Back at the roadside,Logan had told himself it was better this way. Passing by Harper on the street , ignoring the way her eyes lingered as his motorcycle roared past, had felt like dragging a blade through his chest. But he hadn't stopped. He couldn't.
She wasn't supposed to matter this much. She wasn't supposed to get under his skin. Yet here he was, sitting at the bar, drowning in the burn of whiskey and silence, trying to convince himself that he didn't care. That it didn't matter who she talked to, who she laughed with, who she gave her guarded little smiles to.
It should've been easy. She was just his fake girlfriend. A cover. A deal. Nothing more.
But the ache in his chest every time he thought of her with someone else told him otherwise.And hurt him even more that it was Damian Blackwood,his Devil.
Now—now she was standing right in front of him.
