Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ledger
The first thing I notice when I wake up is the silence.
Not the peaceful kind—it’s the kind that feels too empty, like the air has been drained of life. The faint hum of the city drifts through the penthouse windows, muffled and distant, but in here, everything is still.
It’s a complete contrast to yesterday. Yesterday, I woke up in my childhood bedroom to the sound of birds, sunlight pouring across my bed, and the promise of a new beginning. Everything seemed so clear. Two years married to a beautiful woman—a chance to figure out the rest of my life.
Now? Clarity is a luxury I no longer have.
I don’t know what’s coming. I don’t know what to do. But I know this—Galeana Adele Monroe is mine. My Gale.
Mine.
The one person I can’t lose. Keeping her safe, making sure she’s okay—that’s all that matters now. She’s the only thing grounding me in a world that’s falling apart.
Everything else? It’s just noise.
I shift slightly, the sheets cool against my skin, and glance to my left. Galeana is curled up in the middle of the bed, her hair a wild mess against the pillow. The way the afternoon light filters through the curtains, catching in the dark waves, makes her look softer than usual—vulnerable, even.
It’s a strange sight, considering how fiercely she guards herself when she’s awake.
Her face is relaxed now, her breathing slow and steady, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s dreaming. Something good, I hope. God knows she deserves a break after what happened yesterday.
I sit up slowly, careful not to wake her. With a sigh, I drop my head into my hands. Last night didn’t go at all like I expected. I take a quick look back at her, still sleeping, and my thoughts start to spin.
It had taken forever to convince her to go to bed. She’d been stubborn, sitting on the couch, quiet, trying to avoid everything and seeking distraction all at once. I could see it in her, though, the fear. She didn’t want to sleep. Not because she wasn’t exhausted—she was—but because she was afraid.
Afraid of what? The explosion? The uncertainty? Or was it something deeper, something she wasn’t ready to say out loud?
It didn’t matter.
All I knew was that I had to get her to sleep. So I coaxed her—gently, carefully, the way Malerick used to talk me down when we were kids, hiding from Dad. I told her she’d be safe, that the penthouse was a fortress with top-of-the-line security. That nothing could touch her here. I wasn’t sure she believed me, not at first.
But eventually, she let me guide her to the bedroom.
Did I want another kiss? Another taste of her? Fuck yes. The urge was almost unbearable—to kiss her again, to pull her close, to chase away the fear and doubt flickering behind her eyes. But I held back.
Instead, I promised her she was safe. Even if I wanted so much more.
And now, here we are.
I glance at her again, something tightening in my chest. It’s like nothing about this woman works the way it’s supposed to.
The first time I met her, there was no one-night stand—just a single, unforgettable night that ended with her walking away before I even knew her name.
When she proposed marriage, it wasn’t about love or forever—it was business, a contract, a necessity.
And now, on our first night as husband and wife, we’d shared one kiss. Just one. And instead of fireworks, there was . . . quiet. Reassurance.
It’s not what I expected. Not even close.
Gale stirs slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips as her eyes flutter open. For a moment, she looks disoriented, her gaze flicking around the room before landing on me.
“Ledger?” she murmurs, her voice still thick with sleep.
“Morning,” I say, my voice quieter than usual. “Sorry if I woke you.”
She blinks a few times, sitting up slowly and pulling the sheets around her like armor. “What time is it?”
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. “Almost noon.”
She rubs her eyes, her movements slow and tired, and I can’t help but notice how small she looks like this—wrapped in the oversized bedding, her hair a mess, her usual defenses nowhere in sight.
“Did you sleep?” she asks, her voice still soft.
“Not much,” I admit, leaning back against the headboard. “Too much on my mind.”
We sit in silence for a moment. Then, before I can stop myself, I reach out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “You look better.”
She arches a brow. “Better?”
“Less haunted,” I say simply.
Her smile fades slightly, and she glances down, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the sheet. “Last night . . .” She hesitates, then looks up at me, her hazel eyes searching mine. “Thank you. For being so patient with me.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” I say, my voice low. “I told you, Gale. You’re safe with me.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment, searching for something I’m not sure she’ll find. And then—finally—her lips curve into a smile. It’s faint, just a whisper of one, but it’s real.
And it’s everything.
Before I can think better of it, I close the space between us, my hand sliding to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair as I claim her lips with mine.
This kiss isn’t soft. It isn’t gentle.
It’s need—fierce, raw, and all-consuming.
She gasps against my mouth, her hands clutching at me like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded. And maybe I am. Because in this moment, it’s not just about desire. It’s everything—every unsaid word we’ve swallowed, every glance that lingered too long, every breath that caught when we got too close but didn’t cross the line. It’s the ache of what could’ve been, the fear of what might not be, and the overwhelming pull of what is.
This kiss isn’t just a release. It’s a confession.
When we finally break apart, our foreheads press together, our breaths mingling in the stillness that follows. The world feels impossibly small, like it’s folding in on itself until there’s nothing left but her.
And in this silence, I know one thing with absolute certainty—this kiss is the beginning.
The start of something I can’t name and also can’t deny.
The spark of a fire that’s been waiting too long to burn.
The moment everything shifts, and there’s no going back.
Of what, I can’t say. It’s undefined, vast, and uncharted, but it belongs to her. Just as every piece of me does— every thought, every breath, every fragment of who I am, drawn to her as if I’ve been waiting my whole life for this moment, for her to claim it. To claim me.
“Ledger . . .” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly.
“Tell me to stop,” I murmur, my thumb grazing her cheek, the words hanging between us like a lifeline. “And I will.”
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she leans in, her lips finding mine again, her fingers tangling in my hair like she’s holding on for dear life, like letting go isn’t an option.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, something clicks into place. Everything feels right.
Even if it’s nothing like it was ever supposed to be.