Chapter 17
Maya
Elias pulls into a long driveway, the car slowing as we approach Adrian and Bash’s house.
Nerves gather low in my stomach with each passing second.
Their house rises from the landscape like it’s always belonged there—not flashy or attention-seeking, but unmistakably expensive.
Clean lines. Natural stone and glass. The kind of place built by people secure enough not to turn wealth into a performance.
It’s massive. Bigger than anything I’ve ever stepped foot in outside of industry events or celebrity shoots.
The house sprawls across the hillside, pale stone and glass catching the late afternoon sun, and before I can take it in, the garage door slides open at Elias's approach as though it's been expecting us.
He parks in one of the empty spots and cuts the engine, leaving us in sudden silence. Neither of us moves immediately.
“I can take you home,” Elias says after a moment. “If you’ve changed your mind. If this is too much, too soon. We can just turn around. No explanation needed.”
The offer settles between us—simple, genuine, exactly what I should want to hear. A chance to step back, to maintain the distance, to keep pretending this is something I can manage on my own.
But I shake my head without fully deciding to, my body responding before my brain can catch up. “I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Let’s just... see what happens.”
He nods once, before opening his door and stepping out. I open the door on my side of the car and slide out of the seat carefully.
Elias falls into step beside me as we move deeper into the garage.
The garage itself is massive—less a garage and more a polished showroom attached to a house.
Their SUV sits beside two other vehicles, a low silver sports car and a restored black truck that looks custom in a way I probably can’t even afford to identify.
The concrete floors shine beneath soft recessed lighting, every surface clean without feeling sterile.
Everything about the space reinforces the same thing: wealth. Not flashy celebrity excess, but the kind that settles into the structure of a person’s life so completely they stop thinking about it.
My pulse kicks unevenly as he leads me toward the door connecting the garage to the house.
I shouldn’t be this aware of him. Of the broad line of his shoulders as he walks beside me, or the confidence in the way he carries himself.
We reach the door at the same time, Elias stepping back slightly to give me room to ring the bell.
I raise my hand, then pause, suddenly aware of what I’m about to do.
Once I press that button, there’s no going back to how things were before.
Once I step through that door, I can’t keep pretending the connection between us is something temporary or easy to explain away.
I press the bell before I can second-guess myself, the chime echoing through the garage.
For a moment, there's only the hum of the house and the presence of Elias beside me.
Then footsteps sound from somewhere inside, quick and purposeful as they approach the door.
It swings open before I‘m ready, Adrian filling the frame. He’s dressed casually in dark jeans and a gray Henley.
“There she is,” he says, his voice warm with genuine welcome.
“Right on time.” His eyes find mine across the threshold.
“Come in. It’s getting cold out there.” It’s the same look he gave me on set after I spoke—focused, certain, like he’s already decided I’m part of this, whether I’ve caught up to that idea or not.
The warm welcome stirs a warmth I still don’t know how to handle.
“Thanks,” I say. “For inviting us.” Adrian’s smile widens.
“Are you kidding? We should be thanking you for coming.” He steps back to let us inside, hitting a button on the wall beside the door as the garage closes behind us.
“Come on,” he says easily. “I’ve already got the documentary queued up and ready to go. Make yourselves at home.”
He doesn’t mention the pre-heat. He just acts like this was always the plan—a casual get-together, a normal Saturday, nothing complicated or loaded about it.
I should be relieved.
Instead, the effort it takes to make everything feel ordinary only makes me more aware of how unusual this is.
Because Adrian isn't treating me like a problem to solve or a situation to manage. He's acting like I belong here.
Elias moves first, stepping through the doorway without closing the distance between us. “Thanks for having us,” he says, his voice as even as always. “We appreciate the invitation.”
Adrian nods once, accepting the statement at face value. “Of course,” he replies easily. “You‘re always welcome here. Both of you.”
A brief look passes between them, gone almost as quickly as it appears. Whatever it means, they seem to understand each other without needing to say a word. Then Adrian’s gaze finds mine over Elias’s shoulder, a small shift that pulls me into the moment without making a point of it.
“Come in,” he teases. “Bash’s in the kitchen. He’ll be disappointed if he misses your grand entrance.”
I step through the doorway, and the shift is immediate. The air feels different the moment I cross the threshold—warmer, richer with scents my body suddenly knows how to separate and understand.
The house smells like them. Warm amber and cedar settle into the space, layered with the sharper blend of bergamot and black pepper.
And beside me is the familiar presence of rain-soaked stone and dark musk that belongs to Elias.
Familiar enough now that the grounding effect hits before I even consciously register it.
The change hits my omega instantly. The restless heat beneath my skin eases, the sharp tension that’s been building since earlier softening into a low, lingering glow that finally lets me breathe properly again.
Nadia’s voice echoes in the back of my head—your symptoms should be getting worse, not leveling out.
But they’re not. Not here. Not with them.
I force myself to focus on the room rather than the shift in my body.
The entryway opens to a living area—not the dramatic, overwhelming space I half-expected, but something warmer.
The furniture is arranged in easy, inviting clusters that make the enormous room feel lived-in rather than staged.
Books are stacked on side tables with remotes within easy reach.
The room is filled with the kind of small details no one stages.
Books stacked where someone had actually been reading.
Remotes within easy reach. A blanket folded over the arm of the couch.
“We’re in the kitchen,” Adrian says, already moving down the hallway. “Come on. Bash will want to say hi.”
I follow him automatically, my attention catching on the effortless way he moves through the space—entirely at ease in a way that makes the massive house feel warmer somehow.
Elias falls into step behind me and we reach the kitchen three steps later, the space opening up to reveal Bash at the island, his attention focused on the tray of cookies in front of him. He looks up as we enter, a smile spreading across his face.
“There she is,” he says. “The woman of the hour. We were starting to think you’d changed your mind.”
His words make heat crawl up my neck. “There was traffic,” I say automatically. “It was worse than we expected.”
He nods once, not calling me on the obvious deflection. “Well, you’re here now,” he says, pushing the tray toward me. “That‘s what matters. Do you want a cookie? They’re still warm.”
I want to refuse. Want to maintain the distance between us, to keep pretending this is just a normal hangout rather than the step across the line it really is.
But the smell hits me before I can form the words—rich chocolate and warm butter and something deeper that makes my mouth water despite myself.
“Thanks,” I say, reaching for one. “They look good.”
Elias reaches past me to take one from the tray too, his arm brushing lightly against mine before he settles beside the island. His movement is casual. Familiar in a way that makes warmth spread unexpectedly through my chest.
“They are good,” Adrian says, plucking one from the tray. “Bash has hidden talents. Baking is just one of them.”
Something shifts in Bash's expression, a rare hint of self-consciousness slipping through his usual composure. “It’s just cookies,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of embarrassment. “Nothing special.”
But it is special. That's the part that catches in my chest—the obvious effort, the way he noticed what snacks I tend to reach for on set and remembered. No one asked him to do this. He just did. Because somewhere along the way, he decided I mattered enough to pay attention to.
“Thanks,” I say again. “Really. It is special.”
The compliment seems to catch him off guard. After a moment, he nods once. “Anytime,” he says. We stand in relative silence for a moment, the only sound the soft crunch of cookies.
“The theater’s all set up,” Adrian says finally, breaking the moment. “If you’re ready to get started. Documentary’s cued, lights are dimmed, blankets are pre-warmed. All the important details covered.”
The casual statement unsettles me in a way I can’t quite sort through. Not just at being included, but at being thought of. At the simple fact that he noticed what would make this easier, what would help me feel more comfortable in a situation that’s anything but.
“Thanks,” I say, the word coming out steadier than I expect. “That sounds perfect.”
Adrian nods, already moving toward the hallway. “This way,” he says, not waiting for us to follow. “It’s just down the hall.”
Bash falls into step beside me as we move down the hall after Adrian, Elias settling at my back like he’s instinctively positioning himself close.
"You okay?" Bash asks in a low tone. "We can pause the movie. Switch rooms. Grab food first. Whatever makes this easier."