"So no one ever explained Greek mythology to you? Poor boy," I teased, still in awe that he was here, kissing me, holding me, wanting me. It was almost impossible to comprehend how we had gone from tension and avoidance to this—him, apologizing, asking me to forgive him.

"Nope. Are you gonna explain the Greeks to me, baby?" He smirked, pressing soft, teasing kisses along my jaw as he slowly guided us toward the sofa.

"Yeah, sure," I said, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt.

He sprawled onto the plush cushions, pulling me down with him, wrapping his arms around me as if shielding me from the world. My head rested on his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breath grounding me.

"We have a lot to talk about, El," he murmured.

"I know." I exhaled, already feeling the weight of the conversation we needed to have. There was only one place to start, though I hesitated to say her name. But it had to be addressed.

"Harry..." I hesitated.

"Yeah?" He tilted my chin up, needing that connection between our eyes. His fingers absentmindedly tangled in my hair, his warmth radiating through me.

"What is this?" I asked, wary but needing the truth.

"What do you think it is, El?" His voice was gentle.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But I need to say something before we try to define it."

"Tell me whatever's on your mind." His tone was reassuring, open.

I took a deep breath. "Harry, I don't sleep around, and I don't share. If we're doing this, I need all of you. No half-measures. I don't do clingy—I'm not going to breathe down your neck or chase girls at the club away. And I certainly won't be pouring drinks down their backs." I let out a small laugh, trying to steady my nerves. "But I won't be second best. Did I read too much into this kiss?"

I exhaled, suddenly realizing I was no longer nestled in his arms but sitting upright, tense, my eyes locked onto his, waiting for an answer.

"You don't do clingy?" He pouted playfully.

I shook my head. "No."

"I kinda like clingy," he teased.

"Harryyyy." I rolled my eyes.

"What?" he said in that thick accent, barely touching the 't' at the end of the word, making my stomach flip.

"Jesus, Harryyy."

"What?" he repeated, feigning innocence. Instead of answering, he pulled me back into him, fingers weaving into my hair as his lips found mine again. His mouth was warm, insistent, his kiss deepening until we were both breathless. He tilted his head, pressing closer, tasting, teasing, until our lips were swollen and bruised.

"This isn't funny, Harry," I whispered, breaking away.

"No, but it's delicious," he murmured against my skin, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down my jaw until he reached my earlobe, nipping at it.

"You are delicious," he added, his voice thick with want, making me shiver.

"I'm serious," I said, pushing him back—gently but firmly—so he knew I meant it. I slid off his lap and onto the coffee table across from him, facing him head-on.

"How do you do that?" he asked, grinning.

"Do what?" I asked, mirroring his smirk.

"Switch it off just like that?"

"With great difficulty and a whole lot of courage."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, talk to me."

I took a steadying breath. "Okay. Why did you leave last night? Why did you quit?"

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Because I didn't want it anymore. Not like that, anyway." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I met Charlie when I applied for Manhunt. She hit on me right away—came by my work, made it obvious what she wanted." His jaw tensed slightly. "At first, I thought it'd just be a quick hook-up, nothing serious. But then she saw me at the hospital with Gemma... she was there for some charity thing, and suddenly she was offering to help." He let out a dry chuckle. "And after that, how was I supposed to say no?"

I swallowed hard, pushing down the bitterness that rose at hearing her name.

"I didn't ask her, El," he added, as if reading my thoughts. "She offered. And I let her."

"Okay," I whispered.

"And now?" I met his eyes.

"And now, it's over. It was never anything," he said without hesitation. "You know that, right?"

I nodded, but there was still more I needed to know. "And the others?"

His hands slid to my knees, his touch grounding me. "They meant nothing, El," he said, voice soft but certain.

I inhaled deeply. "Harry, I don't share."

His fingers tightened slightly, as if anchoring himself to me. "Neither do I."

"But you did," I countered, knowing full well he had spent months sleeping with women who were in relationships, engaged, married.

"Not you. Never you, baby," he said, voice low and deliberate, like he needed me to believe him.

My heart pounded. "So... what does that mean?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

He shifted closer, our knees brushing, his hands trailing up from my knees to my face, cupping it like I was something precious.

"It means we give this a try—if you want to. Because I do, El. I want this. I want you."

His words sent a jolt through me, making my breath hitch.

"The question is..." His thumb brushed my cheek. "Do you want this? Do you want me? All of me, all yours. No share?"

I searched his face, my heart hammering so hard I thought he might hear it.

"No Charlie?" I asked, my voice cracking.

"She's out of the picture. I told her last night. And again this morning."

"No one else. No share?" I repeated, a nervous chuckle escaping as my eyes watered.

"No one else. Just us," he whispered, his own lips curving into a smile.

"Just us," I echoed, the words settling over me like a promise.

"Yeah?" His voice was so tender, so hopeful.

"Yeah," I murmured.

"My beautiful Ella," he said, kissing me once, twice, and then covering my face in feather-light kisses, making me giggle. But even through our laughter, his eyes never left mine.

"So, this is happening," he said, grinning, as if he couldn't quite believe it himself.

"You're mine?" he asked.

"Yours, Harry," I confirmed.

"And I'm yours, okay?"

"Okay," I breathed.

His arms wrapped around me, pulling me onto his lap again, holding me tight. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply, his breath warm against my skin.

"One thing though, babe," he murmured, his voice teasing.

"What?" I laughed, already knowing he was up to something.

"God, you smell so good, baby."

"Harry," I giggled. "Tell me."

"You're gonna have to tell Jimmy," he said, grinning against my skin. "He won't punch you, baby."

I burst out laughing, shaking my head. But deep down, I knew he meant it.

So, we talked. Really talked. He apologized—not just for the insensitive comments, but for being such an ass, for saying things he didn't even believe. He admitted he'd been fighting his own feelings, that emotions always complicated things, but he didn't want to fight anymore. He wanted us.

He confessed that seeing Michael that night made him want to smash his face in, that calling himself my boyfriend—even if it was a lie—felt better than he cared to admit. He felt sorry for Chase, though, claiming he never stood a chance. "Too goody-goody," he had said, his words, not mine. Although he did confess—completely unashamed—that he had purposefully stood behind me just to read my texts.

Most of all, he thanked me for helping Gemma. He told me how, at the time, it made him feel castrated, useless even, because he had always been the one to handle things. Suddenly, he wasn't needed, and that had messed with him. That's why he acted like a total dick. And when he saw my photo with Chrys at her dad's office, fury took over. He felt betrayed but also overwhelmed, unsure of what to do with all these emotions he wasn't used to dealing with.

But for once, he wasn't hiding behind bravado. He talked openly, without armor, without trying to be cool or detached, and I appreciated that. I needed it. We had a million things to sort out, but we would take it slow. We agreed to be honest, even if it hurt. That was the deal, and we would honour it the best way we could.

For now, though, he wanted to keep things quiet. "I want to surprise them," he had said, grinning mischievously.

When he left, I felt hollow, as if he had always been a part of me and I hadn't realized it until now. But I was also happy. Happier than I'd been in a long time. Yes, I was worried—worried that when he went back to work, surrounded by temptation, things might change. But my feelings for him were too strong to ignore, too real to deny.

The next morning, I was practically floating. Nothing could touch me. Not even my professor's relentless nagging. I even bought Brenda coffee—imagine that. Chrys, ever observant, eyed me suspiciously but decided to let me keep my secret a little longer, just as I had promised.

That night, when it was time to head to Alibi, I took extra care getting ready. I told myself it was for me, but let's be real—my ass. Chrys definitely wasn't fooled.

Jimmy picked me up at eleven, with Gemma joining us. Her mom was babysitting, giving her a much-needed night out. It was easy to see how much she relied on her family—her mom, her brother. They were a unit, a tight-knit little circle of love and loyalty.

When we walked into the club—no line, no wait—the music hit us like a lightning bolt, vibrating through my body. My nerves kicked in, anticipation buzzing under my skin. I knew he was here, but I hadn't seen him yet.

Chrys and Ed were already in front of Sylvia's bar, throwing back shots and moving to the beat. With every step closer to the bar, my stomach twisted tighter.

"So, I see the bees have spotted the pollen," Jimmy quipped, nodding toward the crowd of women hovering at Harry's side of the bar.

"They missed him after so long. Poor babies. They might need some consolation," he smirked. "And who better to console them than moi?" He patted his chest proudly, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside me.

"Sorry, ladies," he added, moving forward. "But I need to help my friend tap some of those."

My feet wouldn't move. I was rooted in place, stomach churning. I still hadn't spotted Harry, and for a fleeting second, I considered turning around, walking back the way I came.

"Ella, look!" Gemma nudged me, pointing.

And there he was.

Standing on the bar like he owned the place, dressed in his signature black skinny jeans and a fitted tee, Harry was looking right at me. The entire room seemed to fade as he extended a hand, beckoning me to join him.

The women gathered below gawked in shock, wide-eyed and stunned.

Harry, the cocky shit, stuck his tongue out playfully, as if to say come on, don't be nervous, then gestured again.

I glanced around. Chrys and Ed were smiling, swaying to the music. Gemma was practically bouncing with excitement. Even Jimmy, ever the sceptic, just shook his head with an amused smirk.

I had no choice, did I?

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward. Harry leaned down, his grip strong and sure as he helped me climb up. My dress rode up slightly as I moved, but before I could even adjust it, I was in his arms.

He spun me once before pressing me firmly against him, my back to his front, every inch of us touching. His hands slid up my arms, down to my hips, guiding me to the rhythm of the music. His lips brushed against my bare shoulder, then my neck, soft and warm. I let my eyes flutter shut, lost in the feel of him.

The room, the music, the people—it all blurred into the background.

"My beautiful Ella," he murmured, lips grazing my ear. "You're mine. And every guy in this club wishes they were in my shoes."

I shivered as he left a trail of feather-light kisses down my shoulder.

"And some of the women too," he added with a chuckle.

I laughed, tilting my head back against his shoulder, unable to hold it in. His teasing, his confidence, his touch—he was intoxicating. And I was already drunk on him.

I turned in his arms, heart hammering. His hands instantly found my waist, holding me steady, like he always had. My fingers found their way into his curls, tugging gently, earning a low hiss from him.

He rubbed his nose against mine, eyes flicking down to my lips.

And just as the song reached its final notes, he closed the distance, capturing my mouth in a kiss that sealed everything—every unspoken promise, every lingering doubt, every whisper of uncertainty.

It was his way of telling the world that he was taken.

That he was mine.

And in that moment, all my worries disappeared.