uh… you two… can’t you just—”

“No.” Jack cut him off immediately. “Absolutely not. I will not swap beds with anyone else.”

You nodded furiously. “Me neither! This is our fight.”

Merritt leaned against the wall, smirking. “Uh… you can swap with one of us, you know?”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “No.”

You nodded, eyes narrowing. “…No. This is our battle.”

The Horsemen exchanged glances. “…Oh,” Atlas said slowly, like he’d just realized you two were… insane.

For a few minutes, you and Jack huffed, groaned, and dramatically threw pillows at each other, pretending to be utterly miserable.

Then, once the “audience” of Horsemen had left the room, the act fell away. You sank onto the edge of the bed, arms crossed, pretending indignation, but your heart was racing far too fast to maintain the act.

Jack flopped down opposite you, giving you a mock glare. “I can’t believe I have to share a bed with you, of all people.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, tone clipped, though your lips twitched. “I’d rather sleep on the floor than next to you.”

He tilted his head, grin softening. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” you said, sitting up a little straighter, trying—and failing—to look indignant.

Jack leaned closer, dangerously close, just enough that your knees brushed. “You know, it’s kind of… nice. This closeness,” he murmured, voice low.

You froze, heart stuttering. “…Nice?”

“Yeah,” he said, reaching out just a fingertip, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I mean… not that I like having you near me or anything.”

“Of course not,” you said quickly, voice sharp, but you didn’t pull away.

Jack smirked, inching even closer, his arm brushing yours. “Good. Me neither.”

You let out a soft laugh, the tension melting a little. “We’re really bad at pretending, aren’t we?”

“Terrible,” he agreed, pressing his hand lightly against yours under the blanket. “But it’s… kind of fun.”

You glanced at him, and in that small, cramped hotel room, with one bed between you and the world outside, it did feel fun. It felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

Jack leaned back, still holding your hand, eyes twinkling. “Just… try not to smile too much. The others are watching.”

“I can’t make any promises,” you whispered, squeezing his hand.

-

The morning sun had barely crept into the tiny hotel room when the soft click of a lock made you stir.

Jack, still half-asleep, grumbled something incoherent, arm draped over your shoulder as you nestled your head against his chest. The blankets were tangled around both of you, limbs impossibly intertwined, and for once, the world outside this small, one-bed room didn’t exist.

Then the door burst open.

And there they were: Atlas, Merritt, Henley, and Lula, all standing in the doorway with arms crossed, expressions a mixture of triumph, amusement, and barely contained laughter.

You froze, Jack’s arm tightening around you instinctively.

“…Oh,” Henley breathed.

Jack blinked, sitting up slightly, hair mussed, face pink. “Uh… what—?”

Atlas stepped forward, smirking. “Don’t even try it. We knew.”

“We knew you two would act like this,” Merritt added, voice dripping amusement. “Which is exactly why we hid it for as long as we could. We thought maybe you’d, I don’t know… keep up the act forever.”

You buried your face further into Jack’s chest, mortified, while he ran a hand over his hair, trying to look composed. “We… we can explain,” he muttered, voice low and flustered.

“You don’t have to,” Lula said cheerfully, grinning from ear to ear. “The bed kind of gave it away.”

Henley shook her head, a slow smile forming. “Oh, come on. I knew it. All those ridiculous fake arguments last night? Total cover. I should’ve bet on it.”

Jack groaned, leaning back against the headboard. “We were pretending! Totally pretending!”

“Pretending?” Atlas echoed, voice flat, eyebrow raised. “You two looked like kittens tangled in a blanket.”

You peeked up at them, cheeks flaming, and Jack muttered under his breath, “We’re doomed.”

Merritt chuckled, stepping closer. “Doomed? Nah. Adorable, maybe. But definitely caught.”

You swatted at him, flustered. “We weren’t caught! We—”

Henley leaned in, voice teasing, cutting you off. “Yep. Totally caught. And the best part? You both thought you were so sly.”

Jack sighed, burying his face in his hands. “We’re never living this down, are we?”

Atlas shook his head, smirking. “Nope. Not a chance. But honestly… I knew.”

You peeked at Jack, half-laughing, half-mortified. He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, whispering, “I told you we should’ve been more subtle.”

Lula laughed, pointing at the bed. “Subtle? You were practically screaming ‘secret couple’ with every pillow toss last night!”

You groaned dramatically, pretending indignation, while Jack wrapped an arm around you again. “Fine. Admit it,” he murmured, smirking. “It was kind of worth it.”

You buried your face against his chest, letting out a soft laugh. “Yeah… kind of.”

Atlas shook his head again, smiling knowingly. “Just don’t act like you two can hide it next time. We’re onto you.”

Merritt added, smirking: “And we’ll make sure everyone else knows the moment you try.”

Jack muttered under his breath, “Great. Life’s over.”

You squeezed his hand, grinning. “Nah. Life’s just officially… more fun.”

And for once, even with the Horsemen watching, the fake hatred, the pretending, the secrecy—it all felt completely, wonderfully pointless. Because now everyone knew, and somehow, it didn’t matter at all.

It has been ten years since the Horseman last performed a show together. Ten years since the disaster in Russia that fractured the group beyond repair.. all except for the two of you.

Your relationship with Jack had been a slow, steady burn from the moment you met. He’d always had a talent for picking locks, slipping past barriers no one else could manage—and somehow, he’d managed to pick the lock around your heart too. The two of you had been secretly dating, waiting to share your relationship with the others after the big mission to take down an arms dealer. But when a close friend was captured, the plan collapsed—along with the Horsemen themselves.

Afterwards, you and Jack built a quiet life far from the chaos of illusions and secrets. You returned to school to chase the degree you’d always dreamed of, and Jack settled into work at a small local office. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was safe. Predictable. Yours.

Until the night a sudden knock echoed through your home—shattering the calm you’d fought so hard to build, and letting magic slip back into your life like it had never left at all.

The private event was as glamorous as the special guest; the heart diamond. You stood off to the side of the grand room, dressed in a backless black gown. One shoulder was draped in soft fabric, and the hem hovered just above the marble floor as you mingled with guests. You wore your best practiced smile, though your eyes kept drifting across the room.

And there he was.

Jack—sharp in a black-and-white suit reminiscent of the one he wore on your wedding day. He caught your gaze and gave you a subtle wink before seamlessly melting back into the shadows.

A wave of gasps rippled through the crowd. Your head lifted just in time to see an old friend standing atop a pedestal, commanding the room. Danny’s voice carried over the gathering as he teased the diamond’s owner, the so-called royalty of the event, Veronika. With a few taunting words, he coaxed her into lifting the Heart Diamond from its locked case and tilting it beneath the lights.

The gem was breathtaking—though too large for your taste—and you couldn’t ignore the dark history you and Jack had uncovered during research before arriving in Antwerp.

Danny’s eyes swept dramatically across the room… until they landed on you. His expression faltered in a flash of recognition. Caught, you turned your back and pretended to strike up a conversation with the nearest person.

“Hi—have you tried the arancini balls?” you asked brightly, already forming a plan.

The man stared at you, stunned into silence as his gaze traced your dress. He nodded slowly.

You inhaled, locking eyes with him as your hand curled around his forearm. “I think it’d be great if you grabbed me a plate,” you said sweetly. “Though…I suggest you trip and fall onto the table.”

His eyes glazed with compliance. He shuffled toward the serving table. You counted down from five under your breath—

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

A spectacular crash. The man sprawled dramatically across the table, food scattering in every direction. The crowd’s attention whipped toward the chaos—just in time for Danny to reclaim the spotlight with a burst of light as the diamond exploded into dust, then reappeared in his hand.

You rolled your eyes. Of course. Now you understood his angle. And now you needed to figure out yours. Observation—the magician’s greatest weapon.

Scanning the room, you spotted a girl who couldn’t have been more than twenty, moving strangely—eyes darting toward two guards as the mess unfolded. When she stepped toward them with a wine bottle in hand, instinct—or maybe something maternal—propelled you forward.

On the way, you snatched a long silk tablecloth. The first guard was already distracted by the girl, so you focused on the second. In one swift motion, you whipped the cloth around his torso and yanked him toward you.

He stumbled, confused. You winked.

Then drove the heel of your shoe down onto his foot.

He folded in pain, giving you the perfect opening to cinch the silk tightly around him. One hard shove sent him crashing backward into a table piled high with food.

The girl stared at you, dark eyeliner making her eyes appear even wider as recognition hit her. “You… it’s you.”

You gave her a small nod, understanding now—she wasn’t a bystander. She was part of this. Part of someone’s plan.

You jerked your head toward the exit, spotting Danny weaving through the crowd with Jack close behind him.

Without another word, the two of you sprinted toward the grand staircase leading out of the hall. You glanced back to check that she was still with you—

—and collided head-first into something solid.

Fortunately, that “something solid” was the chest of your husband.

Jack’s arm immediately wrapped around you, steady and protective, his other hand instinctively checking you over. “You okay?” he murmured, worry etched across his face.

You nodded quickly and looked past his shoulder—only for your breath to catch.

“Henley!”

She stood a few steps away, looking almost exactly the same but somehow sharper, stronger. You hadn’t seen her in years—not since everything fell apart—and yet instinctively, you pushed past Jack and threw your arms around her.

She hugged you back just as tightly.

The moment barely lasted a heartbeat before a familiar voice boomed across the space.

“Alright, emotional reunion later—we gotta move!”

Merritt. Loud as ever. Unchanged, for better or worse.

Jack’s hand pressed gently but firmly against your back, guiding you forward. “Come on,” he urged.

You followed the group toward the exit, the world suddenly spinning back into motion—the old team, the old danger, the old magic pulling you in whether you were ready or not.

The exit plan was reckless at best, but typical of the Horsemen. You landed hard on the boat waiting below, Jack’s arms catching you before you could stumble. The moment your feet were steady, you moved toward the railing, bracing your palms against the cool metal as you tried to gather your thoughts. The night had been chaos layered on chaos, and your mind was still struggling to keep pace.

Behind you, the others were talking—old rhythms slipping back into place as if no time had passed at all. You leaned back against the built-in bar, only half-listening, until Henley’s voice rose above the rest.

“Wait—hold on. Is that a ring?”

Your breath caught. You looked down at your left hand as if you’d forgotten the band was there, glinting faintly in the boat’s lights. Henley’s gaze was locked on it, her brows high in genuine shock.

The whole deck went quiet.

You swallowed, glancing toward Jack. He was leaning casually against the railing, arms crossed, wearing a smirk that told you he was thoroughly enjoying the show.

“Yeah,” you said finally, your voice steadier than you felt. “I’m married.”

The reaction was immediate.

Merritt let out a whoop. “Little you? Married? No way—absolutely not. Last time I saw you, you were practically a kid!” He pointed accusingly at you before breaking into a proud grin. “Look at you all grown up!”

Henley clapped her hands over her mouth, delighted. Danny gasped. The three newcomers—Atlas’s new recruits—looked on awkwardly, unsure if they were allowed to join in.

Questions exploded at you from all directions.

“When did this happen?”

“Who’s the unlucky—uh—lucky guy?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Do we know him?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Danny cut through the noise, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Hold on… Jack, you haven’t said anything.” He pointed between you and your husband. “What’s wrong? Upset your little crush on her from all those years ago didn’t work out?”

Merritt let out a loud laugh.

Jack didn’t.

He pushed off the railing and walked toward you, his stride slow and deliberate. The others watched, confusion spreading across their faces as Jack stopped at your side, his hand brushing your lower back before he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

The deck fell silent again.

Jack looked up, meeting every stunned stare with a raised brow. “Why would I be upset,” he asked smoothly, “when I’m the one she married?”

Henley’s jaw dropped. Merritt made a strangled noise. Danny blinked like his brain had short-circuited.

“You—wait—WHAT?”

“We were going to tell you years ago,” you added, sliding your fingers into Jack’s. “But the timing was… complicated. And then everything fell apart. So… yeah. Surprise.”

There was a beat of silence before the entire group erupted again, this time louder—laughing, shouting, cheering, asking ten more questions at once. Even Atlas cracked a rare smile from the back.

And through the noise, Jack leaned toward you, whispering just for you:

“Guess the cat’s out of the hat now, sweetheart.”

mini georgia note x

you knew deep down that this would be a fruitless attempt.

your date was cute, yes. he had exactly what you would've looked for years ago. blonde hair, blue eyes, a sharp jawline and muscular arms. he was respectful (he'd agreed for your first date to be at your apartment because of your hesitancy), he made you laugh, he did everything right. and he wanted you. you could tell. it was obvious in the way that he gravitated towards you, made you his priority in every time he was in your presence. in reality, he was perfect.

too perfect, unfortunately. this wasn't the first time you'd tried this. and every time, your mind flicked straight back to jack.

you envisioned the dark curls instead of the blonde. the deep brown eyes instead of blue. and jack definitely wasn't perfect, so perfect rubbed you the wrong way, as much as you wished it didn't. jack wore a watch with a black leather strap. bradley's (your date's) was all silver. jack smelled like cedar and something dark, mysterious, and pleasant. bradley smelled like clean linen and citrus. regardless, you tried to smile in his face and act like you weren't comparing him to your ex boyfriend in every waking moment.

for your date, you wore a strapless dress and minimal silver jewelry, something bradley had bought you and gifted you before he'd even asked you out. you worked with him at your corporate desk job, the job you'd decided to take after leaving the horsemen behind (and attempting and failing to leave jack behind). he didn't know jack wilder existed beyond the magic shows he heard about that he never attended.

bradley didn't like magic. he preferred realism.

and here he was, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you prepared him a plate of what you'd cooked together. his citrus cologne hit you hard, and his skin was cool. to be honest, it felt wrong. but you tried to flourish.

"y'know, you'll make someone a really good wife someday." he murmured in your ear, a grin on his dimpled face.

you scoffed inwardly. forcing a smile, you gave him a side glance.

"i hope i'm more than that." you chuckled, handing him his plate.

bradley just laughed, a smooth, easy sound that should have been charming. "of course you are! i just mean.. this. you're so put-together. a great job, this amazing apartment, and you can cook? you're a total package." he said it like he was reading from a checklist of desirable traits, his blue eyes sparkling with approval that felt more like an assessment than adoration.

you led the way to your dining table, the candles that had been lit flickering and casting soft shadows. it was a scene from a movie, one you'd tried to direct a couple of times now. the elegant dinner, the handsome suitor, the promise of a normal, stable life. a life without heists, police sirens, or the heart-pounding thrill of watching jack wilder perfectly execute a trick that stole from thousands.

a life without him in general.

"so," bradley began, cutting neatly into his chicken. "the quarterly reports are finally done. thank god. i was starting to see spreadsheets in my sleep."

you nodded, taking a sip of wine. "tell me about it. my eyes are still crossed."

this was it, the conversation of the life you were supposed to want. it was safe, clean, predictable. and with every word about corporate synergy and weekend golf plans, a little piece of your soul chipped. you were completely and utterly bored. you missed chaotic, nonsensical arguments about the best way to palm a stolen keycard, whispered debates in the back of a van. but you didn't miss it when it was happening. so, you suffered. did you even really know what you wanted?

"you're quiet tonight," he noted, tilting his head. "everything okay?"

"just tired," you lied smoothly, another skill you'd honed before you'd ever met him. "it's been a long week."

he reached across the table, his hand covering yours. his skin was smooth, grip firm and certain. "well, i'm glad i'm here to help you unwind." his thumb stroked your knuckle. it was a gentle gesture, but it felt misplaced. like he was stamping his clean-linen-and-citrus reality onto you. the reality was suddenly incredibly heavy. but then again, you'd asked for this.

you forced another smile, your heart a trapped bird beating agains the cage of your ribs. "me too," you said, the words tasting like ash.

as bradley took another breath to speak some more corporate words, you heard a rattling. it chilled your spine, like ice cold water being thrown over you in a bucket. you knew this sound. it was the sound of a torsion wrench and a pick, moving with a practiced, impatient rhythm. the sound of jack wilder picking a lock. breaking in, like he had time and time before. Just never into your apartment before now.

what the fuck?

"uh--" bradley began, standing from his chair, his brow furrowed in confusion. "is that... your door?"

before you could form a lie, a denial, or a plan, the deadbolt clicked over with a final, deafening thunk. the knob turned, and the door swung open as if he owned the place.

and there he was.

jack wilder stood in your doorway, silhouetted by the hallway light. He was dressed in his usual uniform of a dark henley and a leather jacket, his hair a mess of dark curls, his expression a carefully constructed mask of casual arrogance that didn't quite reach his eyes. those deep brown eyes scanned the room in a split second -- the candlelit table, the two plates of food, Bradley standing there in his crisp button-down -- and a slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face.

you cursed over and over in your head. of course. of course he'd pick now to come barreling back into your life. right when you just started (poorly and miserably) figuring things out.

"hey, sweetheart," he said, his voice a low drawl aimed straight towards your chest. he completely ignored the other man in the room. "door was sticking. you should really get that looked at." he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. his presence instantly made the spacious apartment feel claustrophobic.

bradley puffed out his chest, the picture of affronted normality. "excuse me? who the hell are you? and how did you even get in here?"

jack finally deigned to look at him, gaze flicking from his blonde hair to his leather shoes with utter disinterest. "i'm jack," he said, as if that explained everything. a light smirk crossed over his face again. a smirk of mischief.

walking over to you, as if it was nothing, as if he hadn't just not seen you for six months, he lifted your hand by your wrist. he stroked a finger along the back of it, pointing out a fact to bradley. the heat of his touch burned. old memories, an ache in your chest blooming. you tried to loose your wrist from his grip, but he kept you there.

an intricate tattoo was what he intended to show the corporate man. a playing card -- a jack of hearts, the suit cleverly woven into the design of his signature flourish. your shared little secret, inked into your skin -- possessive, reverent. you hadn't paid to get it removed yet. you weren't even sure that you wanted to. you thought it might erase the memory of him.

a cocky air surrounded him, his lip curving even deeper into his signature smirk. "see? jack."

bradley stared, his face a comical mix of confusion and dawning outrage. "what is that supposed to mean?"

"it means," jack said, his voice dropping, losing its playful edge and turning into something low and possessive, "that i was here long before you were," he hummed, his thumb brushing over the tattoo in a gesture that was far too intimate for the setting, "and now i'm back."

he finally released your wrist, but the ghost of his touch remained, a brand. he looked from the tattoo on your hand back to your face, his eyes searching yours, the smirk gone, replaced by a raw, unguarded intensity that stole the air from your lungs.

"you gonna introduce me to your friend?" he asked, the question a challenge, his gaze daring you to lie, to pretend he was nothing.

you glared at him, e/c eyes hot and fiery. you could've burned a hole straight through him if it were possible. the ache in your chest worsened the anger. the audacity of him just threw gasoline all over the flame.

"this," you gestured towards the confused, irritated man before the two of you, "is bradley. my date. which you are currently interrupting."

jack's eyes flicked back to bradley, giving him another once-over that was somehow more insulting than the first. "bradley," he repeated, letting the name sit in the air like it was a joke. "i'm jack. y/n's fiance." he said smoothly, extending a hand to the man. bradley, obviously, declined to shake.

"fiance?" bradley bit out, his gaze turning to you.

"ex fiance!" you hissed. you wanted to strangle jack, to wipe that smug, ignorant smirk right off his face. "we are not engaged."

"semantics, honey," jack said with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if the distinction between being engaged to someone and having been engaged to them was trivial. "we had a little disagreement over the wedding planning. she wanted a big church, i wanted to elope in macau after a high-stakes baccarat game. you know how it is. women."

bradley looked like his brain was short-circuiting. "macau? baccarat? what the hell are you talking about?!"

jack could've glowed. he was so far under bradley's skin that this couldn't possibly be working better. glancing at his watch, he looked back up at the man.

"look, bradley, it's getting late. don't you think you ought to be going? it was great to meet you though."

the last part was definitely a lie. on the inside, jack was seething.

bradley's face flushed a deep, mottled red. he looked from jack's infuriatingly calm face to your furious, conflicted one. the perfect, predictable script of his evening had been torn to shreds. "i'm not going anywhere. y/n, are you going to let him talk to me like this? to just barge in here? he literally broke and entered. that's against the law."

you opened your mouth, but no sound came out. this was the moment of truth. the moment to side with the safe, stable, normal life you'd been trying to build. the life jack didn't want. to finally shut the door on wilder, heists, and dirty money for good.

but jack saw your hesitation. he pounced on it like the predator he was.

he didn't say a word to bradley. instead, he turned to you, voice dropping, losing all its mocking edge and becoming low, intimate, and devastatingly honest.

"tell him to leave, y/n," he murmured, his eyes holding yours, refusing to let you part with them. "or tell me to stay. one of the two."

the challenge hung in the air, thick and heavy as candle smoke. it was the simplest, yet most impossible, choice you'd ever been faced with. or maybe not. the choice to leave jack in the first place rivaled it. bradley stood there, a monument to everything good you should've wanted. and jack was beautiful and destructive -- you were so, so tired of fighting the burn, taming his fire.

your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. you looked at bradley's hurt, confused expression, then back at jack's raw, waiting one.

the words left your lips before you could stop them, like vomit.

"bradley," you whispered, unable to look at him. "i think you should go."

bradley scoffed, sputtering.

"are you fucking kidding me?"

the words were a whip-crack in the tense silence. he stared at you, his face a canvas of disbelief and wounded pride. "after all this? the dinner, the jewelry, the.. this?" he gestured wildly at the set up, now rendered a pathetic farce. "you're choosing a criminal who just broke and entered your aparment, then harassed me?"

jack didn't even flinch. a slow, victorious smile spread across his face, his eyes never leaving yours. you wanted to slap it off him.

"i'll call you. just please leave."

"no she won't." jack intercepted, the infuriating smile still pasted to his face.

"unbelievable." he snapped harshly. he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the pictures on the wall rattled.

the sound of the door slamming seemed to hang in the air, a period at the end of your attempt at a normal sentence.

the second the latch clicked, the smile dropped from jack's face. the victory was gone, replaced by something darker. the raw need you'd seen flickered in his eyes, unchecked.

"you're not gonna call him. what were you even trying to accomplish?" the question was quiet, deadly.

"you don't get to ask me that," you fired back, the anger you'd been suppressing finally boiling over. "you don't get to barge in here, ruin my life, then act like you have any right--"

he crossed the space between you in two swift strides. "i have every right!" he snapped, his voice rough, his hands coming up to grip your arms, not hard, but firm enough to stop you from pulling away. "that tattoo on your hand gives me the right. every night we spent together, even after you left gives me the right. the fact that you just sent mr. perfect packing for me gives me the right."

"you're impossible," you seethed, but you didn't even try to pull away. his touch was like a brand, burning into your skin and awakening every nerve ending. "why are you back here, jack?! what did you come for, huh? after SIX fucking months!"

the question hung between you, a raw, bleeding thing. all the bravado, the smirk, the conman's cool -- it all shattered. his grip on your arms loosened, his hands sliding down until he finally let go of you, opting to run a hand through his messy hair.

"because i can't breathe without you!" the confession exploded out of him, raw and ragged, his voice cracking on the words. "is that what you want to hear? that i'm a fucking mess? that everything is empty, every win is bullshit, because you're not there to see it?" he belted out, eyes desperate and intense. "that i tried -- god, i fucking tried, to be what you wanted, to be normal, but i can't. i'm not. and you won't just ACCEPT ME!"

the silence that followed was louder than his shouting. his chest heaved, the admission hanging in the air like gunpowder smoke. this wasn't the smooth talking thief. it was the boy from the foster system, the boy who felt he didn't belong anywhere, the one who was so terrified of being ordinary that he became a talented legend, and was now terrified that the one person who mattered saw him as a monster.

your anger simmered, borderline dissolved, washed away by a tidal wave of painful understanding. the six months of silence wasn't him moving on. it was him trying and failing to become someone else, someone you'd approve of. and failing miserably.

"jack.." you started, your voice soft.

"don't," he cut you off, his voice a broken whisper. he wouldn't look at you now, staring at a spot on the floor as if it held all the answers. "just.. don't. tell me to leave. tell me to go fuck myself, i don't know. but don't pity me. i can't stand it."

you exhaled shakily, staring at his slumped figure, his head in his hands at your kitchen table where bradley had been sitting 15 minutes ago. "i don't pity you," you whispered, the words firm and clear. "i see you. i've always seen you. you're brilliant, you're wild, and you're so much more than that if someone looks deeper. but you can't change yourself. you can't try to be anything other than who you are."

he looked up, his eyes dark pools of pure, unadulterated torment. "so tell me, y/n. what do you want me to do? because i can't do another six months. i can't do six fucking days more of this. i don't want to sleep together and get back on a plane tomorrow morning because you think i'm a mistake." he huffed, eyes beginning to gloss over. your chest ached. you wouldn't be able to handle it if he cried. "so either you tell me to walk out that door and never come back, and i'll spend every day of my life trying to forget you, or.. or you let me stay."

he was laid bare before you, no tricks, no lies. just jack. the hungry, broken, impossibly brilliant boy he was, and always would be. your greatest addiction and the only place you'd confidently called home. a tear dripped from the gathering moisture in his eye, trailing down his cheek. it felt like a personal, isolated hit to your heart.

you crossed the space between you, the world narrowing to the sound of his ragged breathing and the sight of that single, devastating tear. you didn't speak. words had failed you both for far too long. instead, you knelt in front of him, your hands coming up to cradle his face.

your thumbs gently wiped the moisture from his cheeks. his eyes, wide and shocked, searched yours, his breath catching in his throat. you leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead, a seal of forgiveness and acceptance that you never thought you'd reach. the two of you were too stubborn.

then, you pressed another kiss to his damp cheek, a promise. finally, you brought your lips to his, not with the frantic heat of your past, but with a slow, deep certainty that felt more binding than any failed vow. when you pulled back, your forehead rested against his.

"stay," you breathed, a final surrender and a new beginning all at once. one you'd been begging for in other men, corporate jargon, leather shoes and new york department stores. "no more planes, unless we're both on them. no more goodbyes. just stay."

a shuddering sob escaped him, and he collapsed against you, his arms wrapping around your waist and face buried into your chest. he held onto you like a man clinging to a lifeline in a stormy sea.

"okay," he rasped, his voice muffled against your skin, grip tightening. "okay. thank god."

as you held him, surrounded by the ruins of what you thought you wanted but truly never did, you knew you'd chosen right. you weren't taming him. you were standing next to him, giving him the love and respect he'd never gotten before you, and receiving his endless, fiery love back.

two weeks later

the city air was a crisp, welcome change from the stuffy, recycled air of the various venues you and jack had been haunting. your hand was tucked securely in his, his thumb tracing absent-minded circles over your knuckles. more specifically, over the substantial, art-deco inspired diamond now sitting back on your ring finger. it felt less like a piece of jewelry and more like a reclaimed piece of your soul.

"told you that italian place was overrated," jack mused, a smirk in his voice. "the chef was palming pre-grated parmesan. amateur."

you laughed, shaking your head. "shut up, wilder."

"make me," he countered, pulling your hand up to press a quick kiss to the jack of hearts tattoo, his eyes glinting with possessive warmth.

and that's when you saw him. bradley. he was standing outside a coffee shop, phone to his ear, looking every bit the part of the life you’d almost condemned yourself to. jack's steps faltered for a fraction of a second, his entire posture shifting. the relaxed, post-lunch contentment evaporated, replaced by the coiled-spring energy of a predator spotting easy prey. a slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

"oh, look. its brad," he said, his voice dripping with cheer.

"jack, no," you groaned, but it was too late. he was already steering you directly into bradley's path with a fervor.

bradley looked up from his phone call, his eyes widening as they landed on you, then on the nightmare jack wilder was, and finally, inevitably, on the glittering rock on your left hand. his jaw went slack.

"well, hey there, bentley! long time no see," jack said, his tone impossibly bright. the misname made it even more insulting. he didn't stop walking, forcing bradley to take a step back or be bowled over. as he passed, jack's free hand shot out with the speed of a striking snake. it wasn't an aggressive shove, but a deft, practiced flick of the wrist.

bradley fumbled, his coffee cup popping out of its sleeve and splattering liquid all down the front of his pristine, light-gray pants.

"whoops! clumsy me," jack said without breaking stride, not even looking back. he leaned in close to your ear, his whisper a hot, triumphant caress. "looks like he's got a little excitement in his life now, after all."

you glanced over your shoulder briefly. bradley was staring down at the massive stain on his pants, phone forgotten about, a picture of utter, flustered humiliation. as you turned back to jack, you watched him open a sleek, black wallet in his hand. not his. bradley's license photo glared at you grumpily.

you stopped dead, your eyes widening. "jack. when did you--"

"about two seconds before the coffee decided to take a walk." he said with a wicked grin, flipping through the cash compartment. he made a show of pulling out the bills. "let's call it a dry-cleaning fee. a very, very small one." he then snapped the wallet shut and, without another pause in an incredibly quick motion, sent it sailing sideways into a nearby city trash can without even looking at it. the thunk was barely audible over the street noise.

he tucked the cash into his pocket and laced his fingers back through yours, the cool metal of your engagement ring pressing between them. "our dessert is on bradley tonight. and, you know.. his coffee is on him too."

he was the worst. he was a criminal. a menace.