Page 128 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
Leaning against the speeder, arms crossed over that broad chest, sunglasses slung low enough that I can see the glint in his eyes. That smirk, all wicked confidence and quiet victory.
“Was it everything you hoped it’d be?” he drawls.
“No.” I grin. “It was better.”
He opens the door for me like a gentleman out of time. I slide in, still vibrating with clarity.
As the doors close behind us, I exhale a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
I’m not afraid anymore.
Not of Jonathan.
Not of what I had to become.
Not of who I love.
Grau starts the engine. The speeder lifts, the city falling away beneath us.
I look down one last time.
And I know, deep in my bones, that Jonathan Tidball will never touch my life again.
Not now.
Not ever.
Because I burned the bridge.
And salted the earth behind me.
And in the ruins, I finally found myself.
CHAPTER 24
GRAU
Isee her before she notices me.
Not because I’m staring—though I am—but because there’s a subtle shift in the air when she enters a room now. A cadence in her step, a certainty in her posture, like gravity bends just a little to follow her.
Today, that certainty carries her down the hallway of Ashara Tower, crisp heels against polished floors, dark hair pulled back in a braid that looks pristine until she moves—and then it looks alive, like it belongs to someone in motion, not someone who waits. Her eyes are calm. Focused. Practiced. And she doesn’t see me yet because she doesn’t think of herself; she knows herself.
That used to be impossible.
I watch her from where I stand inside her office, hands tucked into the pockets of my jacket, the cool light casting half my face in shadow. It’s grounding, this moment—quiet and intimate in a way that doesn’t need skin-on-skin contact to be heavy with meaning.
When she finally turns and sees me, it’s like a first breath after holding under water too long.
“You’re early,” she says.
I tilt my head, the hint of a grin teasing the corner of my mouth. “You said you wanted closure.”
“Yes,” she murmurs. Her voice is steady, but there’s a flicker in her gaze—like she’s bracing for impact. For honesty. For truth.
We sit across from one another at the small table beside the window—no audience, no boardroom, no press. Just us and the city humming far below. It’s midday light, but soft, filtered through Helios dust and glass panes, golden where it catches her cheekbone.
“You know why we’re here,” she says, fingertips tracing the rim of her glass.
