What Remains: the line we crossed

He spent his whole life doing the right thing. Until her.
Told entirely from Elliot’s point of view, this is the story of a man torn between duty and desire, between the family he swore to protect and the partner he finds himself hopelessly in love with.
After an undercover operation in a nightclub to dismantle a trafficking ring of underage girls, Elliot and Olivia cross a line that can never be uncrossed — and he is forced to face the weight of loving her and losing himself at the same time.
When a new case uncovers a network of abuse similar to Seaview’s, Elliot becomes determined to protect Olivia — not only as her partner, but as the man who has seen her at her most vulnerable. As they fight for justice, he finds himself caught between his love for her and the sense of duty that defines him.
Each chapter begins with a confession to a priest and unfolds through Elliot’s actions and turmoil. Though written in third person, the narrative follows only his perspective and how he feels.
Mature content. Explicit sexual material. There is no violence, but intimacy plays a central role.

Notes:

This story is the first of a four-part series exploring Elliot and Olivia’s journey.
It takes place during Season 10, with references to a few episodes — but nothing that will leave anyone lost. It is divided into three chapters and an epilogue, totaling 185 pages.
The story is already complete and will be updated every week.
Thank you for reading - And please, let me know what you think. Leave a comment!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: What I Hide From Everyone

Chapter Text

“To be whole is also to accept what is missing from us.”
(Andressa Cella & Lothian Andrade)

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

The priest tilted his head gently, recognizing the voice.

“Elliot. Long time no see. What brings you here after three years?”

“Father, I...” Elliot rubbed the back of his neck, his voice cracking. “It’s... What I have to tell you... It’s not easy to say.”

“My son,” the priest said softly, “only a pure confession can receive true absolution.”

Elliot took a deep breath. “Well... I’ve been thinking about another woman. I’ve been having thoughts... bad thoughts.”

“Is she a woman from work?”

“Yes.”

“The same woman you mentioned three years ago?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. It’s her.”

“When did it start?”

“It didn’t,” Elliot replied quickly. “Nothing happened. Nothing will. I never cheated on my wife.”

“You never cheated with your body,” the priest said calmly. “But with your mind... when did it start?”

Elliot closed his eyes, genuinely trying to remember. He couldn’t say. He had always felt something for his partner that he couldn’t explain. Three years ago, when he last came to confess, Olivia had been attacked by Gitano. He used to have fits of rage just thinking about it. He knew it was wrong to feel so angry — at her, of all people — but he couldn’t help it. When Gitano attacked her, he felt his heart stop. And he hated what she made him feel... for her. He hated that he cared so much — to the point of losing his breath, to the point of letting a child die, to the point of failing at his job. Back then, he chose to repress it all rather than try to understand what was happening to him.
As the years went by, he got better at suffocating his feelings. When Eli was born, it became easier to focus on his son and family and extinguish any spark that might arise between him and his partner. Any connection that went beyond professional respect and deep friendship was ruthlessly buried. And so, they lived in peace — as much as possible. But lately, things had begun to change again.

“I don’t know...” he muttered. “Recently, I was undercover and... to protect me, she had to pose as a hooker. I couldn’t think of anything else in that moment — everything was so tense. I was just focused on getting us both out alive. I didn’t pay attention to her... to her body, you know? But then...” He paused, swallowing hard. “During that case, I got shot. She was with me at the hospital. She never left my side because she knew I was in danger. She knew what to do, how to think fast... Kathy didn’t even find out I was in the hospital. She couldn’t handle it — with the kids, it would be too much. My partner thought it was better to spare her. And she was right. Kathy would’ve freaked out if she knew I’d been shot while undercover.”

“So,” the priest asked gently, “you feel attracted to her attitude? Her spirit?”

“Yeah,” Elliot said. “I guess that’s it.” He lied. He knew it wasn’t just that.

“What about her body?”

For the first time, Elliot didn’t hesitate.

“Every man’s dream. Men ask her out all the time. They ask me to put in a good word, to get her number. All the time.”

“That pisses you off?”

He sighed, running a hand over his face.

“I’m used to it... She doesn’t want anything serious with anyone. But lately... God help me... I’ve been thinking about what they do to her. And how... how it would be if I could touch her like... I-I can't do that. I can't talk about that.”

The priest leaned forward. “What were you about to tell me earlier — about when she was pretending to be a hooker?”

“Oh, yeah...” Elliot looked down, ashamed. “After that case, I started to wonder what her body looked like — since I couldn’t really see her when we were undercover. And then, a few days ago, we went undercover again... and again, she played a hooker. I was praying to look at her and not feel anything, but... God, please forgive me.”

“But?”

“I... I feel very attracted to her.”

“Did you act on it?”

“No. Never. And she’d never... she’s not like that.”

“So, you made a choice, my son. You can’t control your thoughts, but you can control your body. You chose not to betray your wife.”

“I’m afraid of what I’d do if she opened up to me...”

“Did she?” “No. Olivia — that’s her name. She’d never. She... she takes care of my family. Recently she saved my daughter, Kathleen, from prison. The only reason Eli’s alive is also because of her. She’s... she’s the best.”

“Seems like she really cares about you. Do you love her?”

“No! No! Not like that. She’s like family. My partner. My best friend.”

“And you want to have sex with her?”

“Fuck...” He stood abruptly, his pulse racing.

“I... I have to go.”

“Elliot, don’t run away!” the priest called. Elliot froze, then turned back slowly.

“So how is it?” the priest asked, his tone calm but firm. “She’s your best friend, like family — but you want to have sex with her?”

“I don’t know what to tell you...” Elliot whispered. “She’s my best friend, and lately... lately, since we went undercover again, I can’t stop thinking about it. I... I just want this to stop.”

“For the last time, my son: are you, or are you not, in love with her?”

Elliot’s eyes filled with conflict. “Kathy is my wife. She’s the one I have to love, the one I should be in love with. And I love her, I respect her. Father, you know me — I try to be a good husband.”

“And you are, my son. But if you keep trying to dictate rules to your heart, you’ll only get more confused. The heart has reasons the mind cannot understand. The first step toward wisdom is understanding what you truly feel. You must figure out what you feel for your partner.”

“It’s just... It’s only sex, Father. And friendship.”

“Two words that shouldn’t walk together,” the priest said softly.

“I don’t want to feel this way. That’s why I’m here.”

“You have to help yourself, my son. Accept reality as it is before you can act on it. As penance, I ask that you return here next week. And as advice, take a day to spend with your wife. Do something you love doing together — something that brings joy to your marriage. Try to keep the spark alive.”

“Yeah. Right,” Elliot murmured.

The priest raised his hand in blessing.

“I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

Elliot bowed his head. “Thank you, Father.”

“What can I do for you, Daddy?”

Olivia leaned over him, her voice low and teasing. Elliot felt her body press against his as she settled onto his lap, her warmth spreading through him like electricity. She rested her head on his shoulder, her lips brushing his neck as her hands trailed down his strong arms. It’s an act! he reminded himself, forcing his breathing to stay steady, reminding himself of what was at stake — the target, the trafficking network, the girls they were there to save. Yet every touch of hers burned against his skin, and he couldn’t hide the tension that coiled in his muscles.

They were deep inside a luxurious but suffocating club. Heavy bass throbbed through the walls, mingling with loud laughter and the thick scent of cheap perfume and expensive whiskey. Elliot had entered only minutes earlier, wearing a borrowed designer suit, a gleaming watch, and the air of a confident millionaire. On the outside, he looked composed. Inside, every nerve was alert. Olivia was already on the floor — corseted in crimson that barely covered her chest, thin black heels, heavy makeup. He had never seen her like that before. She seemed like someone else, yet there was still something unmistakably hers in her eyes. He leaned against the bar, eyes fixed on her. Olivia moved among the men like a trained puppet, her gestures precise, her laughter rehearsed.

She leaned toward them, brushing one arm or another, perfectly in character. Elliot shifted uncomfortably, forcing himself to look away. Olivia caught his gaze. “Eyes on the target,” she hissed between clenched teeth. He turned back toward the man quickly — the mark. A powerful figure tied to the club’s owner, suspected of trafficking women and underage girls. At the bar, Elliot ordered an expensive drink, leaving his cash in plain sight. The owner, a middle-aged man with a predatory smile, noticed immediately and approached him.

“First time here? You look like a man who knows how to enjoy himself.”

“Depends on what you’re offering,” Elliot replied coolly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Olivia’s expression shift. Shit. She lost him. The target’s gone. She shot him a warning glance — the man she had been watching was being escorted to a private room, out of reach. Her plan vanished in seconds, leaving her exposed and without cover. Elliot felt the weight of danger settle over him. If she stayed alone, she could be compromised — and the entire mission would fall apart. The club owner chuckled, his grin widening.

“You’re in luck, my friend. Tonight, we’ve got fresh meat. The finest cut — a real fillet mignon!”

He signaled a bouncer, who grabbed Olivia by the arm and dragged her toward them like a trophy. The owner gripped her shoulders, his hands sliding down her body to display the “quality of the product.” Shoulders, arms, neck — he yanked her hair roughly. Olivia stayed still, impassive. Elliot never doubted her professionalism — he knew how good she was — but her calm under pressure still shocked him. He, on the other hand, wanted to tear the place apart. Something wild stirred inside him. Rage at the way those men touched her. I’d feel this for any woman treated like that... he told himself — but he knew there was something deeper, hotter, crawling beneath his skin. A jealous fury he couldn’t explain. He remembered the priest’s words, trying to name what he was feeling. What would I do if I followed what I want?

If he gave in, the club owner would be the first to die. He pictured himself rising to his feet, seizing Olivia by the hips and pulling her against him — ignoring the others, ignoring the risk. He imagined closing the distance slowly, making it clear no one else could touch her. His hand would move over her body, firm and possessive, pressing her against his chest. The anger burned hotter — he wanted to punish the man for touching her, for treating her like property. He wanted to whisper words of ownership, of desire. Nobody touches you. Only me. Hear me? Only me. He pictured Olivia looking up at him, surprised but not resisting, letting him hold her as if she belonged to him. Her touch would grow more desperate, no longer part of the act. He could almost feel it — her trembling, her warmth, her breath catching. Even knowing he couldn’t, he’d give in, surrendering to the violent pull of his desire. In that fantasy, there was no one else — only them, bound in heat and fury, as if claiming her could save them both. Fuck, I want her. I want her so damn much.

The club owner’s hands still roamed Olivia’s body while Elliot burned in silence. She glanced at him, searching his face for a reaction.

“Hands off her,” Elliot said sharply, pulling a roll of bills from his pocket.

“I want her. Now.”

The owner withdrew his hands, smirking at Olivia before stepping aside. “Be generous,” he said with a grin. “Give him everything he wants.” He practically shoved her toward Elliot.

“What can I do for you, Daddy?”

Her voice is low. Her perfume flooded his senses. Her bare legs brushed against his, and Elliot gripped his glass tighter to hide the trembling of his hand. The owner lingered nearby, watching with satisfaction, expecting a show. Olivia leaned close, whispering against his ear.

“Target is gone. We have to get out of here and come back tomorrow or—”

“Shhhh,” Elliot murmured, realizing they were still being watched. He gripped a handful of her hair, his lips brushing her neck as he whispered back.

“This isn’t what we planned.”

“It’s this or blow the cover.”

She slid her arms around his neck, her warm skin brushing his. The lookouts laughed and muttered to one another; Elliot knew every eye was on them. His hand found her waist—firm enough to be more than an act, restrained enough to deny full desire. She skimmed her lips along his cheek as if to kiss him. Olivia kissed the corner of his mouth and then slipped over his lips—quick, calculated—but Elliot returned it a heartbeat longer than he should have.

The owner grinned, pleased, and raised his glass in a toast. “See? Worth every penny.”

Elliot forced a smile and lifted his own glass. The owner barked a laugh. Olivia shifted sensually in Elliot’s lap and felt his erection. He realized she’d noticed and eased back, heat rising to his face. “Sorry.” In her gentlest voice, Olivia murmured against his ear, “That’s okay. Just a reaction from your body.”

She stayed in character, and they continued the suggestive pantomime.

“You’re not really enjoying me,” Olivia said softly.

“What?”

“Ask about someone younger...”

He understood instantly. A glance at Olivia was enough—she tipped her head almost imperceptibly toward the owner, a silent cue to draw him in. Elliot pulled away from her almost brusquely, as if bored. He stood slowly, straightened his shirt, and adopted the relaxed arrogance of a man used to getting whatever he wanted. She remained seated, feigning offense.

The owner, still hovering to make sure things were going to plan, watched with a raised eyebrow, unsure of the turn. Elliot strolled toward him with studied calm, a lazy sway in his step as the wooden floor creaked beneath each footfall. The owner offered a thin, wary smile.

“She’s good,” Elliot said in a low, steady voice, flicking an appraising glance at Olivia, as if she were merchandise. “But I’m kinda looking for someone… younger, you know?” He let the sentence hang. Then he gave a half-smirk—sharp, cynical. “I like the ones that are still tight,” he added, as though sharing a filthy secret.

The owner gave a dry, complicit laugh, his eyes narrowing as he reassessed Elliot.

“I got what you need,” he said more seriously. “But you’ll have to be patient. The supplier’s busy right now.”

“Patience isn’t really my thing.” Elliot licked his lips, keeping the persona intact. “So what am I supposed to do while I wait?”

Olivia, tracking every detail, seized the opening and drew attention back to herself.

“Daddy… don’t forget about me!” The owner laughed, entertained. “Well… the lady can make sure your wait isn’t unpleasant.”

“She’ll do, for now,” Elliot said, almost dismissive, as if Olivia were merely a temporary distraction. Then he turned to her.

“How could I forget, baby?”

Olivia rose and moved to him, wrapping her arms from behind, hands spreading over his chest while her lips grazed his nape. He felt her breath—warm and damp at the base of his neck—raising the small hairs there, and he grabbed her ass with a touch more force than necessary. The owner clapped his hands against the bar, satisfied.

“Perfect. You two are going to have a great time upstairs. Take the key and make yourselves comfortable. Do you want me to take you both up?”

Elliot snatched the key from his hand. “Guess I can find it myself.”

He guided Olivia by the waist. They started up the stairs together while the owner lounged against the bar below, watching like a man enjoying a show. Elliot kept his arm firm over her shoulders, drawing her close. Her body was taut beneath his arm, but her expression stayed seductive, her performance unbroken. The stairs were narrow and creaked with every step; a weak bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting long shadows along the wall. The tap of her heels echoed in the heavy silence.

“You’re squeezing me too hard, Daddy,” Olivia said loudly, feeding the performance. Elliot flashed a dirty grin and answered without missing a beat. “You like it when I do.”

They exchanged a swift glance—too quick for the cameras to catch the warning in their eyes. At the top, a tight corridor stretched ahead, lit only by a single emergency lamp. Three doors stood in a row, all closed. The air reeked of old cigarettes and stale alcohol. Elliot kept Olivia close, guiding her like property, and murmured so low no mic could pick it up.

“Two doors on the left, one on the right. Second one’s probably ours.” Olivia dipped her chin playfully, disguising her own assessment.

“Look at that. The right one’s got a lock on the outside. Storage, maybe.” Elliot tugged her in, feigning a kiss to her neck as cover for his whisper.

“You think the girls could be in there?”

Before Olivia could answer, a sharp sound bled through one of the rooms—the voice of a girl, practically a child. A strangled cry, thin and desperate. Elliot turned instantly toward the noise, hand going to his gun, but Olivia pulled him back.

“Don’t. If you interrupt now, he walks. He’ll say he didn’t know, that he wasn’t part of it. You have to make him sell you one of the girls. Then he’s done.”

Elliot looked at her slowly. Whatever spark of sexual energy lingered between them burned out in the cold light of what lay behind those doors. In its place, a glacial fury settled in both detectives. He knew the room with the outside lock held girls and women who couldn’t defend themselves. I want to end this now. But Olivia was right. They needed the sale, the undeniable evidence. Elliot would “close the deal,” and Olivia would make the arrest. That was the plan. They moved to the second door on the left. Elliot knocked lightly; a latch clicked from inside. A massive man in a black T-shirt—security—studied them briefly and opened the way. Olivia kept her sweet smile, biting her lower lip as part of the act.

“After you, princess,” Elliot said theatrically, gesturing her in first.

Before she could step over the threshold, the corridor split with a new sound from the neighboring room: a piercing, panicked scream.

“HELP! HELP! PLEASE!”

There was no doubt, no more pretense. In perfect sync, Elliot and Olivia drew their weapons. Their breathing changed—short, focused. The corridor became a field of operation. Elliot kicked the adjacent door open. Inside, the corrupt businessman—their target—had just closed a deal with a sweaty, heavyset man with thick fingers.

“She’s young, untouched. Worth every cent,” the businessman said, counting stacks of cash while the heavyset man lifted a girl—no more than twelve—into his arms like purchased goods.

“Shut up!” the man snarled, clamping a hand over her mouth as she screamed. “Be a good girl. You’re Daddy’s little one now.”

She cried out again, struggling to pull away, but his grip tightened, raising her off the floor. Elliot surged forward, gun leveled, voice like a blade.

“NYPD! Step away from her!” Olivia swept in behind him, muzzle trained on the businessman, eyes blazing.

“Hands where I can see them. Now!”

Elliot pulled the girl into his arms, feeling her small body trembling against his chest. Each tear sliding down her cheek landed like lead in his ribs.

“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay. We’re the police. You’re safe now.”

Olivia kept her sights shifting between the businessman and the buyer. Moving with crisp precision, she cuffed the heavyset man first.

“You like playing house? Let’s make sure you’re Daddy’s little girl… behind bars.”

She turned to cuff the businessman when the owner burst into the doorway, rage and surprise twisting his face. Before he could speak, a gunman stepped up behind him—one of the guards—lifting a weapon toward Olivia. The gunshot cracked down the corridor; Olivia dove aside, the shockwave splitting the air by her ear. Elliot reacted on instinct, clamping the girl tighter and yanking Olivia closer into cover. Get the kid safe. Liv can shoot; I have to neutralize the guard.

“Liv, cover me!” She dropped low, stance rock-steady, eyes tracking the threat. Elliot zigzagged forward, every step calculated, the girl shielded against his body. In a whip-quick motion, he kicked the guard’s wrist, sending the weapon skittering across the floor. The businessman tried to retreat, but Olivia was already on him, closing the distance, her gun unwavering. “Don’t even think about moving, or it’s over!” The owner tried to slip away in the chaos, but Elliot cut him off, the girl still cradled tight in his arms.

“It’s over. Backup is on the way.”

Distant sirens sliced through the corridor, but there were still dangerous seconds to survive. Elliot held the girl close, feeling her tremors ease by degrees, while Olivia kept the businessman pinned, cuffs biting his wrists. The owner stumbled back, hunting for an exit, but every step met Olivia’s dead-calm aim.

“Step back. Now.”

The disarmed guard tried to rise; Elliot kicked him down again, making sure there wouldn’t be another shot. Every movement was deliberate—protect the girl, contain the criminals. At last, backup flooded the hallway—officers storming in with weapons raised, executing the takedown. Olivia barked orders: “Get them on the floor!”

They shoved the businessman and the owner down; officers cuffed the businessman. The heavyset buyer was already restrained and stayed pinned, face flushing with rage and panic, powerless against their precision. Elliot still held the girl, finally able to breathe. She clung to him, sobbing into his shirt but safe. Olivia moved in beside him, eyes still sharp, a thread of relief softening her jaw.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re free,” she told the girl gently. Olivia ordered the officers to break open the middle door—the one with the exterior lock. When the wood splintered and the door swung back, a devastating scene unfolded: dozens of girls—eleven to fourteen—packed into the cramped space, eyes wide with fear, bodies folded in on themselves, some hugging their arms or legs as makeshift shields.

The heavy silence, broken only by muffled sobs, weighed hard in Elliot’s chest. Horror and relief collided—alive, all of them alive—and the cruelty in the air was almost tangible. They were led out one by one. Some cried; others stared, stunned by the sudden possibility of freedom. Elliot and Olivia guided each of them carefully, step by step, making sure they were safe. Olivia’s weapon tracked every suspicious shadow while Elliot spoke quietly to each girl he passed.

“It’s okay, sweetie. You’re going to be alright. The police are here.”

Little by little, they were moved to safety—blankets wrapped around narrow shoulders, medics stepping in. The businessman, the owner, the buyer, and their accomplices were escorted out, immobilized, unable to deny the flagrante delicto. Only then did Elliot and Olivia allow themselves a long breath. The rescue was done; the operation, as much as possible, complete. They shared a look. They knew they hadn’t landed the pristine, on-camera sale that would be a perfect nail in the coffin—but they had saved every one of those girls. And even so, the businessman would need a very good lawyer to explain the cash in his hand while the buyer carried a child away.

“We did it,” Olivia said. Elliot nodded, gun still in his hand, his shoulders finally loosening. “Yeah… they’re safe.”

“We have less than two hours of sleep before we get up to interrogate them,” Olivia said as soon as they arrived at the precinct. She was wearing Elliot’s coat over the red corset and mini‑skirt she’d used for her role.

“I have to get out of this corset; it’s killing me,” she murmured, trying to undo the garment from under the coat, her fingers fumbling discreetly with the fastenings. Elliot noticed the movement. The arousal he’d been fighting for hours surged back full force. The image of her breasts pressed tight in the corset, while she struggled to free them, her coat covering the exposed skin as if—in some way—it belonged to her, protected her, his scent in his coat mingling with hers… The image of Olivia draped in his coat was making him lose all control. An almost electric tension ran along his spine. It was impossible to ignore. Olivia, distracted by the corset, didn’t notice Elliot’s fixation. He took a deep breath, trying to restrain himself, but the sight of her almost made him forget fatigue, the mission, and the moral compass that always guided his decisions. When Olivia finally turned and headed toward the dressing room to change, Elliot felt the urgent need to speak… to… look… stop her… Something. Some visceral need he couldn’t control.

She entered the dressing room and took off her coat to give herself more freedom to undo the corset. He followed her, silent and swift steps, toward the slightly ajar door of the dressing room, trying to control his breathing.

“Olivia, wait…” — he had no idea why he called to her. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what he wanted, what his need was. But he tried to look for the answer in her eyes.

“What is it?” Olivia held her hair and stopped the motion she was doing with her fingers, turning to face Elliot, unaware of his inner struggle.

“Let me help you with these…” said Elliot, approaching her and beginning to undo the fastenings, his fingers burning as they touched her skin softly.

Elliot felt his heart race. Every curve of her under the coat, every accidental touch while helping with the fastenings, made the arousal grow, until his member ached. He knew he shouldn’t be there. Every move of hers seemed to electrify the air. Her breath, ragged, increased the heat Elliot tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore. But alongside the desire came guilt, heavy, suffocating. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate: I’m married. This is wrong. I can’t… But her perfume, her coarse touch on his warm and delicate skin, while he strained with the corset fastenings, dissolved any rational thought. His heart pounded, his breathing accelerated, and every fiber of his body screamed that he wanted more, much more.

“Olivia…” he murmured, hesitating, his fingers touching the delicate ribbon. Olivia hesitated at letting him draw near. For the first time, she seemed to sense something was different—or at least, it was the first time she showed it. Her eyes looked frightened when Elliot abandoned working the fastenings and slowly turned her to face him, locking eyes.

“I… I can’t…” he began, voice faltering. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain a firm tone — “…I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Elliot, what the hell are you talking about?” Olivia practically begged. Her eyes full of fear. He knew with absolute certainty what he had long suspected: that she felt it too, desired him too, and was terrified. He swallowed hard, feeling the guilt tighten. He hated himself for this, but he couldn’t resist. He was sure that never in his life had he desired another woman so much. The last barrier preventing him from acting was precisely knowing that Olivia would never reciprocate—but seeing her there, utterly vulnerable, wholly surrendered to him, completely softened and dominated in his arms, every barrier seemed to crumble. Each second of hesitation seemed to make him more vulnerable to the attraction he felt for her. His hand touched her arm gently, pulling her closer.

“This…” he whispered, nearly out of breath.

The kiss began hesitantly, as if asking permission he couldn’t even give himself. But the tension, the closeness, and the repressed desire took over. Olivia was initially surprised, but she was unable to pull away. She responded slowly, allowing the electricity between them to manifest without words. As the kiss grew more intense, Elliot also felt the conflict intensify: guilt, fear, desire, worry for the mission—all mixing in waves that almost left him powerless. Even so, he wanted more. He wanted everything to stop so he could savor her slowly, deliberately. But there was no time. Suddenly an urgency consumed him. He broke the kiss for just an instant to lock the door of the dressing room and ensure no one entered, despite it being past midnight and traffic being very low. The shift change wouldn’t happen for a few hours, and only the Captain was due to arrive to accompany the interrogation. He locked the door and ran back to her, leaving no moment for one of them to regret, think too much, gain awareness. He knew that if they thought rationally, they would stop right then. And the last thing he wanted in the world now was to stop.

He resumed kissing her with urgency and desperation and pressed her against the locker, managing to free one of her breasts from the corset. Her skin, her mouth… she was entirely warm. He desperately wanted to drive himself into her to feel the heat between her legs too. He brought his mouth to the freed breast and played with her nipple, eliciting a moan that almost made him lose his mind. He moved the corset fabric aside and let two fingers glide over her vagina. What he felt there made him lose total control.

“Oh my God, Olivia…” he said, panting, as he found her clitoris and received her moans in response. “You are so wet…” He inserted one finger first, then another. “You want me too, right? Is this why you’re so fucking wet?”

“Y‑y‑yes—” Olivia trembled under his hand as he plunged more forcefully.

“Yeah? You want me too much? Like I want you?”

“Yes… Fuck… Yes—” Olivia herself began guiding the movement, desperate for more friction. It reached a point where Elliot was barely moving his hand. He pulsed, his member aching. The arousal consumed him.

“Please…” he heard Olivia ask, uncontrollably—“Inside me. Need you inside me. Now.”

He couldn’t stifle a guttural sound at hearing those words. Quickly, he let Olivia unfasten his belt and pull down his pants. He raised her legs and held her by the buttocks, keeping her pressed against the locker. He gave the first slow, deep thrust, then another, two more… He was certain what he was doing was a sin, but it felt like he was swimming in paradise. Olivia cried out for him to go faster. He had never known sex in this way. He didn’t have experience with such visceral sex… He knew Olivia had a lot of experience, but he pushed that thought away. He didn’t want to think about her sexual experiences with other men. That would destroy him in that moment.

“Harder!” she shouted. He obeyed gladly. He increased the pace of his thrusts, taking them both to the brink of madness.

“Hard enough?”

“Y‑yes! Fuck! Fuck, Elliot.”

His name on her lips was the missing spark that pushed him toward the climax. He increased the pace even more. He lost control and, flooded with lust, delivered a strong slap to her buttocks. He startled for a moment—he had never done that before. He thought he might have crossed a boundary, feared Olivia wouldn’t like it. But she didn’t protest. On the contrary, she dug her nails into his shoulder and cried out in pleasure. He slapped her again. And again. Every time he slapped her she screamed, and every time she screamed he felt as though he might faint. He, a man of that size, was nearly collapsing because of her. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He wanted desperately to come inside her, but he had enough self‑control to know he couldn’t do it without her explicit permission.

“Where?”

“I take my pills. And I trust you! Come inside me!”

These were the words that led him to perdition. He began thrusting faster and faster, squeezing her butt with all his strength, slapping her, until he poured himself completely inside her and felt her come with him, her vagina pulsing on his shaft. When they finished, both were completely breathless. Elliot remained inside her for a few seconds, then gently placed her on the ground. The scent of sweat and desire still lingered in the air, mingled with her perfume and the cold metal of the lockers. Olivia, leaning against one of the iron doors, panted, trying to catch her breath. Elliot stood a short distance away, still feeling his body throb as if he had run a marathon. They couldn’t meet each other’s eyes for a few seconds—as though the weight of what they had just done was more unbearable than the excitement itself.

“What the hell did we just do?” Olivia broke the silence, voice hoarse and disbelieving.

Elliot ran his hand through his sweat‑damp hair, almost laughing nervously, but the knot in his stomach didn’t allow it. He felt as though he had betrayed not just his wife, but himself. He wanted to say it was a mistake, that it was impulse, but the truth blazed inside him: never, in his whole life, had he felt something so overwhelming. Not in hundreds of nights with Kathy. Nothing approached what he had just felt with Olivia. That realization filled him with guilt. A guilt so violent it soon turned into anger—toward her, himself, the world. He stepped back, avoiding her gaze.

“We shouldn’t have done this.”

Olivia fell silent for a moment, wounded by his tone. She drew a deep breath, swallowed the pain. He knew he was being cruel. She was not whom he wished to wound—but himself, the strange feeling growing inside him, dominating him. He tried to explain, attempting not to be so awful to the woman he knew would give the world for him.

“You make me feel things I shouldn’t feel. Stronger than anything I’ve ever felt in my damn life. Do you get that?”

“Elliot…” she said. She tried to move closer, but he raised his hand as though it were a barrier. His breathing heavy, eyes aflame—not just with desire, but with fear.

“This can’t happen again.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

Silence fell heavily. Olivia stared at him, surprised, hurt, but also struck by the same truth he had revealed. He suddenly turned, grabbing the shirt thrown on the bench and putting it on hastily, as though he needed to cover not only from the cold but from his sin.

“Get dressed. We’ve got perps to interrogate.”

The coldness in his voice was like a blade. Olivia froze, still panting, seeming to feel more anger at herself than at him. At the moment he spoke those words, Elliot wished he could take them back. He knew he was hurting her. And hurting her hurt deeply. He knew her vulnerabilities. He knew how she didn’t consider herself worthy of love… He had never known a man more filthy than himself in that moment. The echo of what had occurred still burned between them, but now it lay buried under layers of guilt, fear, and denial.

4. The suspects were handcuffed to the table. Fin and Munch had gone to question the small fish — the client and the bar owner. Elliot and Olivia were left with the businessman. Well-dressed and self-assured, he had already asked for his lawyer.

“The moment your lawyer gets here... we won’t be able to help you anymore,” Olivia said, trying to negotiate. Elliot practically cut her off, his tone shifting completely.

“You think you can buy your way out of this? We’ve got enough to bury you for years.”

The businessman smirked. “You don’t scare me, detective.”

“Then maybe you should be scared of who’s going to talk when this all blows up. People like you don’t stay untouchable forever,” Olivia shot back, her voice steady, eyes burning with fury. Elliot rolled his eyes.

“Save the speeches, Liv. He’s not impressed.”

Olivia ignored him — for the first time in years, she couldn’t read his strategy. They were out of sync.

“You had a whole room of girls locked up like cattle. Do you really think a jury’s gonna buy your story?” she demanded.

The man smirked again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, if I were you—” Olivia began, but Elliot interrupted her with calm precision.

“Come on. We both know you’re not the top of the food chain. You’re just another middleman who thought he was untouchable. Forgive my angry partner... I wanna try to help you.”

Olivia narrowed her eyes, annoyed by the interruption, but went along with the good cop/bad cop routine. So she’d be the bad cop.

“You’d better not play games. We already have witnesses — girls who saw your face.”

The businessman laughed, dismissive. “Girls? Nobody’s gonna believe them over me.”

Olivia slammed her hand on the table and began pacing around him, threateningly. Again, just as she was about to speak, Elliot cut in. “You’re not walking out of here. But you could make things easier for yourself. Give us a name.”

Olivia leaned close to his ear, her voice sharp and trembling with rage.

“My patience is running out. The second your lawyer walks in, you’re done — and you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison, rotting like the piece of shit you are, becoming someone else’s bitch!”

Elliot spoke again, ignoring her. “You think protecting whoever’s above you is worth rotting in prison for the rest of your life?”

The businessman hesitated. Sweat trickled down his temple. He looked from one detective to the other, silent. Elliot didn’t let up.

“We already know you’re not the boss. You’re expendable. If you don’t talk, when you go down, they won’t even blink.” He saw the hesitation in the man’s eyes and went for the kill.

“So the real question is: do you wanna go down alone, or do you wanna take them with you?”

Silence. The businessman licked his dry lips, his mask of arrogance beginning to crumble. He drew a deep breath.

“…Fine. You want a name? I’ll give you one.”

He dropped the name of someone far more powerful. Elliot and Olivia left the room victorious.

Cragen had just arrived at the precinct and was watching through the glass. “How’s it going?” he asked.

Without looking at Olivia, Elliot answered flatly, “Fine. We got a name. But he didn’t confess. Maybe Liv should take a break — she’s exhausted. She had to work the club hard last night just to get us this far.”

Olivia froze. Something in her face shifted — humiliation, anger. She turned to him, indignant. “Excuse me?”

Elliot folded his arms, trying to stay composed, but his tone was venomous. “I’m just saying maybe she shouldn’t be the one pushing this lead. I can take it from here.”

Olivia stepped toward him slowly, her eyes flashing. “You can be an asshole all you want, Stabler, but you will not cut me out of my own job. If you can’t keep it in your damn pants and keep working with me, fine — but stay the hell out of my way.”

Elliot stared at her, stunned she’d said it, especially in front of their captain. She didn’t flinch.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

Unsure what to do, Elliot stepped aside. Silence. Cragen blinked, confused, glancing between them, trying to decode the subtext. Olivia grabbed her coat from the chair, leaving no room for reply.

“I’ll make the arrest.”

She stormed out, slamming the door behind her, leaving Elliot frozen and tense — and Cragen watching him with a heavy look of suspicion.

“I don’t know what the fuck happened, Stabler,” Cragen said, “but you better fix it.”

5. The morning sun hit the mirrored building, cold and untouchable. The address they’d been given pointed to one of the most powerful men in the city. Unmarked cars surrounded the block. Olivia adjusted her vest, her face still marked by the cuts from the night before. Elliot knew he had crossed every line — undermined her authority, humiliated her. She was furious, and she had every right to be. Maybe she’d disappear again, maybe she’d take another undercover job just to avoid him. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe he’d done it all to push her away. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her this angry. He tried to approach her.

“Liv, about what I said, I’m s—”

“Shut up, Stabler!” she snapped, unshaken, marching toward the building. The team moved down the elegant hallway toward the penthouse. Olivia banged hard on the door.

“NYPD! Open up!” Silence. Then, quick footsteps. Elliot exchanged a look with Fin, who lifted the battering ram. The door crashed open. Inside, the powerful businessman stood in a tailored suit, as if waiting for a meeting. Olivia stepped forward first, gun raised.

“Hands where I can see them! Now!”

The man raised his hands slowly, a smug smile on his face.

“Detective Benson... I expected you.”

Olivia moved closer, not lowering her weapon. “You’re under arrest for sex trafficking and conspiracy.” She cuffed him herself, steady, ignoring Elliot’s eyes on her. The man was escorted out, flashes from cameras waiting in the street. Olivia walked out of the apartment with her head held high, bloodied but unbroken. Elliot followed one step behind — and, for the first time that morning, didn’t try to stop her.

Five days had passed, and he hadn’t heard from Olivia. He was anxious, insecure, irritated, and had no idea what to do. She should have returned to the precinct after making the arrest to deliver her report, but she hadn’t — which could have been normal, since they’d spent the entire night awake. Still, Elliot knew Olivia well enough to know she preferred to finish everything at once — from the investigation to the paperwork — before allowing herself to rest. Her disappearance gnawed at him from the inside. He didn’t know the extent of the damage his actions might have caused her. Was she furious with him? Or did she feel miserable — unworthy of love, even from the person who mattered most?

Every time he thought about the way he’d acted, self-loathing rose up inside him, a remorse so sharp it hurt. During those five days, he tried to follow the priest’s advice. He made time for his family, sought quality moments at home, tried to get closer to Kathy — convincing her (and himself) that he could still be fully present. But it wasn’t working. Even after two days off following the operation, Kathy complained that he seemed distant. He had also tried to reflect on his feelings instead of suffocating them, as the priest had advised — but he couldn’t reach any conclusion. The more he thought, the less he understood. What he felt was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

More than desire, there was something deeper that frightened him — the realization that what he had felt with Olivia hadn’t been a fleeting impulse born from the adrenaline of a dangerous operation. What consumed him was far more profound, more devastating. In comparison, every moment of intimacy he’d ever shared with his wife felt pale, colorless. It was cruel to admit — and Elliot hated himself for it — but no conjugal memory came close to the intensity of that moment with Olivia in the locker room. That thought tormented him. You’re confusing everything, Stabler, he told himself. The most important thing in your life is your family. But then he’d realize that Olivia had always been his family too.

He tried to justify himself, telling his conscience it had only been the weight of years of partnership, culminating in a moment of extreme tension that should never have happened. He tried to pray, to tell himself it was a sin, to beg for forgiveness... but nothing stopped him from thinking of her — from reliving that moment in the locker room, the intoxicating feeling of his fingers inside her, the way he had, God help him, spilled himself inside her. He wanted more. He knew he wanted more. Much more. And he hated himself for it. And when anger toward her began to rise, he’d remember her wounded gaze — the tears she’d tried to hide, the look of hurt and abandonment as she stared at him, unable to believe how he had treated her. That look haunted him.

In the middle of the night, it would merge with memories of the locker room — her body against his, the desperate heat, the ragged breath. Desire and guilt fused until he could no longer tell which hurt more: wanting her again, or remembering that he had been the one to break her afterward. Every thought dragged him back to that instant — that moment when Olivia had given herself to him like no one ever had. Not Kathy, not anyone. Nothing had ever come close. And because of that, the remorse was unbearable. He had treated her as if it meant nothing. But that moment had meant more than he dared admit. And that was what terrified him.

On his second night off, he planned a romantic dinner for Kathy — his attempt at the “quality time” the priest had suggested. He prepared it carefully: Kathy’s favorite wine, the table set with candles, a near-desperate effort to recreate something special, like in the beginning. He smiled, talked, listened, but it was as though a fog had settled around him, isolating him from everything. Kathy’s gestures, the food, the dishes, the furniture, their home — it all felt blurred, distant, as he tried to convince himself that this was the right place, that his family, his home, his wife — they were what mattered. But all it took was a blink, and Olivia’s face flashed across his mind. That night, in their bedroom, Kathy reached for him tenderly, seeking closeness.

“Dinner was lovely… it’s been a while since we had that.”

Elliot forced a small smile. “Yeah… That’s why I planned this. Just us. No distractions. I wanted tonight to be special.”

He kissed her, gently at first. She deepened the kiss, her hand brushing his face. He tried to respond, climbing over her, willing himself to believe he could erase Olivia from his skin. But the kiss faltered. He closed his eyes — and saw Olivia. Her wounded eyes, her lips, her breath catching against his. Kathy pulled back slightly, searching his face.

“You’re not here, El.” Elliot swallowed hard, turning his gaze away.

“I’m… I’m just tired, Kath.”

Kathy studied him with sadness. “It’s more than that. You think I don’t notice? You’re miles away, even when you’re right here.”

He tried to protest, but his voice broke. He dragged a hand over his face, crushed under the weight of a guilt he couldn’t confess.

“I’m trying, Kath… I swear I’m trying.”

He leaned his forehead against her shoulder, seeking the refuge Kathy had always represented. She stroked his hair softly.

“I know that. It’s okay, babe. Come here. Let’s get some sleep.”

He lay beside his wife, always patient, always understanding — and hated himself even more for what he was doing to her. In all their years together, he had never cheated. Now, the betrayal felt worse than anything physical: it wasn’t just his body, but his entire mind — his entire being — that belonged to Olivia.

The thought of betrayal tore at him. He turned toward Kathy, both of them lying in bed, and tried to kiss her deeply, desperate to believe he could start over. But his lips didn’t respond. His body didn’t burn. He made love to his wife — performing the act, doing what was expected, trying to believe that this was his place. The sex was good — it had always been good. They knew each other’s bodies, had a satisfying life together. But the contrast with Olivia was devastating. Never, in all the years of marriage, had he felt anything so raw, so consuming, as what he’d felt with her. Kathy fell asleep quickly, lulled by the sex and the wine. But Elliot lay awake, staring into the darkness.

In the blackness, he still saw Olivia: her tear-filled eyes, her wounded face. Her image merged with the echo of his own cold words. Get dressed. As he’d still felt her warmth pressed against him. She’d seemed to shrink in his hands. That memory cut through him like a blade. He recalled a fable he’d once heard — of a fox who, after being hunted for so long, learned to hide its heart in its tail, so that what was most precious would always be out of reach of its hunters.Olivia, he knew, had learned early on to keep her heart hidden. He might have been the only one ever allowed to touch it. And he had wounded her there — in the best part of her. He had been the hunter. The remorse consumed him so violently that he began striking his forehead with his palm, as if trying to knock the thoughts out.

Restless, he got up, careful not to wake Kathy. Bare feet on the cold floor, he let the chill seep into his body as he walked down to the living room. He sat alone at the table, the half-empty bottle of wine still there. Pouring himself a full glass, he drank deeply. In the comfort of solitude, words began to escape him — fragments, half-formed confessions, rising like smoke. Restless, he got up, careful not to wake Kathy. Bare feet on the cold floor, he let the chill seep into his body as he walked down to the living room. He sat alone at the table, the half-empty bottle of wine still there. Pouring himself a full glass, he drank deeply. In the comfort of solitude, words began to escape him — fragments, half-formed confessions, rising like smoke.

“Her eyes… God, Liv… the way you looked at me… hurt, lost…” he murmured, his hands gripping his head. “I can still feel you,” he whispered, half in pain, half in longing. Then he stood abruptly. “What the hell is wrong with me? I pushed you away like it was nothing, like you were nothing… and it was everything.” He felt trapped, suffocated, the walls closing in around him. He sank onto the couch, head in his hands. The silence was deafening — only his heartbeat filling the room, until, in a broken whisper, came the confession: I’m fucking in love with you.

He grabbed his phone from the coffee table. It was past one in the morning. He typed Olivia’s number — he knew it by heart — saw her name light up on the screen… then tossed the phone back onto the couch and climbed the stairs again. He lay beside his wife, turning restlessly in the dark, listening to Kathy’s steady breathing beside him. He pulled her into his arms, letting her nestle against him. Kathy was his safe place. He loved her. But something inside him had changed irreversibly — and the most terrifying part was realizing that change hadn’t begun now. It had been slow, gradual, years in the making, breaking through in bursts. The truth was, Olivia had been inside his mind and his heart for a long time.

When he returned to work after his two days off, he nearly ran into the precinct, desperate to see Olivia’s eyes, to tell her how sorry he was. But his hope shattered the moment he saw her desk empty.

“Where’s Benson?” he asked the Captain, trying to sound casual.

“She asked for a few days off. Turned in her reports, everything was in order. Said she needed some time,” Cragen replied, already heading toward his office.

Elliot rose and followed, trying to disguise his tension, but his rushed movements gave him away.

“…Time? Since when does Liv take time off?”

Cragen gave him a hard look, the kind that carried a warning.

“Since she decided she needed it. Don’t push it, Elliot,” he said, heading back to his desk.

Elliot stood frozen for a few seconds, processing the weight of Cragen’s words. "Damn it, Liv… I screwed this up, didn’t I? " he thought, sinking into his chair, staring at the empty desk in front of him. His mind dragged him back to that last night, the way he’d treated her, the harsh words after crossing that line. He pressed his face into his hands, guilt coursing through him. I pushed her away. I made her feel like she was just… a mistake.

Munch, seeing him miserable, couldn’t resist. He tapped his pen, watching Elliot’s leg bounce restlessly under the desk, his tone full of that trademark dry irony.

“You know, I checked the calendar twice this morning. Thought maybe it was April Fools. But nope… Olivia actually asked for time off.”

Elliot raised his brows.

“And?”

“And nothing. Just… shocking,” Munch replied. “Like seeing you smile, or hearing Fin sing Sinatra. Doesn’t happen.”

From the next desk, Fin raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I got pipes. Don’t drag me into this.”

Munch ignored him, his smirk unfazed. “I thought Olivia was married to this job. If she finally took a break, maybe it was to get a divorce… from you.”

Elliot’s jaw tightened.

“Not funny, Munch.”

“Hey, I’m just saying… for once, she’s putting herself first. Can’t blame her.”

Elliot slammed his fist against the desk, standing abruptly.

“Man, you two need couples’ therapy,” Fin muttered.

Elliot grabbed his coat and stormed out. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t finish a single report that day. It took him three days to complete all the paperwork from the last operation — something Olivia would’ve done in a single night. Hours dragged by. Days passed without a call, without a message, without any sign of her around the precinct. He had counted the hours, the shifts, the silences.

By the fifth day, Elliot sat at his desk, eyes distant. Part of him wanted to believe she just needed time. Another part knew it was cowardice — not going after her. The urge to go to her apartment grew like a physical pull: to see her, look her in the eyes, say he was sorry, try to talk. But what if she didn’t want to see him? What if he had ruined everything forever, even their friendship, their partnership? Once again, Munch broke his thoughts.

“Still empty, huh?”

“What’s your point, Munch?” Elliot asked, irritated.

Munch folded his newspaper slowly, his tone half-tired, half-wry. “I’ve seen Olivia come in with the flu, with a busted ankle — once even with pneumonia. The woman doesn’t stop. And now she takes a sudden leave? Sounds like something finally broke her… or someone.”

Elliot stared at him, tense, fists clenched. A heavy silence lingered. “You saying that’s on me?”

Munch raised an eyebrow, as if the answer were obvious. “You’re her partner. If she needed space, maybe it wasn’t from the job.”

Elliot let out a strained, nervous laugh, slamming his palm on the desk — enough to make Fin glance up from his paperwork. “Watch it, Munch.”

“Hey, I’m just saying… maybe she finally realized vacations exist. Okay, fine. But maybe… maybe she’s miserable. I don’t know. But if she were my partner, I’d check on her.”

Those words were all it took. Maybe she didn’t want to see him — but maybe she was miserable, needed comfort, needed to know she wasn’t disposable, that she was worthy of love... She needed to know how much she meant to him. Elliot sprang from his chair, grabbing his coat and car keys.

“Tell Cap I had to go.”

And he was gone. Fin watched him leave and chuckled. “Told you, man. Therapy.”

The cold outside the precinct struck his face as he reached the street. For a moment, he stood still by the car, breathing deeply, as if gathering the courage to start the engine. It roared to life — but the noise inside him was louder: tangled thoughts, flashes of their last night together, the harsh words he’d spoken, her wounded eyes. The city passed before his eyes in fragments — headlights, horns, people on the sidewalks. Olivia’s apartment had always felt like a refuge, a silent extension of the partner he knew. Now, that space felt distant, almost forbidden. When he parked in front of the building, Elliot gripped the steering wheel tightly, unmoving.

The clock on the dashboard read almost nine p.m. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest. For a split second, he hesitated. Part of him wanted to turn the car around, drive back to the safety of home in Queens. Maybe it would be wrong to show up uninvited, knowing she’d asked for space. He decided to call first. After several long minutes, he drew in a breath and dialed her number.

“Benson,” she answered automatically — she probably hadn’t checked the screen to see his name.

“Olivia?” His voice came out rough, restrained.

Two seconds of silence. Then she spoke quickly, as she always did when she thought it was about a case. “Elliot? Is it urgent? Something about a case?”

He opened his mouth to respond. But froze when he heard a man's voice in the background. Muffled, but clear enough.

“Oh, no, do you have to go, babe?”

Olivia rushed to cover the phone, but it was too late. He’d heard.

“Don’t know yet… I’ll be right there. Just… give me a second.”

Elliot went silent. Rage hit first, sharp and violent mixed with a jealousy that seemed to eat through his bones. But desire followed, urgent, physical, almost painful. He could imagine another man’s hands on her skin, breathing her in, touching every curve he had touched, every sigh. It was unbearable. He had seen Olivia with men before. He knew she had no problem with her own freedom — with flirting, dating, accepting attention. He had endured it. Always had. He’d heard hundreds of pick-up lines, seen men beg for her number, ask him to help get her attention. He always let it slide. A part of him, the part that wasn’t an idiot, jealous and possessive, wanted her to be happy, to have someone besides him who could love her, someone to come home to. He knew how alone she was. He knew what she’d suffered as a child. He’d always felt torn between the instinct to protect her and the wish to see her loved the way she deserved. He used to wonder what it would have been like if he’d met her before Kathy, if she would’ve allowed herself to be loved by him. He’d always wanted to make her believe how worthy she was, how much she mattered. So he endured other men, imagining one of them might finally be good enough, someone who could deserve her love.

But now… everything was different. After what they’d shared, that insane moment that had burned down every defense between them, the thought of another man touching Olivia, feeling the skin he had felt, the body that had trembled under his hands, fragile, vulnerable, completely surrendered to him, as if she’d always belonged to him… it made his blood boil. A fierce need to claim her as his rose inside him, mixed with anger and possessiveness — feelings he knew he had no right to. And yet, after that night, after touching every inch of her like she was his, the thought of another man touching her now was almost physical — a sharp, throbbing ache in his chest. It was as if every fiber of his body was screaming to be with her, to reclaim what wasn’t his anymore.

“Elliot?” Her voice came back, alert, a little impatient. “Is it a case?”

He drew in a breath, trying to swallow the knot in his throat, but no words came. The jealousy was brutal, primal and the pain was worse because he knew he had no right to feel it. She wasn’t his. She never could be.

“Forget it. I… it’s nothing.” He was about to hang up, his hands trembling, anger burning through him.

“How can it be nothing?” Olivia cut in quickly. He could hear something in her tone: a fragile, almost desperate hope that this call might be an apology, some small sign that she still mattered to him. That vulnerability in her voice hit him hard, drowning him in guilt. His conscience tried to speak, reminding him he was married, that all of this was wrong, that he had no right to jealousy. But the need to cross that street, to stand between her and whoever was inside, to reclaim the closeness only they had shared, was stronger. Every second she stayed on the other end made his chest tighten, his body heat rise, his restraint slip. Just imagining another man near her was physical torture. He could almost feel her presence, imagine her laughing, breathing, being touched and it burned. A brutal need took hold of him, the need to see her, to possess her again. Possessiveness and desire fused — a storm too strong to contain. He gave in to the impulse.

“Who the hell is he?”

She let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Seriously? That’s what this is about? Who the hell are you to ask me that? I don’t owe you any explanations!”

“Damn it…” he muttered through gritted teeth, heart pounding. He knew he’d started wrong, terribly wrong. He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, trying to calm the storm rising in him. Everything he had buried for years was ready to explode. The car felt too small to contain it all. And Elliot knew, with a mix of fear and exhilaration, that if he stepped out now, if he crossed that street, nothing could stop him. He’d go after her, break every rule, every line of morality, every vow. But the thought of leaving her there, with someone else, was unbearable. He needed to see her. Needed her. He drew a deep breath, forcing himself to soften his tone, shifting cadence — as if asking for something he knew he had no right to ask.

Elliot gripped the phone tightly, his knuckles pale with tension. “Liv…” His voice came out low, rough. “I… I need to apologize for how I treated you…”

On the other end, Olivia sighed, steady, guarded. “Doesn’t matter, Elliot.”

“Liv…” he swallowed hard, struggling for words. “I… I just need to see you. Please.”

“Elliot, I can’t talk about it right now.”

“I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about it, Liv.” He shut his eyes, guilt clawing at him. “I just… There’s a guy with you?”

A tense pause. Then her voice was firm, almost sharp.

“Elliot, it’s none of your business.”

He clenched his fists, his chest burning, desire and frustration choking him. Reason told him she was right — that he had no claim, no right — but his body betrayed every thought.

“Liv…” he whispered, voice trembling. “Please… just tell me.”

“Elliot…” Her voice quivered, but stayed firm. “Don’t you dare act like this gives you the right to control me.”

He bit his lip. Every second without her made the urge grow — to run upstairs, take her in his arms, feel again what they’d shared.

“Please, Liv…” he murmured, almost inaudible, desperate. The need burned in every part of him. “We have to talk about what happened.”

“We don’t. There’s nothing to talk about. You’ve already made it very clear. What happened between us was a mistake. It meant nothing. It was just sex.”

Elliot shut his eyes, inhaling deeply, fighting back despair. His voice softened, almost pleading. “Please… just come down. Just for a minute. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He pressed a hand against the car door, holding himself still, fighting the urge to bolt upstairs.

“Liv… please. Look, I’ll say what I have to say, and then I’ll leave. Just… give me that minute.”

A heavy silence. He could almost hear her breathing through the line. His grip tightened on the phone, as if sheer force could keep her from hanging up.

“…Fine. One minute.”

Elliot exhaled, relief breaking through the tension, but his hands still trembled as he watched her step onto the sidewalk, the streetlight catching the hard lines of her face. He couldn’t hold back the question burning in his throat.

“Who was he, Liv?” Olivia drew in a sharp breath, anger and exhaustion mingling in her eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

She turned before even reaching him. He knew why. Olivia had expected an apology, not a jealous confrontation, not a territorial man trying to stake a claim after sleeping with her in the precinct locker room. He was being an idiot, and he knew it. He could read the disappointment in her eyes. Deep down, she must have known he was wrecked by guilt for how he’d treated her. He wanted to apologize, truly, but he couldn’t stop himself from being the possessive man she despised. Maybe the jealousy was just another way to avoid the real conversation about how deep his feelings ran. Maybe it was easier to lash out than face the truth: that he was probably in love with her. And not just because the sex had been unlike anything he’d ever known. It had been building for years and finally, it had exploded. She was walking away, frustrated, hurt. He had to stop her.

“Fine. We don’t have to talk about it,” he said quickly. “Please… get in the car, Liv. It wasn’t just sex for me…”

She turned back toward him — her body tense, her eyes filled with anger and sorrow, but there was something else there too. A flicker of hope. She stood there for a moment, silent, as if deciding whether to stay or go. “I have to go, Elliot,” she said finally. “Just… one minute. Please. I—”

“Go back home, Elliot. To your wife. And your kids.” She turned and climbed the steps quickly. Elliot stood there, frozen beside the car, the engine off, the night air cutting through his skin. He looked up and saw the curtains draw shut. The lights went out — and he knew, without a doubt, that she wasn’t alone. That she would give herself to someone else tonight.

The hallway of the precinct felt colder that day. When Olivia walked in, Elliot felt an instant rush of relief but also a sharp tension that made it hard to breathe. She was flawless, her posture straight, gaze steady, confidence unshaken. Olivia was the kind of woman who refused to be broken. Or rather — when she shattered, she picked up every single piece herself. She never left a fragment behind. No one was allowed to touch any of the broken parts. No one had permission to gather even one piece. For Munch and Fin, her presence felt like a breath of life cutting through the weight of the morning shift. Munch looked up from his pile of reports, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“Well, well… look who decided to grace us with her presence!” Fin chuckled, quieter but just as pleased. “You’re back, Liv. We were wondering when you’d get tired of hiding.”

Olivia smiled faintly.

“Don’t worry. I remembered who actually does the work around here.”

Elliot stood a few steps back, heart hammering. He tried to smile, but his expression betrayed the tangle of relief and regret running through him. She walked past him with eyes cool, voice detached. There wasn’t even a flicker of the warmth they used to share, only a measured distance that felt almost physical. Her calmness struck deeper than anger could. She’s here. She’s fine. She doesn’t need me. His chest tightened. The air between them felt heavy, a silence too deliberate.

“Morning, Stabler,” she said politely, briefly, almost mechanically. He swallowed hard, feeling the space between them like a wall of glass. It hurt more than any argument, more than jealousy, more than guilt.

“Morning, Liv…” he murmured, the words catching in his throat. Elliot drew in a slow breath, trying to steady himself — to summon patience, restraint, something to keep him from unraveling. She’s back. Don’t push. Don’t break it again.

The day had been long and draining. They’d taken statements from five teenagers — all victims of fraternity parties marked by assault. Now there were five open cases waiting to be investigated. It was the end of the shift, and the precinct was finally emptying out. As always, Elliot and Olivia were the last ones there. The silence between them felt heavy.

“Liv… can we talk for a minute?”

She hesitated, keeping her distance, her eyes cold.

“Fine. But make it quick.”

He knew she was hurting too. He led her toward the locker room, the place where everything had happened. When she allowed it, he knew: she was burning too, confused too, wanting him just as much. Elliot stepped closer, his body tense, his breath uneven. He watched her sad face for a moment then couldn’t help reaching out to brush his fingers against her cheek.

“I’m sorry, Liv. I… I didn’t… I couldn’t handle… it was… a lot. I’m sorry.”

“That’s ok, El.” Her voice sounded resigned, but he could tell her anger had cooled. “It was a mistake. Let’s forget about it.”

“I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about what happened.”

“I’m sorry, but you have to deal with that.”

“It’s not easy, Olivia,” Elliot said, already losing patience. One of his worst habits was taking out his frustration on her.

“Well, it’s not easy for me either. What makes you think everything’s harder for you than everyone else? What makes you think I’m not hurt?”

Now he completely lost control. Jealousy rose like a hot wave, drowning out logic. “Well, you seemed fine yesterday with another guy.” His voice rose, anger spilling over — anger at another man touching her.

“Don’t you dare, Elliot,” Olivia snapped, her eyes flashing. “You have no right! I’m not the one who’s married!”

“You didn’t seem to care about that before!” he shouted back, losing his head. The instant he saw her face shut down, he regretted it. Her cheeks flushed red, fury flashing in her eyes. She turned to leave, but Elliot caught her arm.

“Look, Liv, I’m sorry…” The words tumbled out, tangled with anger and desire. Every word she threw at him, every controlled gesture it only made it harder to contain what he felt. Jealousy, guilt, need, all of it colliding into a storm he couldn’t escape. “Can we just talk, please?”

Olivia turned, her eyes glistening. “What do you want from me, Elliot?”

He didn’t have an answer. He wanted everything. But what did he have to offer in return? He was a selfish bastard. In that moment, he wished he could turn back time and meet her before Kathy. But that wasn’t how life had happened. Kathy had come first. She was the one he’d built a family with, the one he had responsibilities to: husband, father, man. And what kind of man would he be if he gave it all up?

But standing there, lost in Olivia’s dark eyes, he wanted to give up everything, every title, every duty, just to be with her. In those eyes, he forgot who he was. Every foundation in his life felt shaken. He no longer recognized himself: only her.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I swear I don’t know.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

They stood in silence. Olivia’s phone rang. The sound cut through the air like glass. She glanced at the screen, checked the number, then started to slip it back into her pocket. A flush of anger climbed Elliot’s neck. When he spoke, his voice was low and sharp.

“Answer.”

“I’m not answering right now,” Olivia said, tucking it away.

“Is it him?” Elliot asked through clenched teeth. His jaw was tight, fury simmering beneath the surface.

“This is insane! You don’t get to demand that from me! You don’t get to ask!” Olivia’s voice cracked with exasperation.

Elliot stepped closer, fast, his face inches from hers, his breath hot and uneven. The anger in him twisted into something else. His voice dropped to a low, jealous rasp.

“Did he make you feel like that? Did he give you something even close to what we have?”

Olivia met his gaze, her chest rising and falling quickly. “You don’t get to ask me that! You don’t get to do that to me. You are my partner, not my owner.”

Her voice trembled, on the edge of tears. He knew he was being an asshole, but he didn’t care anymore. The jealousy, the hunger, the need to have her again were too strong. He stepped closer still, his lips grazing the skin near her neck. His breath was warm against her, sending a visible shiver down her spine. When she tilted her head slightly, offering more skin, he felt control slipping away and he loved it. Loved how her body responded to his touch. He whispered, voice hoarse, barely a thread of sound.

“I want to know if he touches you the way I did. If he makes you lose yourself like I did.”

Olivia couldn’t answer. Her eyes fluttered shut, lips parted and before either could stop it, he kissed her neck, then her mouth.

“Tell me, Liv… did he make you feel like you couldn’t breathe? Did he make you forget who you are?”

Instead of deepening the kiss, Elliot pulled back forcing her to meet his eyes. “Because that’s what you’re doing to me. I don’t know who I am anymore. And I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to stop wanting you.”

The confession came out raw, scraping against his throat. Olivia’s eyes filled with tears. She said nothing. Her silence was its own confession. Elliot drew a shaky breath and then kissed her. Urgent. Angry. Needy. Olivia broke away, reason flickering for a moment.

“Elliot, what will happen next?”

“I don’t know,” he said breathlessly. “I really don’t.”

“We can’t do this.”

“Then tell me to walk away… and I will,” he whispered. Instead, she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him hard. Their mouths crashed together anger and need colliding. It felt like a fight. Hands on skin, breathless, desperate. They stumbled into the lockers, metal clanging behind them. Elliot’s hands clutched her waist; Olivia pushed at his chest, but didn’t pull away, her resistance melting into surrender.

“Damn you, Elliot!” she gasped against his mouth.

“I tried, Liv… I tried to stay away. I swear I tried. For years.” His lips found her jaw, his teeth scraping gently, a mix of anger and longing.

The kiss was almost painful. His hands slid over her shoulders, through her hair, trembling. She gripped his shirt, both of them shaking, moving blindly — hands, mouths, bodies colliding in fury and need. Elliot pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers.

“Wait. Let’s go somewhere else,” he pleaded, his voice trembling. “Come with me. Somewhere else. Anywhere. I can’t… I can’t just touch you for a second. I need to feel you… completely. Properly. Somewhere… safe.” His eyes are red, desperate and begging more than his words. He looked ready to fall to his knees if she asked. Olivia closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath but she already knew she’d given in.

“Let’s go to my place,” she said, steady now.

Elliot swallowed hard, breath ragged, nodding without speaking. Every fiber of his body pulsed with need.

“Lead the way,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, almost breaking.

10.

In the car, the silence was heavy. They could barely look forward without their hands brushing, their shoulders touching, their breaths mingling. Every accidental touch sparked small jolts of desire. Elliot felt the physical pain of wanting more, needing more, and control seemed to slip from his grasp. Olivia leaned slightly toward him, as if testing boundaries, and he, in turn, struggled not to completely lose his mind.

The streets slid by slowly; every red light felt like an eternity. Elliot gripped the wheel tightly, his body rigid, yet he couldn’t stop his hand from moving almost instinctively toward hers. Olivia interlaced her fingers with his, squeezing hard, and he gasped, feeling every tense muscle, every heartbeat of hers echo in his own chest.

When they finally reached the apartment, neither of them spoke at first. They looked into each other’s eyes, knowing this was a point of no return. There was respect in their gaze, as though each were waiting for the other’s consent, giving the other a chance to step back. They held that gaze until it became clear: they would belong to one another that night.

Olivia made the first move. She stepped close and kissed him slowly. The kiss quickly gained strength, urgency. He pressed her against the wall. His hands roamed her body with restrained force, pressing himself to her, the desire to possess her vibrating in every part of him.

“Oh my God, this is insane! What you do to me… I can’t… I can't breath” he said, burying his face in her neck.

His words had an immediate effect on her, she took control. She spun him around and pressed him against the wall, kissing his neck, his jaw.

“I want you…” she said, trailing kisses down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt, unbuckling his belt.

He trembled, knowing what was about to happen. His cock was hard as stone. Olivia seemed to revel in it. She touched him, stroked him, then took him into her mouth, moving with total mastery and control. Seeing her on her knees awakened something even wilder in him. As she sucked him, he lightly guided her head, trying his best not to thrust, to let her lead. But within minutes she had his whole length in her mouth, and it drove him insane. She was on her knees and still in command. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced: they had no reservations, no limits. They touched each other with freedom, without restraint, as if they already knew each other’s bodies. Perhaps because of years of trust and partnership, they had the freedom to explore each other with passion. Olivia took him in her mouth as though she’d done it her whole life, as though she knew every inch of his body by heart. He moaned loudly.

“Oh my God, Olivia… This is fucking insane…” The more he moaned, the more she dominated him.

“Fuck… Christ, Liv… Just… just like that.”

She kept her movements perfect, her velvet mouth engulfing him completely. He was dizzy from the lust he felt for her. Seeing her kneeling, looking up at him, made him lose his head. He felt himself about to break.

“Fuck, Liv… can’t hold it anymore…” He was so close, but didn’t want to disrespect her.

“Where?” he asked for the second time, breathless.

“Wanna feel you in my mouth,” she said, still sucking and kissing his cock.

That was enough for him to lose all control. He came in her mouth with guttural moans while she licked him to the last drop.

There was no time to rest. Olivia, now fully in control, pulled him to her bedroom. She moved with precision and confidence. She seemed to command every move. No matter how intimate he had been with Kathy, nothing compared. Olivia owned herself completely, owned everything. She stripped off her clothes and lay back on the bed, completely naked. She looked deeply into his eyes, silently inviting him to touch her. He stood still for a few seconds, staring at her body, wanting every inch of it.

He began touching her slowly. His strong hands on her stomach, shoulders, neck… Olivia arched and tilted her head back, lifting her hips slightly. He couldn’t resist and grabbed her hair firmly as his other hand kept exploring her body. He squeezed her thighs, let his hands wander a little longer before reaching her nipples. Olivia moaned softly, and he knew she was his undoing. He was dizzy with desire for her. He took her nipple into his mouth, sucking, as she moaned louder. His lips traveled over her body feverishly. Her moans guided the path of his hands.

He kissed along her body and suddenly their eyes met. He saw himself reflected in her once again. There was no more doubt. No way to lie to himself anymore. He knew he loved her, that he had always loved her. And he knew he was madly, deeply, undeniably in love with her. He might have blocked that feeling for years, but everything he’d tried to contain now overflowed. It had leaked before… Three years ago, when Gitano cut her throat and he thought he’d lost her right before his eyes… He wanted to die. In that moment, he knew his feelings for Olivia were far greater than he could imagine. But now… it was different. It wasn’t a small leak; it was a dam breaking and tearing down everything in its path. He could only look into her eyes. And he didn’t want to live without looking into her eyes.

He hugged her tightly. Very tightly. Olivia pulled him close to look at him, urgent and breathless.

“Elliot… I never…” she didn’t finish the sentence. But he knew. He felt it too.

“I know… I’ve never… wanted anyone like this… never like this…”

“Then show me.”

He lost himself in her body. He slid two fingers into her while sucking her clitoris, drawing louder and louder moans from her that made him lose control of himself. She was delicious, every inch of her tasted like a dream. She was the best dream of his life.

“You so good, Liv… So fucking good…” he said, his mouth pressed to her soaked pussy.

“Elliot, fuck… f-fuck… just like that… don’t stop, please…”

“Never, ever…”

“Ohh, p-please, p-lease, pleeeeease…”

“Oh my God, Olivia!” he moaned against her dripping pussy.

She raised and pushed her hips harder against his mouth and fingers.

“Elliot, p-please, inside me, right now!” she said, pulling away.

He realized she was about to come. He wanted to feel her coming on his mouth, but he gladly gave in to her wish. He moved over her. One slow thrust, two, three. “Fuck me harder, let me come.”

“Oh my God, Liv, come for me…” he panted as he thrust hard.

“Fuck me like I’m yours.” He couldn’t stand those words. His body shook with lust. He flipped her onto her stomach on the bed and pulled her hair, thrusting hard into her from behind as she lay facedown. He grabbed her ass, her hair. The sight of her perfect ass and back, her toned arms, drove him mad.

“Fuck, Olivia, you are so fucking hot…” He thrust hard. She screamed, moaned, begged for more. Never in his life had he had sex like this.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come, Olivia,” he said, unable to hold back. “Can I come inside you again?”

“Y-yes, babe, come!”

He poured himself inside her, feeling her come with him.

“Oh my God, Olivia!”

“Oh my God!”

They were exasperated and breathless, unable to believe what they were living. The connection between them was unbelievable.

“This is fucking insane,” Elliot repeated.

It took a while before they could speak. Elliot rolled to the side, finally sliding out of her. He pulled her close, cradling her against his chest. He kissed the top of her head while she caressed his chest. He stayed there, feeling her body against his, letting himself belong to her, kissing her face, her forehead, head, eyes, lips… They stayed like that for a while, wrapped around each other, maybe for hours, maybe for minutes; they weren’t sure because time itself seemed lost.

He held her firmly against his chest, stroking her hair. The silence was broken only by the sound of their breathing. Time felt suspended. They savored this time when they belonged completely to each other because they knew what would follow: fear, pain, and guilt. Suddenly, the phone Elliot had left by the bed vibrated. The sound cut through the silence. They froze. He shut his eyes tightly, as if trying to push reality away. Olivia lifted her head slightly and looked at him. The name “Kathy” flashed on the screen.

“Shit…” Elliot whispered, his voice barely audible. He ran a hand over his face, as if trying to wake up from a dream. Olivia said nothing, but her gaze carried a mix of pain and resignation. The phone kept ringing. The sound was insistent, relentless.

Olivia spoke softly, but firmly: “You have to answer it.”

Elliot stared at her, eyes glassy, torn between the urge to throw the phone away and the duty that held him back. He took a deep breath and picked up the device with trembling hands. Olivia looked away, as if trying to give him privacy, but the tension kept her frozen.

Elliot answered, his voice forcedly calm:

“Hey… Kathy.”

Silence filled the room. Only Kathy’s muffled voice could be heard on the other end, asking where he was. He looked up at the ceiling, swallowing hard, while Olivia, beside him, clutched the sheet to her chest, fighting back her emotions. She got up to give him privacy. Probably pretending to go to the bathroom. She left the room.

Hi, babe, still working? It’s late.

“Yeah… I’m… I’m still at work. Long night. I’ll be home soon.” — said Elliot, lying slowly, as he watched Olivia leave the room, leaving the door slightly open.

Coming soon? So I’ll wait for you so we can have…

“No, don’t wait for me, go to sleep…”

Elliot, come on, it’s Friday night. I wish I could have time with you.

“Yeah, I know… Not today, honey… I’m really sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” *

Fine. Maybe tomorrow. Said Kathy, resigned. Love you.

“Yeah. Love you too.”

Olivia stopped at the door. He hung up without looking at her, but the pain was written on both their faces. Olivia broke the silence.

“You lied to her.” The weight of guilt suffocated him. He could barely speak.

“I know.”

“And you said that you love her. While you’re naked in my bed.”

Elliot lowered his head, rubbing his eyes, feeling like the worst person in the world. He had hoped she hadn’t heard that.

“Olivia, I’m sorry…” He knew there were no words that could soften that situation. “I didn’t wanna hurt you.”

“Then don’t drag me into your lie.” Olivia’s eyes were full of pain, but she stood firm and resolute. “You can’t have both, Elliot. Go home. To your wife.”

He knew there was nothing left to say. Olivia had left the room to give him privacy, and he began gathering his clothes slowly, hating himself and the world around him.

11.

Elliot wished he could sleep alone that night, but he didn’t have a room of his own. He lay beside Kathy, listening to her slow, steady breathing. Normally, that familiar rhythm lulled him into numbness. That was how things were with Kathy: predictable, safe, comfortable. He knew the rules, the boundaries, what was expected of him and what wasn’t. He knew how to live well beside her. Kathy was transparent; she could be read easily. To keep peace with her, all he had to do was follow the script, which often meant giving up parts of himself, burying his own fire.

Kathy didn’t understand his life, his obsession with the job, with justice, with the chase. She didn’t share his hunger for investigation, the rush of adrenaline that pulsed through his veins when he worked beside Olivia. With Olivia, his work felt whole, alive, shared with someone who understood his intensity, who knew when he needed to throw himself into it and when he needed to come up for air. Kathy was his air. A lifetime of responsibilities and measured choices echoed in her. For a man used to chaos, that meticulously ordered domestic life offered him a kind of safety — almost anesthetic in its calm.

She gave him love, comfort, routine, a home, everything one could want from a life partner. She was someone who wanted to build something steady, something normal, the kind of life he had never truly known. For God’s sake, he had grown up with a violent father and a bipolar mother. For Christ’s sake, his mother’s “free spirit” had nearly gotten him killed more than once as a child. How could he grow up not craving a quiet, healthy routine? Of course he wanted that. Of course he did. When Kathy became pregnant, he’d promised himself that his children’s lives would be nothing like his own. They would grow up in stability, in comfort. And he’d achieved it, everything he thought he wanted: a calm life, a home in Queens, a family built on steadiness. He tried to find solace in the sound of Kathy’s breathing. But that night, there was no comfort. Every breath she took only reminded him how much he wanted to be with Olivia.

He turned onto his side, trying to push the thoughts away, but every memory of her body, every echo of what they’d shared, the fury, the absolute desire, burned in his mind like fire. Each exhale from Kathy made him compare the mechanical peace of her presence against Olivia’s chaos, the kind that left him breathless, dizzy, desperately alive. With Olivia, he lost control in ways he never had with Kathy. He felt guilt. Shame. And a terrible longing, a longing for something that felt like an essential part of himself he would never get to live. Not being able to live what he felt for Olivia was like living without a piece of his own soul, as though he were fractured.

He couldn’t stop comparing the two women in his life, how different they were. When he thought of the gentle, orderly life he had with Kathy, Olivia’s image would flash before him. Olivia was a labyrinth, impossible not to get lost in. Nothing about her followed a predictable path. She was pure chaos, a storm of intensity hidden behind a hard shell, an armor that concealed rare, luminous pearls no one else could see. Except him. He knew when he was touching her surface and when he brushed against something deeper, darker. He could see her. He was the only one she allowed to read her.

Olivia had grown up without a home, without safety, without rules. She had learned to survive on her own, never asking anyone for help. She was addicted to work — her escape — and allergic to commitment, to normalcy. She was a vice, a fever. No wonder so many men had fallen for her and she’d never surrendered to any of them. Every moment with her was a risk, a flicker between devastation and ecstasy. And yet… he knew how fragile she was inside. He knew her fears, her wounds — knew how terrified she was of being loved, because no one ever had. And he wanted, more than anything, to be the man who could love her the way she deserved. But here lay the paradox: giving that love to Olivia meant surrendering the man he’d fought all his life to become — a man different from his father, a man who stayed, who provided, who didn’t abandon his family. If he left them to give himself to Olivia, he’d lose himself. But if he denied Olivia to remain the husband and father he had sworn to be, he’d lose himself too. Either way, he was lost. Deep down, he knew it, that what he felt for Olivia was too deep, too terrifying. Elliot was afraid of the unknown. And somewhere deep in the jagged edge of that double-edged blade, he understood: if he was doomed to be lost, it was better to be lost in safety. He rubbed his eyes, unable to relax. The more he thought, the more it hurt. Eventually, exhaustion pulled him under.

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