Café Lumière, Downtown District November 7, 2027 | Sunday | 11:45 AM

The quiet chime above the door rang out as Jason held the heavy glass door open, his body positioned just enough to block the harsh mid-morning glare from hitting your face. He swept the room in half a second flat—two elderly ladies by the window, a guy working on a laptop in the corner, zero cameras, zero press. Safe.

He guided you straight toward a secluded corner booth tucked way in the back, practically nudging you into the soft leather seat before sliding in across from you. His dark hair was still a little messy from pulling his mask off earlier, a few black strands falling into his eyes as he leaned back, resting his broad shoulders against the wood.

"Sit,"

He pointed a blunt, gloved finger at you with a sharp, no-nonsense look. "If your comm-link vibrates, I'm crushing it with a localized gravity pulse and throwing the scrap metal into the harbor.”

“We're. OFF. The. Clock."

Without waiting for a reply, he stood up and strolled over to the counter. A minute later, he came back holding a tray of a small porcelain plate for you and a mug of warm milk for himself, setting it down dead-center on the table between you two.

A single, thick slice of carrot cake sat on the dish, topped with cream cheese frosting and a light dusting of crushed walnuts.

It was the EXACT same slice from the tiny, off-duty date you two had months ago—back before the Academy press caught wind of anything, back when he was still just trying to figure out how a guy with a trillionaire dad and a billion-dollar empire was supposed to act normal around you. Jason slid back into the booth, crossing his arms over his chest. His bright blue eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unyielding, though his knee lightly bumped against yours under the table—a quiet, grounded reassurance.

"Eat.”

When you just stared at the plate, his jaw tightened. He let out an irritated, breathy huff, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, trying his best to cover the absolute knot of anxiety twisting in his gut behind a wall of dry cynicism. "Don't give me that look,"

"It’s a piece of cake, not poison. You’ve been dodgin' meals all week during Academy hours, and don't try lyin' to me—I saw you push your food around your plate at lunch yesterday like it was toxic waste." He picked up the small silver fork, sliding it gently across the porcelain until the handle was resting right by your hand.

"Look... remember this spot?" Jason asked softly.

The harsh edge in his voice softened just a fraction, a faint, fleeting smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "First time we came here, you spent twenty minutes tellin' me the frosting had too many calories, and then you ended up stealin' half off my plate anyway while I was blabberin' on about my dad's stupid car collection."

He raised his eyes back to yours, the sarcastic front cracking to reveal the raw, protective terror he’d been carrying all morning. "I ain't stupid," he rasped, his voice barely carrying over the quiet jazz playing overhead. "I see what you're doin' to yourself. You're runnin' on empty, throwin' yourself into hero work like you're fuckin' invincible.”

“You ain't.”

“And I'm gettin' real tired of standin' by watchin' you starve yourself while you try to save everyone else." He reached across the table, his warm, calloused fingers lightly brushing over the back of your hand, anchoring you to him. “Now open up like you’re taking my dick.”

L’Éclipse Penthouse, 450 Grand Avenue, Metropolis October 24, 2027 | Sunday | 8:42 PM

The quiet after the elevator doors closed was suffocating.

In the high-profile penthouse of L’Éclipse, surrounded by crystal chandeliers, muted jazz, and the distant city lights fifty stories below, Jason Vance sat alone. He stared at the half-empty wine glass across the table, where she had been sitting less than sixty seconds ago.

Four dates, he thought, his jaw clenching as he slowly swirled the deep red liquid. Four dates, four emergencies, four abandoned meals.

He hadn't missed the subtle shift in your posture when your comms vibrated—the slight drop in your shoulder, the way your eyes flicked to the rain-streaked windows, or the rehearsed, panicked excuse about your roommate locking herself out.

He had simply given you his best trademark Jason Vance smile— the smooth, easygoing, pampered billionaire grin that guaranteed he wouldn't ask difficult questions..

And told her to go.

They were the two highest-ranked heroes in the entire country. Top tier. The absolute peak of super-powered tactical defense. There were mid-tier operatives on call tonight who could have handled a dockside cartel exchange in their sleep.

You didn't have to run out into the freezing storm. You didn't have to bleed for a city that barely knew her name.

Yet, you always did.

Jason slowly set down his glass. The crystal gave a faint rattle against the table. For a moment, he simply listened to the restaurant around him. Laughter. Cutlery. Jazz. The quiet murmur of people who had no idea that one of the country’s most powerful heroes was sitting three tables away from them. He could keep pretending.

He could finish his wine, go home, and wake up tomorrow as Jason Vance.. Or he could finally follow you.

His jaw tightened. Just walk out.

Catch her in the lobby.

Tell her you know.

Tell her he was tired of pretending to be the harmless college boyfriend while she disappeared every time the city needed saving.

Jason reached into his jacket, left several hundred-dollar bills on the table, and stood.

The private exit closed behind him.

Pier 14 Industrial District, Riverfront Alleyway October 24, 2007 | Saturday | 8:54 PM

Ten minutes later, the rain was relentless.

Down in the dark, industrial gut of the riverfront, the air smelled of ozone, wet concrete, and hot lead. The fight was already over. Cartel enforcers were pinned against crushed container units, their weapons rendered useless.

Jason— no. He’s under the mask tonight.

Apex hovered on the edge of a third-story gargoyle, shrouded in the storm. His suit was a heavy-duty masterpiece of tactical engineering—layered Kevlar armor in slate and charcoal, tactical straps crossing his chest, and spatial-compression tech built directly into the joints. A high, structured collar protected his neck, while a dark tactical visor hid the raw exhaustion in his eyes.

Below him, you stood under the flickering halogen light of a broken streetlamp, your comm-link pressed to your ear as you coordinated an ambulance for a wounded civilian.

The rain slicked against your suit—a seamless layer of high-tech nano-fabric that molded to your body like a second skin. As you leaned over to check the civilian’s pulse, the matte-finish material stretched taut, tracing every line of your back, the sharp curve of your waist, and the undeniable swell of your ass.

He had spent the last two hours pretending to be a gentle, harmless aristocrat over candlelit steak. But watching you now—listening to your breathless, commanding voice cut through the rain while that damn suit highlighted every single inch of your body—completely shattered his self-control.

Instinct overruled logic.

He didn't jump. The air around him distorted as light bent through a localized lens, and in less than a heartbeat, he dropped from the rooftop, landing on the wet asphalt without making a single sound. Before the air pressure in the alley could even settle, Apex was behind you.

His heavy, leather-armored arms wrapped possessively around your waist, yanking your back until your body was slammed flush against his tactical chest plate. Jason didn't give you room to breathe.

He squeezed you tighter, digging his gloved fingers into the curve of your hips, bringing you back into his heat. He tucked his head down into the crook of your neck, letting his visor rest against your shoulder as his chest heaved against yours.

"You took too long down here," his voice growled through his helmet’s heavy audio scrambler—a low, mechanical rasp that vibrated directly against her collarbone. "Do you have any idea what it’s like watchin’ you throw yourself in danger while I’m in this suit from three hundred feet up?"

He felt the immediate tension in your frame—the sharp spike in your heart rate—followed instantly by the subtle, instinctive way you melted back against him. Even in the dark, even behind armor, your body recognized his.

I love you.

For a long, agonizing moment, neither of you moved. The rain beat down in sheets around you, bouncing off the Kevlar of his shoulders and the slick nanotech of your back. The initial surge of possessive adrenaline began to slow, giving way to a heavy, suffocating silence.

Jason didn't pull away. He couldn't. His grip on your waist only tightened, his fingers digging into the firm curve of your hips as if anchor-pinning you to his chest was the only thing keeping him grounded in reality.

He shifted slightly, leaning his helmeted head lower, resting the edge of his dark visor against the crook of your squirming shoulder. The audio scrambler in his neck guard hummed—a quiet, low-frequency buzzing that felt like a barrier built out of glass, waiting to be shattered.

He swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat locking up.

"How long?" he rasped.

The audio scrambler distorted the words, but the sheer, agonizing strain behind them bled straight through the mechanical filter. "How long are we gonna keep doing this?" Apex forced out, his chest expanding in slow, heavy beats against your back.

Apex’s heart hammered against his ribs. The terror of what he was doing finally caught up to him, suffocating and real. If he unmasked now, he’ll drag you straight into his father’s violent, bloody legacy. He’ll destroy the only safe, normal haven you had left in this city—the ordinary world you shared with "Alistair Jason Vance."

Yet, he was so tired of lying to you.

His hand moved from your jaw up to the side of his own helmet. His thumb found the recessed manual release toggle hidden beneath his jawline. A soft, pneumatic hiss cut through the sound of the falling rain as the pressure seals on his collar unlatched.

His fingers hovered over the dark edge of the mask, frozen on the absolute brink of pulling it off. His breathing was ragged, echoed loudly inside the confines of his helmet as he stood there in the downpour, trembling—

”IT’S APEX!”

That was the screech of a journalist before he could even choke his words out, followed by a shit ton more of them with die-hard fangirls mixed in. Jason’s blood ran cold. One thing he hadn’t considered was that the journalists were relentless.

“Felicia Tepez from Vanguard Publishing!”

“Apex! One comment!”, “Are you confirming the cartel investigation?”, “Look this way!”

”Consider a moment with Sovereign Press, Apex!”

”We love you, Apex!!!”

He looks at the crowd for half a second before realizing the cameras are already rolling. “Oh you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

University Quadrangle, Academic District November 7, 2024| Thursday | 2:15 PM

Jason’s heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped animal, a violent contrast to his still, casual posture on the fountain edge.

Beneath the heavy canvas of his denim jacket, his muscles burned from adrenaline that hadn't quite cleared his bloodstream. His right knuckle was split—hidden under his sleeve, still throbbing with the sickening, rhythmic force it had taken to tear a man’s world apart in the dark.

Hours earlier, in your cramped, dim apartment, his chest had felt like it was caving in. He remembered how you had looked up at him from that rickety desk, hands trembling, and said no with such a soft voice.

Not because you didn't want him.

But because of them.

The ex.

The shadow stalking your every move, keeping you paralyzed, keeping you terrified.

Jason remembered the exact second his despair snapped into pure, cold certainty. "If your ex was gone—like in jail gone, would you say yes?" The moment you whispered yes, the timeline accelerated.

Jail was a joke.

Jail meant the bastard was still alive, still breathing, still existing on the same earth as you. Before midnight, Jason had hunted him down. Before dawn, he had him bound, gagged, and bleeding on a cold basement floor.

Jason had leaned in close, his voice a sickeningly sweet whisper over the sound of muffled screams. “Don’t worry, man, nothing personal,” Jason had lied softly, his eyes dead and unblinking as he reached for the blade.

“This ain’t revenge.”

“It’s just... you spooked in her own skin. Fair’s fair—I’m flaying yours.”

Now, the autumn breeze swept across the quad. Jason stood up, every nerve ending flared to absolute razor-sharp focus. Your phone buzzed in your pocket—a sharp, violent vibration in the quiet afternoon.

You pulled it out. Jason didn't miss the way your thumb quivered as you unlocked the screen. The text hit your eyes like a shockwave:

@Account not found: I'm gone. I'm leaving the country. I swear to God I'll never look at you, touch you, or come near you again. Please don't let him find me again.

Jason stepped into your line of sight before the realization could even fully settle.

The cold, ruthless monster from four hours ago vanished seamlessly behind a boyish, hopeful grin. He brought his hands out from behind his back, presenting a massive, vibrant bouquet of fresh yellow tulips and baby’s breath—the exact ones you’d mentioned in passing weeks ago.

"Hey," Jason murmured, his voice warm, gentle, and utterly innocent as he closed the distance between you, standing close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him. He tilted his head, his eyes shining with a desperate, glowing warmth. "Looks like your schedule just cleared up.”

“So... about that date?"

.