Chapter Ten
I'm not going to get any peace. That's the first thing I learn.
That knowledge is very quickly followed by the second thing is learn, which is that the bond doesn't care in the slightest about my opinions on that fact.
I shut the guest room door behind me with a quiet click and pause for a second, letting the silence settle, letting myself believe that I've finally escaped the chaos of the house. It should feel quiet. It should feel like relief.
It doesn't.
Because he's still there. I can't get away from him.
Not physically there of course, not in any way I can point to, but present all the same, threaded through my chest, tucked behind my ribs, settled into the space behind my sternum like he's taken up residence without permission and has absolutely no intention of leaving.
The awareness is constant, impossible to ignore, and far too intimate for something I never agreed to.
I stand there, very still, like if I don't move it might somehow fade.
It doesn't.
Slowly, I lift my hand and press my palm flat against my chest. "No," I whisper, as if that's something I can enforce.
The bond hums in response, steady and completely unbothered, unmoved by my protest and unimpressed by what I would very much like to consider boundaries.
"He's a squatter," I inform the empty room, which feels very accepting of the very reasonable and accurate statement.
There's a flicker then. Deep inside my chest from him.
I can feel his hope, his longing.
His regret.
"Stop," I say immediately, spinning in a slow circle like I might somehow locate the source of him and remove it. "You won't Change my mind with tender feelings and regret."
The feeling doesn't retreat. If anything, it settles further, like it belongs, like it's always belonged, which is frankly offensive on multiple levels.
I let out a frustrated groan and fall backward onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Great," I mutter. "Perfect. Love this for me."
A moment passes, and then there's another shift. The shift doesn't make the bond feel stronger, or louder, but... different. Quieter. More controlled. Like he's actively pulling back, like he's trying not to press too close or overwhelm me.
I stare at the ceiling, unimpressed. "Oh, now you're respectful and considerate of me?" I say flatly. "That's incredible timing."
The bond hums again, steady and present and deeply annoying.
I drag my arm over my eyes. "This is harassment."
The harassment gets worse.
That is the third thing I learn.
Because when I try to sleep, he doesn't go away, not fully. It's like the proximity is making the bond more antsy for connection. When Julian sleeps, the awareness softens, dims at the edges, but it never disappears, lingering like background noise I can't shut off no matter how hard I try.
At some point, I drift, just barely, enough to lose the edge of it.
And when I wake it's immediately back in full force. He's right there. Feeling. Again.
I sit up, blinking into the dim light. "Ugh."
Morning's in the Vale house are never quiet.
It's alive before I even leave the guest room, voices carrying easily through the walls, the clatter of pans in the kitchen, someone already arguing in Spanish about something that sounds both extremely important and completely unnecessary.
I sit on the edge of the bed and take a slow breath, bracing myself.
"Okay," I tell myself under my breath. "We are strong. We are independent. We are ignoring him."
The bond hums.
"Shut up."
But I get dressed anyway.
Cute, obviously, because suffering is not an excuse to look bad, and if I'm going to endure this, I'm at least going to do it well dressed and rub it in his face a little bit.
The second I step into the hallway, I'm hit with warmth, noise, and the unmistakable smell of breakfast.
"Claire!" Isabella calls. "Ven, mija!"
"I'm coming!" I call back, starting toward the stairs.
I make it two steps before I feel his anticipation. He's downstairs and he's waiting for me.
I pause for just a second, closing my eyes briefly. This pull, this wanting, is exhausting. My mind knows I'm hurt. I'm betrayed. I'm angry at what he reduced me to. But the bond...it wishes for him.
I keep walking.
The kitchen is full.
Isabella stands at the stove, moving with practiced ease, Rafael sits at the table reading an honest to god paper newspaper while Abuela is already seated in a way that suggests she runs everything.
Which, to be fair, she does. Anna is mid story about something dramatic, hands moving as much as her words, while Kade watches her like she's the only thing in the room that matters.
Julian is standing near the counter.
Still. Quiet. Watching.
The bond tightens instantly, not painfully, but undeniably, sharpening with proximity, clearer now, louder in a way that makes it impossible to pretend he's not there.
I glance at him, brief and neutral, just enough to acknowledge.
Then I look away.
"Good morning!" I say brightly.
"Good morning, mija," Isabella replies, smiling.
"Sit," Abuela commands.
"I was going to—"
"Sit."
"Yes, ma'am."
I drop into the chair and am immediately handed and I take a bite with zero hesitation.
"Oh my God," I say. "This is incredible."
"Obviously," Isabella says.
I grin, settling into it despite everything. I eat and talk and let the warmth of the room pull me in.
And just like that, I'm back in it.
The noise. The laughter. The easy chaos of my family.
And then the bond starts to purr. His emotions are close to me.
I look over at him and make eye contact with him. The bond hums stronger. I can feel his determination. How careful and nervous he feels. How longing.
I ignore it deliberately.
"Claire," Anna says, leaning toward me, "tell them about your math idea."
"Oh," I say, brightening instantly. "Okay, so—Math Game Show."
Kade groans.
Rafael sighs.
Abuela looks intrigued.
Isabella beams.
I launch into it without hesitation, outlining teams and challenges and wildly unnecessary scoring systems, fully committed to the concept as I explain it.
And through all of it I feel him. He's listening so intently. Something soft threads through the bond, growing stronger the longer I talk about my plans.
It feels like admiration.
I falter for half a second, blinking as it hits. Then narrow my eyes slightly.
"Oh no," I mutter under my breath.
"What?" Anna asks.
"Nothing," I say quickly. "Continue being amazed by me."
"I already am."
"As you should be."
I keep talking, louder now, more animated, because if I have to feel him, he's going to be accosted by all of this.
Every second of it.
"Claire."
His voice is closer than I expect. Too close.
He's standing beside the table now, plate in hand, looking at me with pleading puppy dog eyes that are nearly impossible to resist.
"No," I say immediately.
The room pauses.
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing," I say sweetly. "Continue."
He hesitates for a fraction of a second, then moves to sit down directly across from me.
Breakfast continues around us, laughter and conversation filling the space, but underneath it, there's something quieter happening.
Him trying small things. Subtle things. Sliding something closer before I reach for it. Refilling my water without asking. Adjusting things just slightly to make it easier for me without making a show of it.
Thoughtful. Intentional.
And way too late.
I don't acknowledge any of it beyond the basics. I take the water. I say thank you in a very polite tone.
Nothing more.
The bond shifts slightly in response, tightening with something that isn't anger, isn't frustration, but something sharper...rejection. He feels rejected.
Good.
He should feel that.
But my heart hurts at causing him what he caused me.
Later, when the house settles—not quiet, never quiet, but calmer—I find myself in the kitchen with Isabella, helping her clean up.
"Well," she says casually, "this is very exciting."
I glance at her. "What is?"
"You and Julian," she replies, like it's obvious.
I smile, bright and neutral. "Mm."
She watches me, sharp and perceptive.
"You are not happy," she says.
"I'm fine."
"That is not what I asked."
I rinse a plate, focusing on the motion.
"I'm adjusting," I say.
She hums softly, not pushing, but not letting it go either.
"You deserve to be chosen fully," she says quietly.
The words land softly, but they stay.
"I know," I say.
And I do.
That's the problem.
When I step out into the hallway after finishing the dishes, I already know he's there before I see him.
He's against the wall like he's been waiting.
I sigh. "Do you just... wait around for me now?"
His mouth twitches slightly. "Yes."
"That's wildly unfortunate."
"For you?"
"For the both of us."
A pause.
"Claire."
"No," I say immediately.
He exhales. "I just want to talk."
"We've talked."
"I want to talk about our bond."
I tilt my head. "Julian, this is very repetitive."
Something flickers through the bond—frustration, controlled and contained.
"I'm trying," he says.
"I know," I reply.
And I do.
I feel it. Every second of it. Julian is constantly, relentlessly, trying to figure out if a way to fix this in between bouts of. self flagellation.
"I don't need you to try now," I add.
Hurt seeps through the bond.
"Then what do you need, Claire?" he asks quietly.
I meet his gaze, steady and unflinching.
"From you? Nothing."
The silence that follows is heavy and fina.
The bond hums between us, full of everything we're not saying, everything he's feeling, everything I'm refusing.
And then I step around him.
And I walk away.
That night, I sit in the guest room again, the door closed, the lights dim, the quiet finally settling around me.
Finally alone. Except I am not alone. I will never be fully alone again. The bond still sits in my chest. It's always steady, always present.
It's gotten a bit easier to ignore in the last twenty four hours, but something shifts and it pulls my attention to it.
Julian is feeling something new Not just his usual regret, frustration, and determination.
Something deeper, quieter. Certain. Like he's had a revelation.
I stare at the wall, arms crossed tightly.
"You don't get to love me now," I whisper.
The bond doesn't argue. Julian doesn't push. He just holds the bond steadfast. Sure.
Somehow that's worse than him pulling away. Because I feel every pulse every piece of his surety.
And I still don't choose him.
I can't. And it hurts.