Merry Misunderstandings

Weakness

Grayson POV

Grayson ran a hand through his hair and sighed. What was he doing? He looked back from his sitting position on the edge of the bed. Vivienne had fallen asleep—a breach of their agreement. No kissing, only from behind, and no staying afterward.

He should wake her, send her on her way. But just for a moment longer, he let himself linger. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. She was so damn beautiful—but he shouldn’t be doing this. It would only end in disaster, and he wasn’t sure how many more wrecks he could survive.

His phone dinged.

Gray, how are things going with my girl? Did you talk to her yet? She’s not seeing anyone new, right?

Grayson clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around the phone.

Hayden, she’s not interested.

He hit send, exhaustion threading through his veins.

He knew Hayden. He was only trying to win Vivienne back because the novelty of his blonde sidepiece had worn off. But Vivienne deserved so much more.

So much more than him.

But tonight, he let himself pretend. Pretend he wasn’t a Blackwood, that their families weren’t enemies, that fate hadn’t tangled them up in a web of impossible expectations.

As if sensing his thoughts, Vivienne stirred, her breathing shifting into a soft murmur. Her body curled closer to where he sat, her hand brushing his thigh, even in sleep. His breath hitched.

Grayson exhaled slowly, trying to steady the storm inside him. His gaze lingered on Vivienne’s peaceful face, her dark lashes fanning against flushed cheeks. She was so still, so serene—so utterly out of reach, even when she was right here in his bed.

Memories clawed their way up, relentless and sharp.

Ten Years Ago

He still remembered the scent of autumn leaves and woodsmoke in the air that night. The senior homecoming bonfire blazed high, casting flickering shadows over the football field. He’d been there only because of his friends, restless and reckless, looking for trouble—or maybe for her.

Vivienne stood by the bleachers, wrapped in a burgundy coat that made her dark hair shine like ink under the stadium lights. She was arguing with some guy—probably a debate team nerd who didn’t realize he was outmatched.

He hadn’t meant to approach. Watching her from a distance was usually safer. But something about the way she stood, proud and defiant, drew him in like a magnet. Before he could think better of it, he was there, tossing out some sarcastic jab that made the other guy retreat fast.

She’d turned to him, fire sparking in her eyes. “You think you’re so clever, Blackwood.”

He’d smirked. “I know I am, Wood.”

They were nose-to-nose, breathing hard from the argument—or something else entirely. He still remembered how close they’d been, the world narrowing down to just the two of them. If he’d leaned in just a fraction more...

He hadn’t.

He’d walked away, fists clenched, jaw tight—angry at her, angry at himself. Angry at everything they could never be.

Present

Grayson clenched his fists at the memory. He’d been a coward then. Running away was easier. Safer.

But the past wasn’t done with him—not by a long shot.

The phone buzzed again, jolting him back. Hayden’s name glowed on the screen like a curse. His chest tightened with familiar guilt.

Grayson exhaled slowly, scrubbing a hand down his face. He should leave—slip out of his room and rebuild the walls she’d shattered.

But his gaze drifted back to her, hair spilled across the pillow, lips parted in sleep. She looked so peaceful, so content—like she belonged there—in his bed. Like she belonged with him.

Dangerous thought.

His chest tightened with something he refused to name. Just for tonight, he told himself. Just this once.

Silently, he slid beneath the covers, careful not to wake her. Her warmth enveloped him, chasing away the cold reality of who he was and what they could never be. His arm slipped around her waist, pulling her close.

She murmured something soft, leaning into his touch, her hand resting over his on instinct. His throat tightened.

He could stay like this forever—but forever didn’t belong to men like him.

Before dawn, he slipped out of bed, lingering just long enough to memorize the curve of her body nestled in the sheets. His fingers brushed her cheek, a touch so light it could’ve been imagined.

With a whispered curse, he turned and left—shutting the door behind him as if that could lock her memory away.

Later that morning Grayson walked into the office, freshly showered, his expression composed, as if nothing had happened the night before. His usual armor of charm and indifference firmly in place.

But every second since he’d left her in his bed felt like a raw wound he couldn’t ignore.

The memory of Vivienne, tangled in his sheets, still burned in his mind, her name lingering in his thoughts like an ache he couldn’t shake. He needed to clear his head—and checking on the restaurant construction seemed like the perfect distraction.

The faint echo of hammers and drills led him toward the restaurant's entrance. Declan and his crew were at work, but something about their postures seemed…off. Laughter echoed sharply through the space, biting and mean.

Grayson paused just outside the door.

“I’m telling you, she’s only still here because of her family name,” Declan sneered. “The Woods wouldn’t last a day without Blackwood money propping them up.”

His crew chuckled, egging him on.

“She thinks she’s better than us,” another added. “Marching around like she owns the place.”

Grayson’s jaw tightened, rage simmering beneath his skin. He stepped into the room, his voice cold and sharp. “Is this what I’m paying you for? Gossip and disrespect?”

The crew fell silent, exchanging uneasy glances.

Declan straightened, attempting a cocky smirk. “Just blowing off steam, boss.”

“Blow it off somewhere else,” Grayson snapped, his eyes gleaming with warning. “This isn’t a bar. And if I hear one more word about Vivienne—or anyone on this staff—you’ll be ‘blowing off steam’ without a paycheck.”

Declan’s smirk faded as he muttered a begrudging, “Yes, sir.”

Grayson turned, muscles tight, fury simmering beneath the surface. He couldn’t explain it—not even to himself—but hearing anyone belittle Vivienne felt like a personal attack.

Too personal.

He needed to get his head back in the game.

Before she became a weakness he couldn’t afford.