Chapter 17
Morning comes slow.
The sound of rain has stopped, but the quiet it leaves behind is louder than thunder. Light filters through the large window, soft and gray. I blink against it, my body still heavy from the night before. The sheets are tangled around my legs, cool against my skin.
Knox is beside me.
His breathing is steady, deep, like the world hasn’t changed. But it has. Everything has.
I lie still, watching him. The sharpness in his face is softer now. His lashes rest against his cheek, his mouth slightly parted. He looks younger when he sleeps. Human in a way I’ve never seen before.
I want to reach out and touch him, but I don’t. I’m afraid if I do, he’ll vanish.
My chest tightens. Part of me wants to stay in this moment forever. The other part knows I can’t.
He stirs, eyes opening slowly. When they meet mine, something unreadable flashes through them. Surprise, maybe. Regret.
“Morning,” I whisper.
He exhales, then sits up, running a hand through his hair. “You’re awake.”
“I didn’t sleep much.”
He nods, looking anywhere but at me. The silence between us stretches thin.
I pull the blanket closer. “You’re quiet.”
“So are you.”
“I’m trying to figure out if you’re going to pretend this didn’t happen.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m not pretending.”
“Then what are you doing?”
He stands, crossing the room to where his shirt lies crumpled on a chair. He pulls it on, buttoning it slowly. “Trying to think.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Lana, last night was…” He trails off, searching for words. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
The words hit harder than I expect. “Why? Because of your company? Or because of me?”
He turns, finally meeting my eyes. “Because it complicates everything.”
I let out a quiet laugh that doesn’t sound like one. “You think I don’t know that?”
He walks closer, stopping a few feet away. “You work for me now. There are rules. People talk. And I can’t let that affect you or this company.”
“So that’s it?” My voice trembles. “We just forget it?”
His hand flexes at his side. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then say something else.”
He sighs and sits on the edge of the bed, his voice low. “I meant what I said last night. You deserve more than being someone’s mistake. I won’t let you be mine.”
The ache in my chest sharpens. “You didn’t make me feel like a mistake.”
His eyes close for a moment, as if that hurts more than he wants to admit. “That’s the problem.”
Neither of us speaks for a long time. The rain outside has stopped completely now, leaving only the sound of waves hitting the cliffs below.
He stands, adjusting his cuffs, the mask slipping back into place. “I’ll drive you back.”
“I can call an Uber.”
“Lana,” he says quietly. “Please.”
I nod, too tired to fight.
The drive back is silent. The tension fills every corner of the car. I keep my eyes on the road, but I can feel him watching me. Not like before, not with hunger, but with something closer to pain.
When we stop in front of my apartment, I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the door.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
He grips the steering wheel. “Get some rest. Take tomorrow off.”
“I’ll be at work.”
He looks at me, his voice quiet. “You don’t have to prove anything.”
“Neither do you.”
For a moment, our eyes hold. Then I step out into the daylight and close the door.
The sound of the engine fades as he drives away.
I stand there, barefoot on the wet pavement, the morning air cold against my skin.
My reflection stares back from a puddle at my feet.
My hair is a mess, my eyes red, but there’s something else there too.
Something that looks a lot like longing. Something that refuses to fade.