Olivia watched the uniform in front of her trip over his own feet as he beat a hasty retreat from her office, muttering what she could only assume was a shaky “yes, ma’am.” The irritation that had flared hot moments ago drained just as quickly, replaced by a flush of guilt and the faint sting of embarrassment.

Her temper had gotten the best of her—over something as inconsequential as a typo in a report. She’d been on edge all week, and it was starting to show.

“Okay…” Fin leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, one brow arched. “That’s the second one you’ve sent packing today. What’s up, Liv?”

“Nothing’s up.” She scoffed, sharper than she meant to, hoping the bite in her voice would be enough to send him on his way.

It wasn’t.

He stayed put, steady as ever, watching her like he had all the time in the world. For a fleeting second, she considered handing him a stack of DD-5s that needed to be digitized—Fin hated paperwork. It would serve him right for pushing when she clearly didn’t want to talk.

Then again, unloading might actually help. And Lindstrom couldn’t squeeze her in for another week.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the dull ache building behind her eyes. Maybe Fin wasn’t the worst option. If nothing else, whatever she said wouldn’t leave her office—and he’d give it to her straight.

“Close the door.”

She slid off her glasses and set them down with a soft thud. Ever since Tucker had closed the door to her apartment, the image had replayed in her mind on a loop—him on the other side, her letting him go. Regret and grief tangled together, cluttering her thoughts until she could barely separate one feeling from the next.

Fin shut the door and settled into the chair across from her, silent but present.

For a moment, she stared at her hands, unsure where to start. “Tucker and I…” Her voice caught, quieter than she intended. “We broke up.”

Fin blinked, the smallest lift of his brow giving away his surprise. He leaned back slightly. “Okay…” A beat. “What’d he do?”

Her head lifted at that, a quiet spark of defensiveness breaking through the weariness. “Nothing,” she said quickly, too quickly. She forced out a breath, her voice softening. “He didn’t do anything. It was me. I’m the one who ended it.”

Fin tilted his head, brow knitting. “Alright, you’re gonna have to walk me through this. Last I checked, everything between you two was solid. You were still talking about Paris last week.”

“I know,” Olivia murmured, dragging her hands over her face. The words came out rushed, like they’d been sitting on her chest for too long. “I know. I had a man who loved me. Who loved my son. Who wanted to build a future with me. And I—” her voice cracked, “—I pushed him away.”

She shook her head, an exasperated, almost helpless laugh slipping out. “What is wrong with me?”

“You’re scared.”

She looked up at him, incredulous. “Of what? Being happy?”

He didn’t blink. “Yeah. You’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop this whole time. And instead of waiting, you dropped it yourself.”

His words hung in the air, heavier than she expected. Olivia didn’t respond right away. She stared past him, jaw tight, letting his words settle.

Finally, she shook her head, her voice low. “That’s not it. I’m not… scared of being happy.” A beat. “I want that. God, I’ve been fighting for it.” Her breath hitched; the edge softened. “It’s just… every time I get close, something gives. And between Noah, this job… maybe it’s just not in the cards.”

The room went quiet, Fin’s gaze steady, as if weighing whether to let it sit. Then, carefully, he leaned in. “So let me ask you this—did he ever give you a reason to think it wasn’t in the cards?”

Her brows knit. “What do you mean?”

“Did Tucker ever make you pick between him and Noah?”

She shook her head, certain. “No. Never.”

“Ever ask you to walk away from the job?”

“No.”

Fin nodded slowly, like he’d been waiting for her to hear herself. “So if there was ever a shot, Liv—ever a man who’d stand next to you, not in your way—it’s him.”

She stared at him, thrown. Of all people, Fin was the last she expected to question her decision. He’d never exactly been Tucker’s biggest fan—nobody in the squad was. The fact that they’d tolerated him at all had felt like a small miracle.

“You think I made a mistake?” she asked, quieter than she meant to.

“I think you think you made a mistake,” Fin said evenly. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be tearing into everybody else.”

“I’m not—” She stopped herself. There was no use pretending. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“First?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Be honest with yourself about why you ended it. I know you don’t like feeling outta control. But Tucker? He’d have done whatever you asked, if you’d just talked to him.”

Olivia’s lips parted like she might argue, but nothing came out.

Fin shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I never liked the guy. Still don’t. But I saw the way he looked at you. Man damn near worships the ground you walk on. He’s solid—for you and for Noah.” His voice softened. “And Liv… I’ve never seen you happier than you are with him.”

****

Fin was right. She knew it the second Ed walked out of her apartment—she had made a mistake. She’d told herself she was protecting Noah, protecting herself, holding on to the pieces of her life she’d spent the last few years rebuilding. But none of it felt right. The apartment had been quieter ever since, like it was holding its breath.

She’d loved before, but never like this. Never this steady, this sure. Ed Tucker wasn’t perfect—neither was she—but with him, it was never about perfect. It was about how everything slowed down when he was around. The way he’d made coffee for her that first morning without asking how she took it—because he’d been paying attention. The way his hand would find hers on the sidewalk like it was second nature. The way he showed up, again and again, without ever needing to be asked.

He was kind. Grounded. He’d spent a lifetime in the same world she had—seen the same ugliness—and somehow still had the capacity to love her and her son without flinching. She never had to explain Noah to him, never had to apologize for being tired or distracted or protective. He just got it. He got her.

That was what terrified her—how easy it had become to believe in that safety. To lean into it. To imagine a future that wasn’t just survival.

Maybe Fin was right about everything. Maybe even after all these years, the therapy, some part of her still believed she had a debt to pay just for existing. But God, she was so tired of letting that fear dictate her life.

The day had been quiet. Noah was at pre-K, laundry running in the background, sunlight cutting through the blinds. Somewhere between folding towels and pouring herself a midday glass of wine, she’d found one of Ed’s shirts tucked in the back of the linen closet. She didn’t even remember how it got there. That’s when she found it—one of Ed’s shirts, tucked in the back of the linen closet like it had been waiting for her. She didn’t even remember how it got there.

She sat down on the edge of her bed, the shirt still bunched in her hands. It was soft from too many washes, faintly carrying his scent—the one that used to linger on her coats, on the pillow beside hers. Something in her chest tightened.

Before she knew it, her phone was in her hand. Her thumb hovered over his name in her contacts, still saved the same way. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to change it.

She hit call before she could second-guess herself. Her heart thudded hard against her ribs as the line rang. When his voicemail picked up, she froze—drawing in a sharp breath she prayed the recording wouldn’t catch. It had been nearly two weeks since she’d ended it. Two weeks of silence.

“Hey, Ed… it’s me.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “Um… you still have some things here. A couple shirts, that sweater…” She trailed off, pressing her fingers to her forehead. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to come by and get them, or… I could drop them off. Or send them. Whatever’s easier.”

Silence stretched. For a second, she almost said what she really meant—I miss you. I made a mistake. But the words jammed in her throat, stubborn as ever.

“Just… call me back, okay?”

She set the phone down, face first, and leaned back against her pillows. It was ridiculous, she told herself. And yet, part of her still hoped he’d hear what she couldn’t say—that he’d know the door was still open.

****

After three days of silence, Olivia had pretty much given up hope of hearing back from Tucker. Not that she could blame him. She was the one who ended it. No warning, no real conversation, just a clean break, the kind she was good at.

Now, the apartment was too quiet. Noah was asleep down the hall, the dishwasher humming softly in the background, some mindless sitcom flickering on the TV. She’d poured herself a glass of wine—then another—and was working her way through a pint of Chunky Monkey she’d sworn she wasn’t going to touch.

She tried to keep herself from thinking about him. With every flick of the remote, she tried to shove him a little deeper into the back of her mind. She toyed with the ice cream, watching it melt into an unappealing soup. She focused on the bitterness of the cabernet, the faint sting as it went down. Anything to keep her thoughts busy.

Somewhere between sips and the low hum of the TV, the memories slipped in anyway. Their first real date.

The day he met Noah.

That second morning in Paris, at the little café just off the Seine—morning light catching in his hair as he leaned back in his chair, grinning at her over his coffee like she was the only thing worth looking at.

She could still hear him saying something that made Noah beam, the boy erupting into a fit of giggles. Then he reached for her hand, their fingers fitting together on top of the table like they’d been doing it for years. It had taken her breath away then. It still did now.

Her chest ached, the kind of deep, quiet ache that made her wonder—despite herself—what if she hadn’t let go?

A knock at the door cut through her reverie, pulling her back into the present. She froze, the question slipping away as quickly as it had come. For a beat, all she could hear was the faint hum of the TV and the thud of her own heartbeat. Then she set her wine down and pushed herself off the couch, frowning as she headed for the door.

Who would be here at this hour? If it were work, someone from the squad would’ve called first. She peered through the peephole—and her stomach flipped.

For a second, she stood there, pulse ticking in her ears. Her hand smoothed her hair down almost instinctively, buying herself a moment. For a heartbeat, she considered pretending she wasn’t home.

When she opened the door, Tucker was standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking just as unsure as she felt.

“Ed,” she breathed, surprise flashing across her face before she could hide it.

“Hey, Liv.” He gave her a wry half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and it took everything in her not to flinch. She knew she’d hurt him, but seeing it now—weeks later—hit harder than she’d expected.

“It’s not too late, is it? I got your voicemail.”

“No, not at all.” She stepped aside quickly. “Please, come in.”

“Alright.” He crossed the threshold slowly, like someone entering familiar territory that didn’t quite feel familiar anymore. His gaze flicked around the room before returning to her. “So… how’ve you been?” His voice carried an awkward edge, like he was trying to make the space between them feel normal again.

Olivia folded her arms, suddenly aware of the glass of wine sitting on the coffee table. “Busy,” she said with a shrug. “Work’s… work. Noah keeps me on my toes.”

Tucker nodded, rocking slightly on his heels. “That sounds about right.”

They hovered in the entryway, neither quite sure how to bridge the weeks between them. The television buzzed faintly in the background, filling the silence that stretched just a little too long. Olivia crossed her arms, more for something to do with her hands than anything else.

“Do you, uh… want something to drink?” she offered. It came out awkward, like she’d forgotten how to talk to him.

He shook his head. “No, I’m good. I won’t stay long.”

A pang of disappointment caught her off guard. She covered it with a quick nod. “Right. Of course.”

“I didn’t want to just show up,” he admitted. “But I figured if I waited any longer, I’d lose the nerve.”

Her throat tightened, but she managed a small smile. “You’ve never been short on nerve, Ed.”

“Not with the job,” he said, eyes steady on hers. “But with you… that’s a different story.”

The honesty in his voice caught her off guard. Her fingers drifted to her arm, an unconscious habit, but she didn’t look away.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them shifted—charged, familiar, alive in a way that gave her goosebumps. Olivia took a step closer without realizing it, like her body had made the decision before her brain could catch up.

Ed didn’t move at first. His hands stayed buried in his pockets, shoulders tense, like he was holding himself back. But then his weight tilted forward just slightly, an instinct he couldn’t quite suppress.

“Liv…” His voice was low, rough around the edges. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, shaking her head. Then, quieter, steadier, “No. That’s not true.”

She drew in a shaky breath, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “I messed up, Ed. I panicked. You started talking about retiring and all I could hear was… everything I could lose. The job. Noah. You.” Her voice cracked. “I told myself pushing you away was the safe thing to do. But it wasn’t. It was just me… running.”

Ed shook his head slowly, like he was trying to make sense of the ground shifting beneath him.

“I should’ve trusted you enough to say that out loud,” she went on, voice soft but unwavering now. “And I didn’t. I blindsided you. I hurt you. And I hate that. I hate that I let my fear do that to us.”

She searched his face, desperate for something to hold onto, but he just looked stunned.

The doubt made her falter; she started to step back, but Ed’s hand brushed her arm, gentle and sure. The touch hit her like a live wire, every nerve sparking awake. He started to pull back—careful—but she caught his hand before he could retreat, threading her fingers through his.

For a long moment, they stood like that, hands clasped, everything else falling away. Ed tugged gently, drawing her closer inch by inch, his thumb brushing against hers like muscle memory.

“You were trying to tell me,” he said quietly, realization flickering in his eyes. “The night you ended it.”

She held his gaze, steady.

“I thought you were saying we didn’t have a future,” he said, voice low. “But that’s not what you meant, was it?”

She swallowed, the words catching on their way out. “I just… I’ve never had this much to lose before.”

His expression softened. “You don’t have to worry about losing me.”

She let out a quiet, shaky breath. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can promise I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Why do you think I brought up retirement? Liv, I’m in this for the long haul. You don’t have to keep your guard up with me. I got you.”

She didn’t say anything, but something in her eased. Their hands were still joined, fingers threaded together like they’d never been apart. Ed gave the slightest tug, bringing her impossibly closer. She didn’t resist.

For a moment, they just stood there, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him, it felt nice. Her free hand came up almost unconsciously, resting against his chest. His heartbeat steady beneath her palm.

He dipped his head, just enough that their foreheads touched—a gentle, familiar gesture that had always felt like home.

Neither of them rushed it. The world narrowed to the space between them, the silence holding steady. Then Ed tilted his head and kissed her—slow, sure, nothing performative. Just a kiss that said I’m here. I still want this. I still want you.

She kissed him back like someone who’d been holding her breath for weeks.

When they finally broke apart, neither of them moved far. Her forehead rested against his, their breaths mingling in the quiet.

“Stay the night?” she asked, breathless but sure.

“You sure?”

She nodded, a smile tugging at her lips before she could stop it.

He brought a hand up to cradle her face, thumb brushing her cheek. “Okay.”

“Stay forever?” she teased softly, half a joke, half not.

His mouth curved into that familiar, wry smile. “Whatever you say, Ms. Benson.”

Barba wasn’t sure what possessed him to choose today of all days. The silence, her absence, and all the things left unsaid had weighed on him since that day he walked out of Forlini’s. He was used to the ache by now. After those first few months of silence, he’d given up hope. Olivia Benson was a stubborn force of nature; if she hadn’t changed her mind after their last meeting, his absence was only deepening the divide.

But he’d put the ball in her court. At the time, he’d felt like he had no choice. He’d already gone against her wishes by defending Wheatley, and if she needed space to find her way back to him, respecting that was the least he could do.

He just never imagined years would pass. Now, after a particularly lousy day, her absence felt sharper than ever. He missed his best friend, and suddenly, the reservations that had kept him away felt flimsy, pushed aside—if only for tonight.

That’s how he found himself standing a few feet from Olivia’s office, a bouquet of orchids in one hand, a bag of takeout, and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon in the other. It was late, and the precinct was nearly deserted. If it weren’t for the faint light glowing through her office’s frosted glass, he would’ve assumed she’d gone home.

Barba took a deep breath, summoning the courage to approach her door. One step, then another, each one a little more solid, a little more hopeful. Hopeful she wouldn’t turn him away, that she wouldn’t cast him aside, because—truth be told—he didn’t know how much longer he could keep going without her.

Before her, his life had been grey, muddy—at least that was all he’d known. Boring and dull, but consistent. Then she brought color into his world—vibrant hues he hadn’t realized he was missing. Shades of green and red, the golden flecks in her hair, the soft powder blue of the dress she wore the day she adopted her son. He’d never imagined one person could change his life so entirely. But she had.

And now, living without her, without the colors she’d brought, was slowly killing him.

It was now or never. He took a few more steps and raised his hand, ready to knock on the heavy door. Just as his knuckles were about to make contact, he caught a glimpse of her in his peripheral vision, rounding the corner. The sight of her after all this time knocked the breath from his lungs.

She looked as beautiful as ever, maybe even more so. Her hair was longer than he remembered from their last meeting, falling in soft waves around her face with highlights that caught the light, softening her features. Her brown eyes held the same quiet strength that had always drawn him in, but now they looked tired—red-rimmed and puffy, as if she’d been crying.

Guilt twisted in his chest, sharp and immediate. He’d been so focused on his own needs, his own lousy day, that he hadn’t considered she might have had one too—or that the last person she’d want to see was the man she’d come to view as a traitor. He wanted to turn around, head back to his apartment, drown his sorrows in wine, and pretend he’d never had this momentary lapse in judgment. But it was too late. She’d already spotted him.

Barba watched as she stopped in her tracks, recoiling at the sight of him. Her face tightened; he could see her steeling herself, pulling up that familiar armor. It nearly sent him to his knees. Even after all this time, she still hated him.

His shoulders sagged, and his grip slackened on the orchids and wine. He made no move to approach her—the scowl she wore was enough indication to keep his distance. Instead, he waited, his eyes shifting, trying to find anything else to look at. But he failed. She drew his gaze as easily as she always had.

After a moment, she took a deep, steadying breath, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took slow, measured steps toward him, brow furrowed, lips downturned in a look that was both angry and wary.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice steady but cold.

He swallowed hard, feeling more vulnerable than he had in years. He hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t thought of what he’d say if she actually stopped to talk. He’d half been hoping she wouldn’t even be at the precinct, but he knew from Carisi that she was working a case. Now he knew it had to have been bad.

Olivia looked at him expectantly, her eyes narrowing as if her patience was slipping.

“I—I just…” He glanced down at the bag of takeout, Chinese food from a place they used to order from during late nights in each other’s offices. His eyes shifted to the bouquet, the bottle of wine, and he suddenly felt foolish. “I just thought… maybe you could use a friend tonight.”

Her expression didn’t soften; if anything, her eyes grew colder, and a flicker of resentment appeared, sharp and unmistakable. “A friend?” she repeated, her tone heavy with disbelief. “It’s been two years without a word. I could hardly consider us friends.”

He winced, an ache settling in his chest so tight it was hard to breathe. She was right; they weren’t friends anymore. She didn’t forgive him, and she would never forgive him.

If she noticed his discomfort, she didn’t let it slow her down. “What changed, Barba?” she asked, her voice laced with venom. “Did you finally realize you were wrong?” Her eyes flickered down, landing on the items in his arms, and a bitter, humorless laugh escaped her. She tossed her head back, and the sound snapped his eyes open, caught off guard. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders, framing her face just as he remembered. Even now, with her berating him, she was still the most stunning woman he’d ever met.

“You thought this was going to make me forgive you?” she asked, delivering the final blow.

“I...I didn’t mean…” he stammered, his voice trailing off.

“Do you think you’re even worth forgiving?” she asked, her tone flat, almost hollow. “I mean why else did it take you this long to apologize?”

He looked away, shame filling his face. Her words cut deep, forcing him to confront a question that had haunted him his entire life. Was he worth forgiving? He had thought, once, that he might have been worthy. But now… now, all he could feel was the ache of what he’d lost and the realization of how deeply he’d hurt her. He needed to leave before he broke any further.

“This was a mistake,” he choked out, his voice barely holding together. “I’m sorry.” He turned, desperate to escape before he completely unraveled.

“Oh, that’s right, walk away.” Her voice was sharp, bitter. “Just like you always do.”

He stopped, shoulders sagging as her words hit him like a slap. He turned back to face her, unwilling to let the moment end like this. “What do you want me to do, Liv?” he asked, his voice trembling with a mix of pain and exhaustion. “Stay here and let you hate me? Let you tear me apart until there’s nothing left?” He took a steadying breath, his gaze fixed on her. “I told you I’d be there when you were ready to stop feeling betrayed by me. And I waited. I’ll keep waiting. But I can’t keep going in circles with you. So… what do you want from me?”

He watched her face, waiting, hoping, even as he braced himself for whatever response she might give.

“I wanted you to fight with me!” she shouted, her voice full of frustration, and he could see the tears welling in her eyes. “At Forlini’s, when I told you it wasn’t about Stabler—that it was about us—you just quit on me, Rafael. You left like it didn’t mean anything. Like I didn’t mean anything.”

Her words hit him hard, like a punch to the gut. She wanted him to fight with her. She’d made it so clear she wasn’t willing to hear him out, that her history with Stabler meant more to her than their friendship. He felt frustration rising in his chest.

“You made it very clear that you weren’t willing to forgive me at the time,” he said, exasperated. “I thought maybe if I gave you some space, we could work toward forgiveness.”

Her eyes flashed, and she took a step forward. “Well, look how that turned out. It’s been years, Rafa—years.”

Anger surged in him, and he felt it slip through his usually tight control. “So, let me get this straight—you’re mad at me because I didn’t somehow read your mind and know I was supposed to ignore your boundaries? Do you even hear how toxic that sounds? Stabler really has done a number on you, hasn’t he? Newsflash, Liv—I’m not him. I’m not going to come crashing into your life, throwing my weight around, causing chaos just to prove a point.”

She recoiled, hurt flashing briefly across her face before she pulled herself together. Her gaze sharpened, cold and distant, but he saw the wound he’d left behind, lingering beneath her fury.

“You know what I think?” she said, voice as cold as steel. “I think you’re jealous of him. I don’t think defending Wheatley was ever about justice. This whole thing has been about Stabler from the start.”

The accusation hit him squarely, but he forced himself to respond, his voice low and controlled. “You really think I’d risk my career, my reputation, you—all because of some petty jealousy?”

Her silence said everything. He felt the weight of years of unspoken words pressing down on him.

“If I thought for even a second that Stabler could make you happy, I would have stepped back and supported you. But he’s not making you happy, Olivia. I can see it. Your squad can see it. We’re all watching you break under the weight of him.”

She flinched, barely, her face hardening even as a flicker of pain flashed in her eyes. “I’ve known him for 25 years. You don’t know him, and you don’t know anything about our relationship.”

“And the ten years he was out of your life?” He shook his head, frustration breaking through.

“Maybe I don’t know every detail, Liv, but I hear what it’s doing to you. Rollins, Carisi—they keep me informed. The late nights, the closed doors, the way you keep yourself wrapped so tight you can’t even breathe. You used to be unstoppable. Now, it’s like you’re barely holding yourself together. I’m worried about you.”

Her jaw clenched, and for a moment, he thought she might turn away, shut him out. But she stayed, her gaze steady and locked on his.

“Look, can we—?” He gestured toward her office, a silent invitation to continue in private.

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded, turning on her heel and heading toward her office without another word. He followed her inside, quietly closing the door behind them, the tension intensifying now that they were alone.

She leaned against her desk, crossing her arms tightly, her gaze fixed and unreadable. He set the items he held—a bouquet, takeout, and a bottle of wine—onto a chair, momentarily breaking eye contact before looking back at her.

“What gives you the right, Rafael?” she demanded, her voice edged with resentment. “What gives you the right to come in here after two years and judge me like you know anything about my life? You turned your back on me when you left the DA’s office, and you did it again when you defended Wheatley!”

“Seriously? This again?” He let out a humorless chuckle, running his fingers through his beard. “Were you always this much of a martyr, or did Stabler bring that out of you too?” His tone cut sharply, laced with years of frustration. “I’m sick of this whole woe-is-me act, Olivia. If you’d wanted to reach out any time in the past two years, you could’ve. My number hasn’t changed, my address hasn’t changed.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “I remember how Lewis tore you apart on that stand, Liv. How I was powerless to stop him. I remember sitting with you at Forlini’s, you telling me to take that deal—to let him say he raped you, to let him strip away everything you’d worked for. You have any idea what that did to me?”

She looked away, her defenses wavering, but he pressed on, his voice shaking.

“I knew any other defense attorney would drag your history with Stabler into that courtroom. But if they’d brought up Lewis? If they’d brought up how you admitted to perjury? Not only would Wheatley have walked—you’d be left with a ruined career, and you’d have had to explain Lewis to Stabler long before you were ready to.”

He paused, the weight of his confession hanging heavy between them. “But you never saw that, did you?”

“No, I didn’t see it, Rafael,” she replied, her voice low and edged with hurt. “Because you didn’t tell me any of that. You just left me trying to figure out why you, of all people, would betray me like that.”

“You didn’t let me! I tried!” he shot back, his frustration finally breaking through. “You fought me every step of the way, argued until you were blue in the face. The moment it looked like I wasn’t following orders—the one time I didn’t do exactly what you wanted—you cut me out like we were never friends. And I never expected that from you, Olivia. Not you.”

A flicker of alarm and pain crossed her face, and for a moment, she looked away, her arms crossing tightly around herself. When she met his eyes again, her brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I never meant to cut you out, Rafael.”

Her words hung in the air, and he felt his anger soften, replaced by something heavier, more painful. “Then why did you shut me out like that?” he asked quietly. “You were the one person I thought would never give up on me.”

She swallowed, her gaze dropping. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Because I didn’t know how to handle it, Rafael. You were supposed to be the one person I could count on, and when you chose to defend Wheatley, it felt like you’d turned your back on everything we’d been through together.” She took a shaky breath, her arms tightening around herself. “I was hurt. And I didn’t know how to forgive you for that.”

He nodded, letting her words settle. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But maybe I was trying so hard to protect you that I ended up hurting you instead.”

Her gaze softened. “Maybe we both made mistakes,” she said, her voice steadier but sad. “I should have talked to you. Instead, I let the anger take over. And after a while, it just… it just became easier to stay angry than to face what I was really feeling.”

“And what were you feeling?” he asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

She looked up, meeting his eyes, her gaze vulnerable. “It felt like I’d lost you,” she murmured. “Stabler coming back… it brought up all these old feelings I thought I’d buried. Feeling disposable, unwanted. He was my whole world for so long, and then he just left. Do you know what that does to someone?”

Her voice broke, her words settling between them like a confession. “When he left, it was like he took part of me with him. But the I met you and you became the person I thought would always be there. But then you left too. And when he came back, it just reminded me of every time someone walked away.”

A pang of guilt twisted in his chest. He’d never wanted to leave her. But after Drew, he’d needed space, time to figure out who he was without being consumed by guilt.

“I understood why you left, Rafael,” she went on, her voice gentler. “I never blamed you for that. You did your best to stay in touch. It was more than Elliot ever did. But when you came back… you were different. Happier. Like you’d found exactly what you’d been searching for away from the job, away from me. And then defending Wheatley? It was like the one person I thought I could rely on was… gone. And I didn’t want to admit how much that hurt.” She paused, glancing back up.

“Because maybe you were more than just a friend to me.”

The admission hung between them. He stepped forward, his voice a gentle murmur. “Liv… you’ve always been more than a friend to me.”

She looked away, then back at him, the hurt and confusion plain in her eyes. “Then why didn’t you say anything? Why did you let me think—”

“Because I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice raw. “Afraid I’d ruin it, lose you for good. I thought if I stayed quiet, somehow, you’d know. Somehow it would be enough.”

She held his gaze, her eyes shimmering with a mix of hurt and something softer, almost forgiving. “I did know,” she whispered. “But as long as neither of said anything, it was easier to ignore it than to risk losing you completely.”

He took her hand cautiously, giving her the space to pull away. But she didn’t; instead, her fingers tightened around his. “I know I can’t change the past,” he said quietly. “But I’m here, Liv. I’m done hiding how I feel.”

They stood there, their hands intertwined, the weight of their past mistakes balanced against the hope of something new. In that quiet moment, he knew they’d finally reached an understanding—one that would take time, trust, and the willingness to start over.

“Do you think…” She paused, searching his face as if afraid of his answer. “Do you think could forgive me? For letting this go on for so long?”

He squeezed her hand gently, a reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe we both have some forgiving to do,” he said, his voice steady, warm. “But I think we’re finally on the right path.”

A small smile crossed her face, and she nodded, her grip on his hand tightening. Then her eyes drifted down to the items resting on the chair, her smile widening just a little.

“You bought me flowers?” she asked, her voice tinged with warmth.

He chuckled softly, glancing at the bouquet. “Yeah. I didn’t know if they’d make things better, but I thought… maybe it was a start.”

She picked up the flowers, her fingers brushing over the petals. “Orchids,” she murmured. “You remembered.”

He nodded. “Of course. I wanted you to know that… even when things were messy, I still thought about you. Still cared.”

Her gaze lifted, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly. She set the bouquet gently on her desk. “For not giving up on me… on us.”

He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’d never give up on you, Olivia.”

She ducked her head, shaking it slightly. “I’ve given you plenty of reasons to. Even tonight, what I said about you being jealous… I never should’ve said that.”

“Hey,” he said, touching her shoulder gently. “I know you were angry. And maybe I deserved some of it. We’ve both said things we didn’t mean. But I’m here. And I want to move forward with you, without all of that between us. I want to be in your life, Liv. In whatever way you’ll have me.”

She looked up, her eyes softening. “I want that too, Rafa. I want you in my life, I just… I need to figure out…”

He nodded, sensing her hesitation. “You don’t have to do it alone, Liv. I’m here. However long it takes—I’m here.”

A flicker of relief crossed her face, her shoulders relaxing. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice almost breaking.

After a beat, she gestured toward the chair, her expression softening with curiosity. “So… what else did you bring?”

“Oh, that?” He glanced over, smiling. “JJ’s takeout—which is probably cold by now—and a 2005 Chateau Montelena.”

Her eyes widened, a glimmer of surprise and amusement breaking through. “That’s a $200 bottle of wine.”

“We hadn’t spoken in two years, Olivia. I wanted to give myself the best chance of not being turned away.”

She let out a soft laugh, and the tension finally eased. “Well, good call,” she said, her tone lighter but still carrying a hint of apology. “Even if it didn’t exactly save you from my anger. Today’s been long.”

He nodded, sensing her weariness. “I could tell. I’m sorry if I made it harder.” He paused, his gaze softening. “To be honest, my day was rough too, and… I just missed you.”

She smiled, gentle and genuine. “I missed you too.” After a few seconds, she picked up the bouquet, bringing the petals to her nose. “What do you say we get out of here? We could go back to my place… I know there’s someone who’s really been missing his Uncle Rafa.”

“I’d like that,” he replied softly, his own smile reassuring her. “I’d love to spend some time with him. And with you.”

Eloise is different from Daphne, she has softer features, darker tresses, and she's most certainly not as poised as the ’diamond’ of two seasons ago. Yet, Eloise possesses the same captivating Bridgerton blue eyes that could melt hearts in mere moments, assuming one was foolish enough to be ensnared by their allure. Once ensnared, no man nor woman could save you from yourself or the lengths to which you’ll go to keep those eyes in your life. Cressida concludes that this must be how Penelope Featherington found herself entangled in the unexpected predicament of receiving tutelage in the art of husband-hunting from none other than Colin Bridgerton. It would be quite amusing, were it not for her own precarious position—clinging to the Bridgerton in her life by any means necessary.

She’d long regretted her behavior with Daphne, and not just because the elder Bridgerton had ascended to the esteemed rank of Duchess. Once upon a time, they had been friends, a bond that now seemed to belong to another era entirely. The transition from girlhood to womanhood had created an unbridgeable chasm between their worlds, rendering their past friendship a distant, bittersweet memory. 

When she’d extended a genuine offer of friendship to Eloise last season, determined to make amends, she’d been surprised by the rejection, nevertheless she tried to appear unaffected. In reality, she had pondered that moment every night until the summer, when Eloise finally decided to embrace society. Cressida couldn’t deny that she was a little disheartened at first, Eloise's spirit seemed to have been subdued by her scandal last season. She had secretly envied the younger woman, not just for her prestigious family name and connections. She wished she didn’t care so much about the tons perception of her; she wished the thought of being a spinster didn’t make the hair on the back of her neck stand up and goosebumps rise along her arms. The idea of being forced to marry one of her father’s older friends made her stomach turn, and she would do almost anything to avoid that fate.

Except give up one of her most hard-won possessions, although she knows she can’t truly call Eloise hers. One day, Eloise would probably belong to a man too, just like Daphne, just like all the girls before Daphne. The ones who made her heart skip a beat, and her fingers linger just a little too long, hoping they felt what she felt. She was never surprised when they didn't.

Eloise is different from Daphne though, different from all the girls after Daphne. Eloise doesn’t want to talk about men and titles, she doesn’t worry herself with matters of imported fabrics and lace, or even the latest gossip. With Eloise, when they’re alone, she’s not a spinster, she doesn’t have to want to be a wife or a mother; the world around them is endless, and their voyages are vast. 

Eloise doesn’t want her to be anyone besides Cressida Cowper, a lady of witty banter and immense intelligence. It’s comforting to finally be enough after being told for so long that she needed to be more.

Perhaps that is why she decided to abandon her sanity, to succumb to the temptations she had long resisted. Perhaps that’s why she’d decided to throw caution to the wind, interrupting Eloise’s speech with a kiss. In that fleeting moment of passion, she'd come to realize she was willing to embrace whatever consequences came her way, even if it meant risking her reputation and defying societal expectations.

Part of her moved as if in a dream, every moment heightened as she leaned in, her slender fingers gently cupping Eloise’s cheeks, noting the constellation of freckles marking the supple flesh. Cressida had every opportunity to halt, to retreat, but she continued her descent.

Another part of her moves with the swiftness of a heartbeat, her lips finding Eloise’s with a passionate tenderness, enveloped by the velvet warmth of Eloise’s lips. Every part of her senses seemed intensified, heightened by the forbidden intimacy. She could feel each delicate ridge on Eloise’s lips, could taste the lingering essence of the mint tea they had shared earlier, and could hear the subtle hitch in Eloise’s breath as it halted to a stop. 

The younger woman remained motionless beneath her, her body still in the same position, mid-ramble about some novel or another. Eloise’s words always seemed to cascade together when she was truly excited, and though Cressida struggled to follow sometimes, she could never resist the enchantment of the way blush spread across the brunette’s cheeks and the way her eyes seemed to widen with passion.

Cressida knew such a defense would scarcely be believed—that she somehow swooned and fell upon Eloise’s lips.

Suddenly a surge of fear courses through her, a stark reminder that she is far too intelligent to be this reckless, to allow herself to let the comfort of friendship and the passion of lust lead her to this forbidden moment.

She attempted to pull back, to apologize for her behavior, salvage whatever remained of her reputation or even their friendship.

Her efforts are halted by Eloise's firm grip, anchoring the hand that Cressida had cupped against her face in place. Cressida's gaze drifted down to meet Eloise’s, witnessing the dilation of her pupils, the darkening of her irises, and the gentle graze of her teeth over her bottom lip, as if contemplating her next move.

Time seemed to freeze, suspended in an eternal moment, though Cressida knew only seconds had passed before Eloise acted. With a swiftness fueled by fervent urgency, Eloise initiated a kiss that far surpassed the confidence of Cressida’s own. There was no hesitation as Eloise delved into Cressida’s mouth with her tongue, sweeping across her bottom lip, eliciting a tiny gasp from Cressida's lips. Cressida pondered whether Eloise had experienced this before, whether she had kissed a man or even another woman, or if Eloise was just eager, a student in all areas of life. Such thoughts were swiftly brushed aside as Eloise’s hands began to explore, tracing down Cressida’s sides, skimming the fabric of her gown until Cressida found herself reclining on her family's settee, her head grazing the armrest in surrender to the intoxicating allure of the moment.

Eloise didn’t break away from her, her soft hands deftly navigating through layers of fabric to discover Cressida’s smooth, pale skin that had only known the touch of daylight within the confines of her bedchambers. As Eloise's warm fingers caressed her calf, gently kneading and coaxing forth a string of whimpers from her lips, Cressida found herself contemplating the sensation. Would it feel the same with a man? If his fingers were tracing the contours of her thighs, inching closer to her heat, his lips upon hers, would her entire being ignite, writhing under his touch as she did under Eloise’s? She doubts it. Questions whether anyone could reduce her agile mind to such a state of bliss as Eloise effortlessly did.

How could she return to the life society and her parents expected of her now that she had savored true euphoria? The mere thought threatened to send her into a fit of hysterics, but the sudden absence of Eloise’s lips on hers snaps her back to reality. She doesn’t have time to yearn for Eloise's presence, she feels those same lips resurface moments later, tracing a path from the corner of her lips to just under her chin, and then to that spot behind her ears that catches her off guard, eliciting a louder response than she ever intended.

It sobers her, reminding her of her surroundings, of the company she keeps. At any moment, one of her maids or even her parents could intrude upon the sitting room, catching her in a compromising situation.

Cressida gently pushed at Eloise’s shoulders, barely containing the whine threatening to escape her throat as Eloise withdrew from their intimate embrace, her gown swiftly falling back into place. She could sense the unspoken questions swirling behind the veil of lust in Eloise’s eyes, scrutinizing every inch of her being. Had Eloise always regarded her with such fervent intensity? Unable to bear the weight of the brunette’s gaze, Cressida averted her eyes and cleared her throat, her fingers smoothing out the wrinkles in her gown as she spoke.

“I shall instruct my maid to prepare my chambers for our deliberation on gowns for tonight's ball,” she declared, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions within her. Was she being presumptuous? What would Eloise think of her? What would they even do once they got to her room? So many questions, so many feelings, and yet, none of them made her want to reconsider this for even a moment.

That wasn’t what she had expected to hear—not after mustering the courage to finally go to his place. It had been over a year, and the compass Elliot had given her still hung heavy around her neck. He’d said he wanted it to lead her to happiness, and she knew he’d meant with him. But instead, it had led her across Manhattan to an apartment where a man lived—a man who had only ever wanted to love her. Unconditionally.

She’d been nervous, terrified even, about what she might find behind his door. In the end, he looked much as he had the last time she’d seen him—his beard was fuller, streaked with more gray, but his eyes were the same: piercing, deep, and just as green. He stood there in a pair of matching gray silk pajamas, looking softer than she’d ever seen him. She’d missed him, terribly. He didn’t even have a chance to speak; his eyes widened in shock as his mouth opened and closed, but she rushed ahead, her apologies spilling out faster than her thoughts could form them.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “For everything. For not hearing you out, for not coming sooner. I don’t know what I was thinking…”

Her words tumbled out, disjointed and desperate, until finally, the one truth she had buried for too long rose to the surface.

“…And I love you,” she breathed, her heart pounding in her ears.

Time seemed to freeze, her words hanging in the thick silence that followed, like a bomb waiting to go off. She waited, breathless, for his response, but deep down, she already knew it wouldn’t be what she’d hoped. She saw the shift in his face before he even spoke. The neutral mask he had worn crumbled, his expression twisting in pain, as though she’d touched a deep wound that had barely begun to heal.

“Your heart’s just not big enough for the two of us, Liv,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He shook his head, and Olivia caught the sheen of tears in his eyes. She held her breath, hoping for something more.

“I waited… God, I waited. I thought maybe one day you’d finally see it, but—” He cut himself off, folding his arms across his chest like armor. Olivia watched as he withdrew, shutting her out both physically and emotionally, and she felt something break inside her. He wasn’t even willing to fight with her anymore.

“I’d never make you choose between me and him,” he said, his voice low but resolute, “but you can’t ask me to stand here and watch him tear you apart.” He took a step back, his presence retreating as the distance between them grew.

“You can’t, Liv,” he added, his voice thick with a mixture of anger and sorrow.

For a moment, it felt like he might say more. Instead, he just looked at her, the pain in his eyes piercing through her as she helplessly watched him walk away—again.

As Cressida ascended the stairs, her heart fluttered within her chest, a nervous rhythm accompanying each step as she guided Eloise through the grand corridors of Cowper House. Never had Cressida welcomed a guest into her private chambers; Eloise marked yet another unprecedented occurrence. Previous acquaintances had scarcely ventured past the entrance hall where they waited for her servants to retrieve her. Her home, a cold fortress, was never a place for friends, only a stage for social duties. Not that she’d minded a great deal, promenading with other titled wealthy young ladies offered her respite from the watchful gaze of her parents. Her parents, ever keen on molding her into the perfect young lady, held a dim view of her lingering within her private chambers alone.

Now, as a lady out in society, entering her third year no less, Cressida found herself left to her own devices more often than not. It appeared that her mere existence, unattached and unclaimed, weighed heavily upon her parents. The prolonged state of her singleness seemed to deepen their disappointment with each passing day, casting her as an unwitting burden in the play of their lives. Making matters worse, there was the issue of her inheritance, both she and her mother had been relegated to allowances that spoke volumes of their subordinate status within the household.

Cressida harbored an unspoken desire to fulfill her parents’ wishes, if for no other reason than to evade the fate of being married off to one of her father’s aging acquaintances, yet the realization remained steadfast: no matter her actions, she could never bestow upon them the one thing they longed for above all else—a male heir. She remained unable to continue her father’s lineage, unable to even secure a marital alliance that might elevate her status within the social hierarchy.

As if sensing the blonde’s trepidation, Eloise extended her hand, the gentle touch of her fingertips barely grazing Cressida’s arm. “Are you well?” Her voice, once thick with desire, now carried an earnest and tender tone, yet it still sent shivers down Cressida’s spine, causing the fine hairs on her arm to stand on end.

Instantly, her worries seemed to melt away, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this was indeed what love felt like. Was this the elusive sentiment she had been denied her entire life? Someone who truly cared for her, who sought her out in every room, who called upon her with genuine affection. The realization was both exhilarating and terrifying. She now understood why Daphne could not marry the Prince, and why Lord Bridgerton simply had to marry Miss Sharma, despite being engaged to Miss Edwina. To deny herself what she had so recently tasted would surely drive her to the brink of madness.

“I a-am alright,” she stammered, turning her head towards the door at which they had come to stop. A soft blush spread across her cheeks as she moved to twist the doorknob, her hands subtly shaking. Eloise had barely touched her, and she had already been rendered nearly useless, her mind muddled and swarming with a tempest of emotions. She drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady herself as she pushed the door open and stepped into the room, the familiar surroundings offering little solace against the storm raging within her. "My chambers," Cressida murmured softly, her arms outstretched in invitation, welcoming Eloise into one of her most sacred spaces. The words were barely a whisper, carrying the weight of their shared secrets and unspoken desires. Cressida felt her heart thump with every step Eloise took into the room.

The room was softly lit, the flickering glow of candlelight casting warm shadows upon the walls, creating an ambiance of intimacy. Eloise lingered as the door closed behind her, her eyes tracing the dance of candlelight against the blush rose walls. The rest of Cowper House had been a somber expanse of dark hues and beige tones, devoid of whimsy or passion. It did not reflect the woman standing nervously before her, a woman she had come to know as exceedingly cunning, witty, and compassionate. A woman who had rarely been shown a shred of kindness without the expectation of earning it.

No, the rest of Cowper House did very little to represent Cressida. But her bedchambers, adorned in pastels, soft pinks, and tulle, were the very embodiment of the lady Eloise had come to cherish. The delicate colors and elegant fabrics spoke of a softer, more tender side of Cressida, a side that the outside world seldom saw outside of her wardrobe.

“It suits you.” Eloise spoke suddenly, drawing Cressida’s attention back from the recesses of her mind. Eloise turned her gaze upon the blonde, studying the way the candlelight flickered across her features, highlighting the delicate blush on her cheeks and the uncertainty in her eyes.Eloise felt a surge of tenderness and determination; she wished to banish every doubt and fear from Cressida’s heart.

“Your chambers are the perfect reflection of you,” Eloise started, taking a step toward the woman before her.

“Soft.” She took another step.

“Warm.” Another step.

“And utterly enchanting.”

Eloise’s words, coupled with her advancing steps, seemed to dispel the shadows of doubt that had clouded Cressida’s mind. The gentle, yet resolute, tone of her voice wrapped around Cressida like a soothing balm, easing the tension from her shoulders. Cressida’s lips parted as if to speak, but no words came forth. She couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the dancing candlelight in Eloise 's eyes, the flickers of light highlighting the intensity of Eloise’s gaze.

Eloise reached out, fingertips grazing Cressida’s cheek in a touch so gentle it sent shivers down her spine.

“You have nothing to fear, my dear Cressida,” Eloise whispered, her voice a soft caress. “I am here with you, and I see you for all that you are.” Cressida could not stifle the tears that welled in her eyes; no one had ever gazed upon her with such intensity, no one had ever treated her with such adoration. She turned her head in a futile attempt to conceal her tears, but Eloise’s fingers held firm, gently urging her to face her once more. Eloise's eyes held nothing but compassion and understanding.

"You need not hide from me, ever," Eloise whispered, her voice imbued with unwavering tenderness.

Cressida’s breath hitched as she met Eloise’s gaze. The sincerity in those words, the genuine care, was overwhelming. Once again, she parted her lips to speak, and once again, nothing emerged. Eloise had bestowed upon her the adoration of a lifetime, and yet she found herself bereft of words, unable to even murmur a response. If Eloise had taken offense, it did not show. The brunette slowly ran her thumb across Cressida’s parted bottom lip, her touch delicate and reverent. Her eyes flickered down and then back up to meet the blonde’s.

“May I?” she inquired gently, her voice a soft caress. She did not wish to rush Cressida into anything for which she was unprepared, her own nerves an afterthought.

Cressida, her heart racing, could only nod in response, leaning into Eloise's touch, making her lips the perfect height for Eloise’s.

Eloise leaned in slowly, her lips hovering just above Cressida's. Their breaths mingled, and Cressida could feel the warmth radiating from the younger woman, an intoxicating presence that filled her senses. Eloise gently cradled her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear with such tender care, Cressida couldn’t stop herself from shedding more.

As their lips finally met, the kiss was soft and tentative, a gentle exploration rather than a fervent declaration like the latter.

Cressida's eyes fluttered closed, allowing herself to be swept away by the sensation, her world narrowing down to the points of contact between them. The flavor of mint had faded, leaving behind something purely Eloise, and Cressida could feel herself becoming addicted to the taste of her.

Eloise's lips moved with a delicate assurance, coaxing a string of whimpers from Cressida that grew bolder with each passing second. Eloise’s other hand found its way to Cressida's waist, pulling her closer, the warmth of their bodies melding into one.

Cressida deepened the kiss, her lips parting further, inviting Eloise’s tongue to continue its tender exploration. Every word she struggled to utter, every emotion too overwhelming for speech, all the passion she felt, all the unspoken desires and fears, found expression in the meeting of their lips. Cressida hoped, prayed that Eloise could feel it. The intensity of her longing, the depth of her affection, the silent plea for understanding—all these emotions were woven into the kiss, a tapestry of raw, unfiltered feelings that she hoped would reach Eloise's heart.

Eloise answered her invitation, her tongue dancing with Cressida's, drawing out every ounce of emotion the blonde poured into their embrace, savoring the velvet feel of Cressida’s mouth. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, entwined in a moment that felt both eternal and fleeting. With a gentle touch, Eloise withdrew her hand from Cressida’s face, sliding them down the blonde's bodice, and to the buttons of Cressida's dress. Her fingers nimble yet hesitant, seeking permission before they ventured any further. She broke the kiss just long enough to whisper another, "May I?" her breath warm against Cressida's lips.

"Please…" was all Cressida could muster, her eyelids fluttering open, her lips trailing after Eloise’s, seeking contact once again. Eloise obliged, her lips meeting Cressida’s with a renewed tenderness, as her hands began to work.

With slow, deliberate movements, Eloise unfastened the buttons that ran down the back of Cressida’s bodice. Each button seemed to take an eternity, the soft click of each release echoing in the quiet room. As the bodice loosened, the high-waisted skirt began to sag, the weight of the fabric pulling it down. Eloise’s hands moved to Cressida’s shoulders, carefully slipping the bodice off and letting it fall to the floor in a soft rustle of fabric.

She pulled back once more, her eyes sweeping over Cressida, taking in the taller woman’s form. Even clothed in the thin white chemise, Eloise couldn't help but think she was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. The soft fabric clung to Cressida's curves, hinting at the delicate lines of her body, and the candlelight cast a warm glow, creating an ethereal aura around her.

“Cressida,” Eloise whispered, her voice filled with awe and affection. She reached out, her fingertips tracing the delicate lace trim of the chemise, her touch sending shivers through Cressida's body.

Cressida’s eyes fluttered closed under Eloise’s scrutiny. She felt the chemise being gently lifted over her head, leaving her upper body exposed to the cool air and Eloise’s admiring gaze. The intimacy of the moment was heightened by the layers of propriety being slowly peeled away.

"Are you alright?" Eloise asked softly, her breath warm against Cressida’s cheek.

Cressida nodded again, unable to find her voice. Her hands moved to grasp Eloise’s, their fingers intertwining.

Eloise smiled, a tender, reassuring expression, before she continued her task. She knelt gracefully, her hands sliding down to Cressida’s ankles, where she untied the ribbons of her petticoats and drawers. The garments slipped down, pooling at the blonde's feet.

Cressida stepped out of the delicate fabric, her movements slow and deliberate. The cool air caressed her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from Eloise’s touch. Eloise rose, her eyes never leaving Cressida’s. She reached out, her hands coming to rest on Cressida’s hips, drawing her closer. Cressida couldn’t bite back the gasp lingering in her throat from the feeling of Eloise’s gown against her bare skin. The delicate fabric brushed against her with a teasing softness, a contrast to the warmth radiating from Eloise.

Eloise’s touch was both gentle and assured, her hands exploring the newly exposed skin with a reverence that made Cressida’s heart race. The brunette’s warmth seeped through the gown, filling Cressida with a burning desire.

“You are beautiful,” Eloise murmured, her voice filled with genuine admiration. The words hung in the air, a testament to the depth of her feelings.

Cressida’s breath hitched, her heart swelling with emotion. Eloise’s words were dripping in sincerity, something she hadn’t been on the receiving end of. The idea that Eloise, a Bridgerton of all people, found her beautiful was almost too much to bear. Even her own mother had considered the Bridgertons as the epitome of societal grace and perfection. And here was Eloise, breaking through the facade Cressida had so carefully constructed, seeing her for who she truly was. A flood of warmth and vulnerability washed over her as she sought out Eloise’s lips, seeking the comfort and reassurance she had begun to associate with them.

As their lips met once more, the world outside ceased to exist. Cressida’s hands moved to Eloise’s shoulders, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. Eloise took this opportunity to guide them towards Cressida’s bed, stopping only when she felt the soft resistance of the bed frame against the back of Cressida’s legs.

“I’ve nev-, I haven-,” Cressida found herself stammering against Eloise’s lips, her voice trembling with both excitement and uncertainty. She exhaled deeply, willing her nerves to calm, so she could get a single sentence out. “Have you ever done this?” she asked after a few moments of silence, her gaze fixed on Eloise’s features in the gentle glow of the candlelight.

Eloise paused, her expression thoughtful as she held Cressida’s gaze. “No, I haven’t,” she admitted softly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

Cressida’s breath hitched at Eloise’s words, a mix of relief and anticipation washing over her. She felt a newfound sense of courage, bolstered by Eloise’s honesty and the mutual uncertainty that somehow made the moment even more intimate.

“After Miss Th-Lady Crane’s scandal, Franscesca and I bribed one of our chambermaids to tell us how ladies become with child.” She explained, a small smile of amusement gracing her features. “I suppose it will be different with two ladies, though,” Eloise gently cupped Cressida’s cheek, her thumb tracing a soothing path along her skin. “We shall discover this together.” she whispered, her voice filled with tenderness.

It’s not that Noah isn’t on her mind the entire time they’re investigating the case—he is, especially once two thirteen-year-old boys get involved.

If she’s being honest, Noah has been on her mind a lot lately.

He’s thirteen now, officially a teenager, and he’s growing up so fast. Olivia finds herself wondering where the time has gone. It seems like just yesterday she was lifting him out of that drawer, overwhelmed by a love so profound that it reshaped her entire world.

The truth is, she’s never quite gotten used to the fact that she has a son.

Even now, when she watches him play video games or sees him come home from school with his backpack slung over one shoulder, there’s a part of her that marvels at the fact that this is her life. But with that joy comes a constant undercurrent of fear. If she brought up Noah every time a case hit too close to home—like this past week’s case had—she’d never be able to focus on her job.

Still, when she saw the boys’ ages, her first thought wasn’t about the investigation or the details—it was about Noah. About how, in a different set of circumstances, it could’ve been him.

He could’ve been one of those boys, making choices based on things he wasn’t old enough to understand, his life changed in an instant. Or worse, he could have been like the twelve-year-old girl—innocent, vulnerable, caught in the crossfire of someone else’s ignorance and recklessness. The thought of him suffering like that, of losing him, gripped her so tightly that she has to remind herself to breathe when Carisi hands her a glass of whiskey.

She knew she needed to talk to him.

The signs have been there for a while: Noah coming out as bisexual, the questions he’s asked her about relationships and identity, the conversations she’s overheard between him and his friends. He’s reached an age where curiosity naturally leads to seeking information, and the internet is a minefield—too often offering more harm than guidance. Like it had with Johnny D, his biological father.

Just like it had in this week’s case. What should’ve been a simple, mutual exploration between two teenagers had turned into something traumatic, leaving both parties and their families forever changed.

In total, five lives had been shattered over the course of a week, and the justice they’d found felt inadequate.

After leaving Carisi’s office, she headed straight home, bypassing the precinct. Any paperwork could wait until Monday. Right now, her focus was on her son.

She just hoped he was still awake; she didn’t think she could fall asleep until she talked to him. As she drove, she mentally rehearsed different ways to open the conversation. She knew it couldn’t be a lecture—Noah was smart, curious, and he’d see through any attempt to control the discussion. And after what happened when she kept the truth about his biological father from him, she knew she couldn’t afford to be anything but honest. He deserved that.

When she finally stepped into the apartment, the familiar warmth of home washed over her, but it did little to ease the tightness in her chest. She shrugged off her coat and set down her keys, pausing when she spotted Noah on the couch. He was still awake, the soft blue glow of his phone illuminating his face as he scrolled. She felt a mix of relief and nervousness; this was the moment she’d been turning over in her head all day.

“Hey, Noh,” she called softly, making her way over to the couch.

Noah looked up, surprised but smiling. “Hey, Mom. You’re home early.”

She let out a small laugh. “I guess I am.” She hesitated, then added, “Mind if we talk for a minute?”

He set his phone down, his brows furrowing as he heard the tension in her voice. “Sure. Is everything okay?”

Olivia sat down next to him, feeling the weight of the moment. “Yeah, everything’s fine. But... I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

She tried to keep her tone casual, but the urgency of the topic was hard to disguise. “Today at work, we had a case involving kids your age and a few years older, and it got me thinking.”

“Like... what kind of case?”

She took a breath, steadying herself. She rarely talked about her work with Noah, and when she did, she tried her best to be as vague as possible. “There were two boys—thirteen, just like you—who got involved in something they didn’t fully understand because of things they saw online. I know you probably know what I’m talking about—videos, photos, stuff like that.” She paused, her eyes searching his. “Sometimes, people your age see things that aren’t meant for them. And those things can make it seem like certain behaviors are normal or expected when they’re not.”

Noah looked down, picking at a loose thread on the couch, his face flushing. “You mean…like, porn?”

Olivia’s heart clenched at the word leaving her little boy’s mouth, but she kept her voice steady. “Yes, like that. I know it’s out there, and I know it’s easy to find. But a lot of what’s in those videos isn’t real, and it isn’t healthy. It doesn’t show you what a respectful, loving relationship looks like. It shows people doing things for the camera—things that aren’t about consent or care.”

She paused, letting her words settle. “Sometimes, kids watch those videos and think that’s what they’re supposed to do, or that it’s okay to treat someone like that. But it’s not. Real intimacy—real relationships—are built on trust and communication, and both people need to feel safe and comfortable.”

Noah shifted, finally looking up at her. “Mom.” He groaned, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration on his face. “Why are we talking about this? I’m not—I mean, I haven’t watched anything like that.”

Olivia softened at his admission, giving him a reassuring smile. Relief flooded through her. She’d hoped he wasn’t looking at that kind of stuff but hearing it directly from him eased her fears. “I believe you, and I’m not saying you have. I just want to make sure that when you do come across things like that—or if your friends try to show you something—you know that it’s okay to say no, and it’s okay to feel uncomfortable.”

She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “I know we’ve talked about sex and consent before, but we haven’t really discussed what’s online. A lot of what’s out there just isn’t realistic, and it’s not what you should expect from a real relationship or during sex. Real relationships are about respect, trust, and making sure both people feel safe and comfortable.”

Noah’s expression softened a little, though the flush in his cheeks remained. “It’s just... kind of embarrassing to talk about.”

“I know it is,” she admitted, her tone gentle. “Believe me, this is the last conversation I want to be having too, but it’s important. You’re growing up, and I want you to have the right information. It’s not always easy to figure things out on your own, and that’s why I’m here—to make sure you feel safe and supported.” She hesitated, her eyes softening. “I want you to know that you can always come to me, no matter what. If you ever have questions or if something doesn’t feel right, I want you to feel safe asking me.”

Noah looked down, nodding slowly as he absorbed her words. “I guess... it’s just a lot. And sometimes, other kids make it seem like it’s normal or no big deal to watch that stuff.”

“I know. And I know that pressure can be tough to deal with. But just because other people are talking about it or acting like it’s no big deal, doesn’t mean you have to go along with it. You always have the right to set boundaries and to say no. What’s important is that you do what feels right for you, not what other people think is ‘cool’ or ‘normal.’” She stressed, trying keep her tone as calm as possible. She knew Noah had heard most of what she was going over before, but not in this context. She needed him to know that just because someone wasn’t physically pushing his boundaries, didn’t mean he had to give into peer pressure.

He looked back up at her, the uncertainty still lingering in his eyes. “But what if... I mean, what if they don’t listen?”

“That’s when you walk away,” she said firmly, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s okay to stand up for yourself. You don’t owe anyone anything—especially not your comfort or your boundaries. And if anyone ever makes you feel unsafe or tries to pressure you, you tell me, okay? I’ll always have your back.”

Noah’s shoulders relaxed a little. “Okay, I get it. I just—sometimes it’s hard to know what to do when everyone else is acting like they know everything.”

Olivia nodded, a sad smile touching her lips. She wished he could remain her sweet little boy forever, but he was growing up. He was going to have to figure out how to navigate a pretty tough world, but she’d do her best help guide him. “It is hard, and sometimes people act like they know everything when they’re just as confused as you are. But what matters is that you trust your instincts. If something feels off, it probably is. And that’s when you come to me or talk to someone you trust.”

He nodded. “Alright. Thanks, Mom.”

She pulled him into a hug, feeling his warmth and the familiar comfort of having him close. “I’m proud of you, Noah. Growing up isn’t easy, but you’re doing a great job. And I’m always here, okay? No matter what.”

As she pulled back, she gave him a warm smile, ruffling his curly hair back. “Now, how about we forget about all this awkwardness and order pizza?”

Noah grinned, his blue eyes sparkling, the tension between them easing as he laughed. “Yeah, that sounds way better.”

It was the first time they’d seen each other in person in what felt like ages. A widows and children’s benefit. Rita wanted him to run for DA—wanted to run his campaign, use it as a first step into the political world. Rafael was humoring her, which meant getting his face back out there.

But as he stood there, glancing across the crowded room at Olivia, his mind drifted far from the political ambitions Rita held for him. He caught Olivia’s eye, and for a brief, suspended moment, the noise around them faded, leaving only the silence of their shared history. He wondered which of them would break first, if either. It was always him.

“You’re really going through with it?” Olivia asked when he finally approached her, her voice tinged with disbelief. Of course, she already knew. She knew everything.

Barba shrugged, his usual confident façade slipping just enough for her to see through. “I don’t know yet. It’s Calhoun’s idea more than mine.”

Olivia studied him, as if trying to read between the lines. He’d never been a puzzle for her before, but time had a way of reshaping things. “You’ve never been one to be pushed into something you don’t want.”

Barba’s smile was faint, almost fragile. “Maybe I’m just tired of fighting.”