Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
EMILIA
I was already apologizing before I even sat down.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, barely above a breath. “For being late. For the assignment. For—” I hesitated. “ For everything. ”
Luca didn’t say a word.
He just sat back in his chair, arms crossed, glaring out the tall arched window like the storm rolling in outside was more interesting than me.
It probably was.
I dropped my bag beside the table and pulled out the materials I’d prepped. My hands were shaking, but I laid everything out perfectly, hoping the order would help. Hoping something might make this easier.
He still didn’t look at me.
I swallowed and tried again. “I can take lead on everything. If you’d prefer. You won’t even have to?—”
He shifted slightly in his seat.
His jaw flexed.
I flicked my pen nervously against the page. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Still no response.
Tap. Tap ? —
Suddenly, his hand shot out. He snatched the pen from between my fingers and placed it on the opposite side of the table, like it had personally offended him.
I flinched.
My knee started bouncing next.
I couldn’t help it. The silence was unbearable. The weight of him—of this whole assignment—pressed down on me like it was made of stone.
“I’ll do it all,” I said quietly, trying not to shake. “Seriously. Just tell the professor you’re contributing. I’ll submit everything under both our names. You won’t even have to look at it.”
That’s when it happened.
His hand moved under the table—strong, warm, possessive. It landed on my thigh and dragged up to my knee, squeezing just enough to stop it from bouncing. Just enough to make me freeze .
I gasped quietly.
He leaned in. Not much. But enough for me to feel the shift in the air between us. Enough that I could smell the fresh storm still clinging to his skin from outside.
“ Stop offering to disappear, ” he said, voice low, words edged with steel.
My heart slammed against my chest.
His hand stayed on my knee.
Firm. Still.
I blinked at him. He wasn’t even looking at me—not really. His eyes were sharp and fixed on the table, jaw clenched like he was furious with himself for speaking at all.
I didn’t ask why he followed me back to the dorm .
Didn’t ask why he grabbed the assignment folder from my hands, or why he dropped onto the couch beside me with a bottle of something amber and expensive like he did it every night .
He hadn’t said a word since the library.
Just poured a drink, leaned back against the cushions, and watched.
I tried to focus. Really, I did.
The file was open in front of me, laptop balanced on my thighs, notes highlighted in perfect shades. But every time I felt his stare—sideways and steady—the cursor blinked emptily on the page.
I shifted.
He didn’t.
He was sitting too close. Closer than necessary.
That was the first thought that made my pulse stutter.
He could’ve sat across the room. There were two armchairs by the window. The desk. The bed.
Instead, he’d chosen here. Beside me.
So close I could smell the sharp edge of his cologne over the bourbon.
So close that the inside of my arm kept brushing against his thigh every time I typed.
My fingers hesitated over the keys.
He took another slow sip, glass tipping lazily in his hand. “You’re shaking.”
My head jerked up. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
I pressed my hands flat to my thighs to still them.
“I just want to get this done,” I said, eyes back on the screen. “That’s all.”
He didn’t reply .
Just stayed where he was—warm, steady, infuriatingly silent .
The sound of the storm outside filled the room. Another low rumble of thunder rolled over the roof.
I glanced at the time.
8:04 PM. I’d officially met my curfew. Filed the damn biometric check-in. Done everything right.
The twins now made an effort to make sure they signed their names every night. I wasn’t sure why. Every night they put their hand out for my phone.
So why did I still feel like I was balancing on a knife’s edge?
“I’ll have the first draft done tonight,” I said quietly, eyes fixed on the screen. “You can review it or not. Doesn’t matter. I know you didn’t want this.”
He didn’t move.
Didn’t answer.
Just set the glass down, the quiet click of it hitting the table louder than it should’ve been.
He turned toward me fully then.
I didn’t have to look to feel it.
The weight of it. His body angled toward mine, his stare hitting like heat against the side of my neck.
“You have no idea what I want,” he murmured.
My fingers froze on the keys.
I didn’t dare look at him.
And all I wanted—all I wanted —was to stay invisible.
It had been an hour since Luca sat down beside me.
An hour since I told myself to breathe, to focus, to keep my hands steady and my legs from jittering.
An hour of pretending I didn’t feel the heat of his thigh next to mine, or the way his shoulder sometimes brushed mine like he forgot we weren’t supposed to touch .
Then Bastion walked in.
No warning. No sound. Just the soft click of the door, the cool shift in the air, and him?—
Silent. Watchful.
Dropping into the armchair directly across from us, like he had every right to be there.
Maybe he did.
But that didn’t mean it made sense.
I hadn’t seen him at this hour in weeks. Not like this. Not here.
Luca didn’t even glance up.
He stayed exactly where he was, one arm slung lazily along the back of the couch behind me, his other hand cradling a glass of whatever he was drinking.
I stayed still.
Eyes glued to the screen.
Hands typing words I didn’t feel.
Face flushed with confusion.
Why was Bastion here?
He wasn’t reading. Wasn’t working. Wasn’t scrolling his phone or doing anything normal .
He was just watching. Or… at least that’s what it felt like.
Every time I shifted, I felt it. The weight of his eyes.
Not moving. Not blinking. Just there .
I hated how aware of them I was.
Of both of them.
The silence grew thicker. Denser. I could hear the hum of the laptop fan and the occasional crack of thunder outside.
Luca leaned forward.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just reached out and tapped the screen, his finger brushing a line of text. “That sentence doesn’t make sense,” he said.
I blinked. “What? ”
He pointed again. “Right here. You’ve got a subject but no predicate.”
My brain scrambled. “Oh.”
I moved the cursor, made the edit. “Sorry.”
And I meant it—though I wasn’t even sure what I was apologizing for.
Something in Luca’s breath shifted. Not quite a sigh—more like a release of tension he’d been holding in his chest.
His hand came up slowly, fingers brushing the side of my face.
And then, he did it.
He tucked my hair behind my ear.
The hair I’d been using as a curtain.
My shield.
My armor.
He swept it away with two fingers, slow and deliberate.
I froze.
Luca didn’t move away. Didn’t explain. Just lingered a second too long, eyes fixed on the now-exposed side of my face.
I felt Bastion’s stare, heavier now.
Like the whole room had narrowed to that moment.
That breath.
That touch.
“Read it to me.”
I turned slightly. “What?”
Luca nodded toward the computer. “Out loud.”
I watched his face, waiting for a trace of sarcasm. But he was serious.
So I began to read.
And even though it didn’t make sense… I swore I saw him smile. Worse I swore Bastion did too…as if they missed hearing my voice, more likely they missed embarrassing me.
I closed the laptop slowly, the weight of silence settling heavier than before.
It had been hours.
Hours of pretending I didn’t notice Luca beside me—drinking slow from a bottle of that expensive Crow liquor, his knee brushing mine every so often, just to remind me I wasn’t as invisible as I wanted to be.
And Bastion, slouched in the chair opposite us, doing nothing but drinking. Watching. Brooding.
Not speaking.
Not reacting.
I slipped from the table, my shoulders tight, and made my way to the wardrobe.
I needed to shower. To sleep.
To disappear.
But my oversized sleep shirt wasn’t there.
I rifled through the drawer again. Then the basket. Even the pile near the laundry chute.
Nothing.
It was gone.
The only things left were from the dry cleaner—professionally folded, sealed, and lightly misted with my signature scent.
The one that used to make me feel like me .
Now it just felt… intrusive . Terrified of triggering Bastion again.
I hadn’t worn anything with that scent since he told me off.
But now I didn’t have a choice. I stopped myself from groaning. Instead I grabbed a crimson satin with white lace trim—and carried it into the ensuite.
Undressed, and pulled the satin over my head, smoothed it down, and tied my hair up so I could start my skincare .
That’s when the door opened.
I froze.
I looked in the mirror to see Luca. Bottle still in hand. His eyes caught mine for a second. Wide. Unreadable.
He paused. One step into the room. And for a heartbeat… we just stared.
Then his gaze dropped—to my thighs, to the lace, to the way the silk shifted with each shaky breath I took.
I swore they knew how nervous they made me.
His jaw ticked.
Then to my horror, the door clicked shut behind him.
He didn’t say a word.
Didn’t apologize.
Just walked in. I forced myself to keep applying moisturizer to my face, ignoring how my hands trembled.
Pretending I didn’t feel the heat of his stare.
He didn’t stand beside me.
He stood behind me.
Not close enough to touch?—
But close enough that I could feel him.
The awareness of his presence crawled up my spine.
He reached past me.
His hand brushed the counter as he picked something up—deliberate, slow. A comb? A towel? I didn’t even know.
But in the mirror, I saw his eyes dragging down the front of me.
Measured.
Unforgiving.
Not hungry?—
But curious .
Like he was cataloguing what I looked like now.
Like he hadn’t seen me in weeks, and didn’t want to forget this time .
I tried not to move.
Not to breathe.
And then he muttered it?—
So low, so quiet, I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear it.
“I’ve got a new favorite.”
And just like that, he turned and walked out. Leaving the door slightly ajar. Leaving me there. Heart slamming against my ribs.