FALLEN FOR THE MAN I WAS MEANT TO DESTROY

Natasha's pov The phone vibrates at exactly 9:47 AM and I know before I even look at the screen that my life has just ended. Xavier's arm is draped across my waist, his chest rising and falling against my back in that steady rhythm that means deep sleep. The kind where he trusts me completely. I used to lay awake watching that trust, wondering how long I could keep it. Now I know the answer. Not much longer. I reach for the phone, my movements slow and careful. One wrong shift of weight and his breathing changes. One sound too loud and those dark eyes open, see my face, read everything I'm trying to hide. The message glows on the screen. Three words in encrypted text. ***Emergency. Safe house. Now.*** My hands started trembling. I curl my fingers into fists, press them against my thighs until my nails bite into the skin through the fabric. The pain helps make everything else feel less immediate. I deleted the message and set the phone down. The wedding ring on my finger catches morning light streaming through the window, throws tiny rainbows across the white sheets. Xavier slipped this ring on my finger three years ago, his voice steady as he promised forever. I promised the same thing back. The agency doesn't send emergency messages. Not unless someone's cover is blown, or someone's about to die. Xavier's arm tightens and I go completely still, barely breathing. “Stay!,” he murmurs into my hair, his voice rough and thick with sleep. “Five more minutes.” My throat closes. I swallow hard, trying to force air past the tightness. “I can't sleep.” He pulls me closer, his lips brushing my shoulder, warm breath against my skin. “Then don't sleep, just stay!.” I want to stay in this bed. At this moment, in this life, I've built on lies. I want to pretend the phone didn't vibrate. Pretend Foster isn't waiting. Pretend I'm really Natasha Stone and not Agent Natasha Rhodes. But the phone sits there on the nightstand like a bomb about to explode. I slip out from under his arm. His fingers reached across the sheets where I was lying, searching even in sleep. My chest tightens watching that unconscious gesture, the way he looks for me even when he doesn't know he's doing it. His eyes opened. The sleep disappeared from his face in seconds, replaced by that sharp awareness that made him dangerous long before I ever met him. “Where are you going?” “Bathroom.” The lie slides out smoothly and easily after three years of practice. He watches me cross the room. I can feel his gaze on my spine, tracking every step. Xavier didn't build an empire by missing details. He notices when things don't fit, when patterns shift, when people lie. He's been noticing a lot lately. The bathroom door clicks shut. I lean my weight against it and start counting in my head. One, two, three, four, five. It's what I do when my heart beats too fast, the walls close in, and I need to remember how to breathe. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. It doesn't work anymore. The burner phone is taped under the sink behind the extra toilet paper. I peel it free, my fingers clumsy and shaking, then dial Foster's number. He answers before the first ring finishes. “Where are you?” “Still at the penthouse. What happened?” “Get here now, don't stop, don't call anyone, just get here.” “Foster, what—” The line goes dead. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Tangled blonde hair, face too pale, eyes too wide, pupils blown. I look exactly like what I am. Scared! Guilty! Caught. The shower turns on, water hitting tiles loud enough to disguise the sound of my breathing coming too fast. I sit on the floor with my back against the wall, knees pulled to my chest. Three years and it's all crashing down because I couldn't keep my heart out of it. When I got out, Xavier was sitting on the edge of the bed. He's dressed now, black shirt stretching across his shoulders, dark jeans, phone in his hand but his attention is on me. Really on me. The way he looks when he's trying to see past whatever mask I'm wearing. “You're leaving.” “I have lunch with Claire, remember?” “Right. Claire.” He stands, crosses the room in three strides, stops close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his piercing eyes. "Funny thing, I called Claire this morning. Asked if she wanted to join us for dinner tonight." Ice floods through my veins. "What did she say?" "She said she's in Paris for a show, and has been all week." His voice drops lower, quieter, more dangerous. "So either you're meeting someone else or you're lying to me. Which is it, Natasha?" I should have a cover story ready. Three years undercover and I'm making rookie mistakes because I'm too busy falling apart to think straight. "I meant Diana," the words tumbled out fast. "Diana! Not Claire. I always mix them up." "Do you?" "Yes." "Look at me when you lie. At least give me that much respect." I force my gaze up, hold it even though everything in me screams to look away. "I'm not lying." His hand rises, fingers brush my cheek, tuck wet hair behind my ear. The touch is gentle. It's always gentle with me. That's what makes this worse. "I've given you three years, Natasha. Three years of watching you slip away piece by piece, pretending I don't notice when you disappear in the middle of the night or take calls you won't explain." His thumb traces along my jaw. "I'm done pretending. So I'm going to ask you one more time. What are you hiding?" Tell him everything. "Nothing," I whispered. "I'm not hiding anything." He holds my gaze for three seconds. Then his hand drops, he picks up his phone, walks to the door. "Enjoy lunch with Diana." His voice is flat, empty. "Marcus will drive you." The door closes. I stand there staring at empty space, my hands shaking, chest aching. Everything is falling apart and I can't stop it. My phone buzzes. Text from Foster. ***You have thirty minutes. If you're not here, we're coming to get you.*** I put on black jeans, a sweater, and boots I can run in. Then walk downstairs where Marcus waits by the car, arms crossed, jaw tight. "Mrs. Stone." The title comes out sharp, disrespectful "Marcus." "Mr. Stone says," I'm to drive you to lunch and wait." "That won't be necessary." "It wasn't a request." We stare at each other for a few seconds. Three years of him watching, waiting for me to slip up so he could prove to Xavier what he already suspected. "Fine," I say. "Let's go." The drive takes twenty-five minutes. Marcus didn't speak, just watched me in the rearview mirror like I was something dangerous he needed to contain. "You can drop me here," I said two blocks from the safe house. "Mr. Stone said to wait." "And I'm saying you can leave." His eyes meet mine in the mirror. "What are you running from, Mrs Stone?" "Nothing." "Everyone's running from something. The question is whether you're running from someone trying to hurt you or running from someone you already hurt." He puts the car in park. "Mr. Stone is a good man than most people know. If you're doing something that's going to destroy him, I'd suggest you stop before I make you stop." "Is that a threat?" "It's a promise!." I get out, slam the door. The safe house is gray concrete that blends with every other building on the block. I knock twice, wait three seconds, knock once. Foster yanks the door open, pulls me inside. "You're late." "I had to deal with Marcus." "Who's Marcus?" "Xavier's right hand, the one who's been investigating me for six months." Foster's face goes pale. "He knows?" "He suspects." I look around. "Where's the emergency?" He leads me to the back room. Agent Brooks leans against the wall, arms crossed, a smile that makes me want to hit him. Behind him the laptop screen shows Director Chen's face. My stomach drops. "Agent Rhodes." Chen's voice could cut glass. "Sit down." I sat. "Three years ago, we sent you undercover with one objective. Infiltrate Xavier Stone's organization, gather evidence, build a case strong enough to put him away for life." Chen leans forward into the camera. "According to your recent reports, you've accomplished exactly none of that." "That's not true, I've sent—" "You've sent nothing useful in six months. Agent Brooks reviewed your file. His assessment is that you've either gone native or you're incompetent. Which is it?" "Xavier is careful, he doesn't discuss business at home. I've been building trust—" "For three years?" Chen's voice rises. "How much trust do you need?" "It's complicated." "It's simple. You're an FBI agent, he's a criminal, you gather evidence, we arrest him. That's the job." "You don't understand—" "I understand perfectly, which is why I'm giving you fourteen days. Two weeks to deliver actionable intelligence we can use for an arrest warrant. If you can't do that, we're pulling you out and sending someone who can finish what you started." Fourteen days. The room tilts. "Sir, if I could just—" "Fourteen days, Agent Rhodes. Starting now. Don't make me regret this chance." The screen goes black. I sit there staring at my reflection in the dead laptop while Brooks smiles and Foster looks sick. My phone buzzes. Text from Xavier. ***Marcus says you never made it to lunch. Where are you?*** Another buzz. ***Natasha. Answer me.*** Another. ***If something's wrong I can help. Just tell me where you are.*** I turn off the phone and press my forehead against the window. Fourteen days to choose between destroying Xavier or destroying myself.