Dominic’s POV

I splashed water on my face, gripped the edges of the sink, and forced myself to breathe. Calm. Steady. Controlled.

But nothing inside me was calm. My heart thudded like a war drum, my body still aching with the memory of Isabella, and now—the Bishop. Of all nights, it had to be tonight.

The phone on the counter buzzed again. I didn’t look. Not yet. If it was Bella, I couldn’t bear to see her name right now. If it was another warning, I already knew enough: Caldwell was here, and he was hunting.

I straightened, staring at my own reflection in the mirror. The collar at my neck looked tight, too white, like it mocked me. The face staring back wasn’t a priest—it was a man trembling between desire and ruin.

And the Bishop had always known.

Flashback

Three years ago. My first week here.

The cathedral had loomed high and hollow, the pews empty when I first walked in. My palms were slick, my collar felt too new, and my nerves rattled at every step.

That was when he appeared.

Bishop Caldwell.

He had studied me with those sharp, hawk-like eyes, hands clasped behind his back. His presence filled the room more than the altar, more than the crucifix above it.

“Father Dominic,” he had said slowly, as if tasting the name and finding it bitter. “Young. Ambitious. And from a family with… a reputation for thinking differently.”

My throat tightened. “Yes, Your Excellency.”

He circled me like a predator. “I don’t like loose threads in my diocese. I don’t like surprises. You’ll follow tradition. You’ll respect boundaries. You’ll not stain this house with your… ideas.”

I had nodded so hard it hurt my neck. “Of course.”

But his cold, piercing eyes had lingered on me like he already saw cracks I couldn’t hide.

That first sermon, with him watching from the front pew, I had felt needles in my skin the entire time. Every word I spoke, every gesture I made, I wondered if he would rise right then and declare me unfit.

And that feeling never left. Not once.

Present

Now, as the sound of footsteps echoed outside the rectory door, my chest tightened with the same fear.

The Bishop was coming.

And this time, I had a secret worth burning me at the stake for.

The heavy knock on the rectory door snapped me out of the fog in my head. Three slow raps. Authority carried in the sound.

I pulled my collar straight, wiped the sweat from my brow, and opened the door.

There he was. Bishop Caldwell.

Tall, rigid, draped in his dark robes, his expression carved from stone. His eyes narrowed the moment they landed on me, as if confirming something he had already suspected.

“Father Dominic,” he said, his voice clipped. “You look… troubled.”

I bowed slightly. “Your Excellency. I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“No,” he said flatly. “You weren’t.” His gaze swept past me, searching the shadows of the hall as though he might find hidden sins tucked between the walls.

I stepped aside. “Please, come in.”

He walked with that measured pace of his, hands clasped behind his back, every movement weighted with judgment. I followed, heart pounding in my ears.

In the sitting room, he didn’t sit right away. He studied the crucifix on the wall, then finally lowered himself into the armchair like a judge taking his seat on the bench.

“Tell me, Father,” he began, his voice slow, probing, “how are the people? Do they trust you? Do you guide them as I instructed?”

“Yes, Your Excellency,” I said, my words careful, rehearsed. “I’ve tried my best to—”

“Your best.” He cut me off, leaning forward slightly. His eyes locked onto mine, sharp as nails. “Do you know what your best means to me?”

I swallowed hard. “That I serve faithfully. That I uphold the sanctity of the Church.”

A long pause. His gaze pinned me like a spear.

“Exactly.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. I could feel sweat sliding down my back, though the room was cool. I forced myself not to fidget, not to look away.

At last, Caldwell leaned back, folding his hands in his lap. “Good. Then see that it stays so.”

Relief almost buckled my knees. I bowed again. “Yes, Your Excellency.”

He rose, his robe shifting like a shadow across the floor. At the door, he stopped and looked back once more. “I don’t forgive weakness, Father. Remember that.”

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut, and I let out a long, ragged sigh, sinking against the wall. My hands trembled. My chest heaved. But I was still standing. Somehow.

I made my way to my room, shutting the door quietly behind me. My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I picked it up with hesitant fingers.

A message. From Bella.

“Dominic… I can’t stop thinking about what happened. I’m scared… and I want you.”

My breath caught. Relief and desire tangled in my chest, hotter than the fear Caldwell left behind.

The Bishop’s warning still rang in my ears. I don’t forgive weakness.

And yet here she was. My weakness. My undoing.

Isabella’s POV

The Uber ride home was suffocating. Claire wouldn’t shut up.

“Girl, you’ve been off all night. You disappeared, then you’re all jumpy when I find you again? Spill.”

I forced a laugh, staring out the window. “Claire, relax. I was just praying.”

“Praying?” she scoffed. “Please. The way you and Father Dominic looked at each other? That wasn’t Our Father who art in Heaven. That was more like Our Father who looks fine in a collar.”

“Stop,” I snapped, a little too sharp.

She grinned, leaning into me. “Aha. I knew it. You’ve got a secret. And I’m gonna drag it out of you.”

I pushed her playfully, masking the panic rising in my throat. “Seriously, Claire. Drop it.”

When we finally got to my place, I felt like I could breathe again. But she followed me inside, still chattering.

“You’re making tea or what?” she asked, kicking off her shoes like she lived there.

I rolled my eyes and pulled out the kettle. My phone buzzed on the counter. My heart froze.

Dominic.

“Did you get home safe? I’m sorry about earlier. Please don’t tell anyone. I need to know if you regret it.”

My fingers shook as I typed back.

“I’m home. And no… I don’t regret it. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

I hit send before I could overthink. My stomach flipped.

“Who’s that?” Claire asked, leaning over.

“Nobody.” I slid the phone away, heat rushing to my face.

Claire smirked. “Nobody’s got you blushing like that? Yeah right.”

I pretended to focus on pouring the tea, but my mind was spinning back inside that confessional booth — the heat of his hands, the weight of his body, the way the world outside had disappeared.

My phone buzzed again.

Dominic.

I reached for it quickly, but Claire darted faster, snatching it out of my hand with a wicked grin.

“Let’s see who’s making my girl all red—”

The screen lit up in her hand.

Another message from him.

Her smile faltered.