Chapter 14 Daniel
Daniel
Istand at the hotel window, staring at London’s skyline through rain-blurred glass. It’s three in the morning, and I haven’t gotten even a wink of sleep.
Every word I said at that press mixer keeps replaying in my head. She is the only person who has ever seen the real me.
Not only did I say it in front of the cameras, but I also said it in front of the entire London tech community.
And I meant every word.
My phone has been buzzing nonstop since we got back.
Lottie called seventeen times. The board sent three emergency emails.
News outlets are probably already running stories, but I don’t care enough to open any of them.
I should care. My entire reputation is built on control, on never letting them see me crack, but right now, all I can think about is the relieved look on Bailey’s face when I defended her.
I’d do it again. I’d burn every bridge, destroy every deal, ruin everything I’ve built if it meant keeping her safe.
That realization should terrify me.
Instead, it feels like the first honest thing I’ve done in twenty years.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts.
I know it’s her before I open the door. It’s ridiculous, but I can almost feel her presence through the wood.
Bailey stands in the hallway wearing an oversized shirt.
My shirt, I realize with a jolt. She must have grabbed it from the laundry service mix-up the day before.
Her hair is down, feet bare, and she looks impossibly young and pretty.
“I couldn’t sleep either,” she says quietly.
I step aside. “Come in.”
She enters, and I close the door behind her.
We stand in the dim room, London glowing beyond the windows. Neither of us speaks for a long moment.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
“Don’t.” She cuts me off. “I don’t need your apology.”
“I might have destroyed everything we’ve been working toward.”
“You stood up for me.” Her voice cracks slightly. “No one has ever done that before. Not like that.”
“Bailey—”
“I just want to understand.” She takes a step closer. “Help me understand what’s happening between us. What’s going on with you? Please, I want to know everything.”
The request is simple. The answer is anything but.
I move to the couch and sink down, suddenly exhausted. She follows, sitting beside me but leaving some space between us.
“You want the truth?” I ask. “It’s not pretty.”
“I don’t need pretty.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, hands clasped so tightly my knuckles turn white.
“My father was a violent man.” The words come out flat. “And no, it was not occasionally or just when he drank too much. It was … always. He had this rage inside him that nothing could touch.”
Bailey doesn’t speak, but I feel her shift slightly closer.
“My mother tried to leave him three times that I know of. Twice, she came back because he convinced her he’d change. The third time…” I swallow hard. “The third time, I was thirteen. She had packed our bags, waited until he went to work, and we were going to leave and disappear.”
“What happened?”
“He came home early.” The memory of opening the door to that familiar scowl on that very day makes me shudder. “He found the bags and the note she’d left. He went… quiet. That was worse than the yelling. When my father went quiet, you knew something terrible was coming.”
I can still see the stillness in Dad’s eyes as he slowly moved through the house.
“He told me to go to my room and locked the door from the outside.” My hands are shaking now. “I heard them arguing, then furniture breaking and … and then Mom screaming. And I just… sat there. Frozen. Too scared to move.”
“Daniel.” Bailey’s hand finds mine; somehow, it calms me down.
“I smelled smoke an hour later. He’d started a fire in the kitchen, whether on purpose or by accident, I’ll never know. By the time I broke through my window and got outside, the whole downstairs was engulfed.”
The memory is visceral. I can still feel the smoke burning my lungs, heat searing my skin, and the sound of sirens in the distance, always too far away.
“I just … ran. I ran for my dear life. The neighbors called the fire services and managed to bring me back, but ... well, my … my parents didn’t make it.” I force myself to look at Bailey. “Everyone said it wasn’t my fault that I was just a kid. That there was nothing I could have done.”
“But you don’t believe that.”
“I left her.” My voice breaks on the word. “I broke through that window and I ran, and I left her in there with him.”
“You survived.” Bailey’s grip on my hand tightens. “That’s what she would have wanted.”
I shake my head. “She wouldn’t recognize what I became. I wasn’t always this … this cold monster who keeps everyone at arm’s length.”
“You mean the man who protects everyone else because he couldn’t protect her?”
I stare at Bailey, speechless.
“That’s what I see when I look at you,” she continues softly.
“Someone who has spent twenty years trying to make sure no one else gets hurt the way his Mom did. When I look at you, Daniel, I see someone who thinks if he keeps enough distance, he can prevent that kind of loss from ever happening again.”
My throat is tight. “That’s… remarkably insightful.”
“Or I just pay attention.” She moves closer, completely covering the space between us. “You’re not damaged, Daniel. You’re just someone who forgot how to stop surviving.”
“How do you do that?” I ask roughly.
“Do what?”
“Look at me like I’m not broken.” My hand comes up, cupping her face.
“Because you’re not a mess.” She leans into my touch. “You’re human. And being human means carrying scars. It doesn’t make you broken. Not one bit.”
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit. “I don’t know how to let someone in without being terrified they’ll disappear.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together.” She takes my other hand, holding both now. “I’m not going anywhere, Daniel.”
The promise undoes me completely.
“You shouldn’t,” I whisper. “I’ll hurt you eventually. Everyone I get close to—”
“Stop.” She moves closer still, our knees touching. “Stop predicting the ending before we’ve even begun. Stop punishing yourself for surviving. Stop being so scared of losing me that you push me away first.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Then I’ll keep pulling you back.” Her voice is fierce. “As many times as it takes.”
I can almost feel the air on my skin. I’m suddenly hyperaware of every place our bodies meet, watching how her eyes stay on mine like she’s afraid to look away first.
“Bailey.” Her name comes out rough.
“I’m right here.”
“Tell me to stop.” I lean closer, my forehead nearly touching hers. “Tell me this is a terrible idea and I should let you go back to your room.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
That’s all the permission I need.
I close the remaining distance and kiss her.
This time, it’s not desperate or heated kisses.
We’re simply holding each other, sharing the same small pocket of air.
Her hands slide up my back, slow and sure, like she’s memorizing something she’s afraid to lose.
And the kiss—God, the kiss feels like a seal.
Like two people choosing, for once, not to run.
Bailey’s hands come up to frame my face, fingers threading into my hair. I pull her closer, needing her solidity. The kiss deepens. She makes a soft sound that goes straight through me. My hands slide to her waist, feeling the borrowed shirt—my shirt—shift under my touch.
“Daniel,” Bailey breathes against my mouth.
“I know.” I don’t know what I’m agreeing to except that whatever this is between us, I can’t fight it anymore.
She shifts, moving closer until she’s practically in my lap. Her weight against me feels too right.
“I need you to know something,” I say, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “You make me want to be brave enough to try to start living.”
Tears shine in her eyes. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“I’m not good at this—”
She kisses me again, stopping the words. When she pulls back, she’s smiling. “You’re doing just fine.”
The world narrows to just her in my arms, London glowing through the windows, the rain pattering against glass. Everything else fades because none of it matters as much as this moment.
“Stay,” I whisper against her lips. “Please stay.”
“I already told you.” She settles more fully against me, head resting on my shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”
For the first time in twenty years, I let myself believe it.