Chapter Fifteen - Erik
The morning light filters softly through the sheer curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. I wake slowly, my senses sharpening as I adjust to the quiet stillness. Beside me, Chloe lies curled on her side, her breathing steady, her face relaxed in sleep.
It’s strange to see her like this—so peaceful, so unguarded. She looks softer now, the defiance and fire that she clings to so fiercely replaced with a kind of vulnerability she’d never show while awake. Her long lashes fan across her cheeks, her lips slightly parted, and for a moment, I find myself simply watching her.
Beautiful. That’s the first word that comes to mind.
Her hair is a wild mess against the pillow, but it only adds to the effect. She looks delicate, breakable even, though I know better. Beneath that softness is steel, a stubborn will that refuses to bend. That’s part of why she fascinates me.
I brush a strand of hair from her face, careful not to wake her yet. The faintest flush colors her cheeks, and my lips curl into a smirk. It’s hard to believe this is the same woman who spit venom at me just yesterday.
As if sensing my thoughts, her eyelids flutter open. Her hazel eyes blink up at me, momentarily unfocused before realization dawns. A blush spreads across her face, and she quickly looks away, her body tensing under the sheets.
“You weren’t shy last night,” I murmur, the amusement in my tone unmistakable.
Her blush deepens, and she pulls the blanket up higher, hiding half her face. “Don’t start,” she mutters, her voice muffled by the fabric.
I chuckle, the sound low and deliberate. “Why not? You make it too easy.”
Chloe glances at me sharply, her eyes narrowing, though the flush in her cheeks betrays her. She tries to shift, to get up, but freezes almost immediately, wincing slightly.
I raise a brow, leaning back against the headboard as I watch her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she says quickly, though her attempt to move again is slower, more tentative.
“Chloe,” I press, my tone dropping an octave.
Her jaw tightens, and she avoids my gaze. “My legs are sore, alright?” she snaps, though the heat in her voice is less anger and more embarrassment.
I laugh softly, unable to resist. “From last night?”
Her silence is answer enough, and my smirk widens. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
She glares at me, her cheeks flaming, but there’s no real bite in it. “You’re the worst,” she mutters.
“So people say,” I counter, my voice smooth, teasing. “Though I didn’t hear any complaints at the time.”
“Erik,” she warns, her tone edged with mortification.
I lean closer, my fingers tracing an idle pattern on the sheet near her arm. “Relax, Chloe. I’m just stating facts.”
Her lips press into a thin line, and she shifts slightly, testing her movements. The wince that crosses her face doesn’t escape my notice, though she tries to mask it.
“You’re not getting out of bed like that,” I say, shaking my head.
Her eyes dart to mine, defiance flickering. “Watch me.”
“Go ahead,” I say, leaning back again, my smirk daring her to try. “I’ll enjoy watching you fail.”
She hesitates, clearly weighing her pride against her limitations. Eventually, she lets out a frustrated sigh and settles back against the pillow.
“Smart choice,” I murmur.
She shoots me a glare but says nothing, her lips curving downward in a sulk.
After a moment, I break the silence. “We’re leaving for New York in a few hours.”
Her expression hardens instantly, her body stiffening. The defiance returns full force, her gaze sharp as it locks on to mine.
“New York?” she repeats, her voice laced with disbelief.
“Yes,” I say simply. “It’s time to move forward. Your life with me starts there.”
Her jaw tightens, and she looks away, her fingers twisting in the blanket. “Of course it does,” she mutters bitterly.
I tilt my head, studying her reaction. “You sound disappointed, Chloe. Don’t tell me you’re going to miss Barcelona already.”
“It’s not about the city,” she snaps, her voice rising. “It’s about—”
She cuts herself off, her lips pressing together as if she regrets saying anything at all.
“It’s about what?” I prompt, my voice calm but insistent.
Her silence is deafening, her face turned away from me as she stares at the wall.
“Look at me,” I say softly, the command in my voice undeniable.
She hesitates, but eventually, she turns her head, her hazel eyes meeting mine. There’s anger there, yes, but also something else—something raw and unguarded that she can’t quite hide.
“This is my life now,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “No matter where we go, it’s not mine anymore. It’s yours.”
Her words hang in the air, heavy with resignation. For a moment, I say nothing, letting the weight of her admission settle between us.
“Your life is yours,” I say finally, my tone steady.
Her eyes flash with frustration, but she doesn’t argue.
“Get used to it, Chloe,” I add, my voice softening slightly. “Life is difficult sometimes. That’s how it is.”
She exhales slowly, her gaze dropping, as if the fight has drained out of her.
“Good,” I murmur, satisfied.
As she lies back against the pillows, her posture still tense, I reach out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She stiffens at the touch but doesn’t pull away.
“Rest,” I tell her, my hand lingering briefly before I withdraw. “You’ll need your strength.”
For a long moment, she doesn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. As I watch her, I can see the smallest flicker of acceptance in her eyes.
It’s not surrender—not yet—but it’s a start.