Chapter Fourteen
Day three doesn't require escalation.
Instead, it requires adjustment. I know that the moment I open my eyes, before I even move, before I even breathe fully into the quiet of the morning, because the bond tells me.
Yesterday, she engaged with me.
She fought me, questioned me, pushed back at every angle I offered, but she engaged, and talked to me. There was heat in it, sharp edges and resistance, but it was alive. It moved between us, reactive and immediate, something I could meet and respond to.
Today there's distance. It's not the absence of the bond. Never that.
Instead, there's distance that feels chosen and deliberate that I suspect stems from the intimate conversation we had yesterday.
She regrets it.
Despite the fact that I deserve it, it hurts.
I'm up early again, earlier than I need to be, earlier than anyone else.
The kitchen is still, wrapped in that soft, pre morning quiet where everything feels suspended, like the day hasn't quite decided to begin yet. I move through it carefully, instinctively quieter than necessary, as if anything too loud might fracture whatever fragile balance I'm trying to maintain.
Coffee first.
The routine matters, not for me, but for her. For the consistency I should have given her from the start.
The machine hums softly as it brews, the scent filling the space, warm and steadying. I lean my hands against the counter for a moment, letting myself feel that steady, low thread in my chest.
Claire. She's awake.
She feels deeply and thoroughly annoyed. There's a sharpness to it, a tight, controlled irritation that presses against the bond like a closed door.
I let out a slow breath.
"Okay," I murmur under my breath, more to myself than anything else. "I deserve that."
The bond doesn't soften or reassure me. It just exists, carrying her emotions without filter, without mercy.
Good.
I don't want mercy.
I want honesty.
Even if it hurts.
Breakfast comes together the same way it did yesterday. I try to be careful and intentional, consider every detail.
Not because she asked for it. She didn't. Hell she might not even take it.
Because she shouldn't have to ask for me to step up.
I plate it, set the coffee beside it, pack her lunch with the same quiet precision, each movement deliberate, measured, and careful in a way I rarely am outside of a boardroom.
This is different though. It matters more than any room I've ever walked into.
More than any deal or any outcome. This isn't strategy.
This is me earning my way to her.
I feel her before I hear her.
The bond shifts, just slightly, a subtle awareness that she's closer, moving toward the kitchen with the same steady presence she always carries.
I straighten instinctively, not out of habit, but out of something deeper. Something that feels dangerously close to nerves.
Which is a new experience for me.
She walks in without hesitation. There's no pause in the doorway or glance in my direction.
Actually, there's no acknowledgment of me at all.
She sees the food and the coffee and the lunch.
Then she just moves to grab her breakfast like I'm not here. Like none of this is connected to me.
She pulls out a chair, sits, and takes a bite.
Anna stops in the doorway behind her, her steps faltering as she takes in the scene, her gaze flicking between Claire and me with open disbelief.
"Oh," she breathes quietly.
Kade leans against the wall, arms crossing slowly, his expression shifting into something almost impressed.
"Damn," he mutters.
I don't react or look at them. I can't move. How could I? All of my attention is locked on her. She's eating like this is all normal and the food appeared.
Like I don't exist in the space at all.
The bond responds in kind, cooling. Controlled and closed in a way that tells me she's not in the mood for feeling close with me.
She's guarded. Not just ignoring me. She's removing me.
God, I deserve that too.
I step forward anyway, setting her lunch in front of her with quiet care. She reaches for it immediately, but still doesn't look at me.
"Thank you," she says, voice a quiet whisper. Detached in a way that lands harder than anger ever could.
I nod once, even though she isn't watching.
"Of course."
My voice is softer than I expect it to be. I worry if I push too hard, she'll disappear entirely. Yesterday was obviously too much for her. Me in her space all day, the talk after school.
The way I couldn't stop looking at her during dinner.
She stands, gathering her things, moving past me without a glance, without hesitation, like I'm just another piece of furniture in the room.
And the bond simply moves with her. Enough that I can feel the absence of it as she walks out the door.
Anna exhales behind me. "Yikes."
Kade huffs quietly. "That was way worse than yesterday, man."
I swallow, my gaze still fixed on the empty doorway.
"...yeah," I admit softly. "I know."
At school, I don't go to her. Everything in me wants to.
The bond pulls, restless and aware, tracking her movements in the background of my thoughts, reminding me she's there, reminding me she's mine in a way I don't deserve to claim yet.
But I don't go. Today isn't about pushing or forcing my presence onto her. I can see I miscalculated yesterday.
Instead, I need to adjust.
I send something that might make her smile.
Anna finds me before I can leave. She looks from me to the garment bag in my hands, her expression shifting immediately into suspicion.
"Oh no," she says.
"It's not going to be a problem," I reply, even though I already know she's right.
"It's absolutely going to be a problem."
"It's only a dress."
She stares at me like I've just said something deeply concerning.
"A dress," she repeats slowly.
"For a fundraiser tonight."
Her expression sharpens instantly.
"Oh God. You've lost your mind, Jules."
"It's an invitation," I say quietly. "Not a demand."
"It's a trap."
"It's not a trap."
"Claire is absolutely going to think it's a trap."
I pause, considering that.
"She already thinks everything I do is a trap. I have to try."
Anna sighs. "Okay, fair. Try it. Your funeral."
She opens it ten minutes later.
I'm not there, but I feel it.
The bond lights up suddenly, sharp and immediate, her surprise cutting through the distance like a spark. She likes the dress. I can feel her admiration for it.
Then recognition of who the gift is from. And then Something that makes my chest tighten before I can stop it.
Before it shuts down again. Before she closes herself off just as quickly as she opened.
I close my eyes briefly, steadying myself against the wave of it.
"Okay," I whisper under my breath. "Okay. That's progress.... I think."
I don't push further.
I don't try to reach for her.
I let it settle.
This isn't about forcing connection.
It's about earning it.
By the time I get home, I already know.
She didn't wear it.
The bond tells me before I even step through the door, her decision is firm and resolved, sitting between us like a quiet, immovable boundary.
And it hurts. Not in a sharp way, in a steady, aching one.
Because I understand why she doesn't want to wear it. Why on earth would she ever go to another event with me again?
The house is loud when I walk in. Warm and alive. Normal in a way that feels almost disorienting compared to the quiet aching in my chest.
I step into the kitchen and there she is. She's relaxed and comfortable. She's mid argument with Abuela like she belongs here.
Like she's always belonged here.
Something in me softens at the sight of it.
"I'm just saying," Claire insists, gesturing with a spoon, "if we already have dessert, why are we making another dessert?"
"Because the first dessert is not enough," Abuela replies without hesitation.
"It is absolutely enough, Abuela. It could feed the whole neighborhood."
"It could not!"
Claire groans. "You're impossible."
"And yet you stay with me, Mija."
"That's because you feed me!"
I step further into the room, but she doesn't look at me. But the bond tells me she notices me. It shifts, just slightly, awareness brushing against me before she tightens it again.
"Baby," I say softly.
The word slips out before I can stop it, and the effect is immediate. She stills. Then she turns, slow and deliberate, her eyes narrowing as they land on me.
She looks dangerous.
"Don't," she says flatly.
The word lands harder than anything else she's said today.
I nod immediately.
"Okay," I say softly. I've called her that before. Of course I've lost that privilege now. "I'm sorry."
That wasn't the response she expected, though. I see it in the slight flicker of surprise before she masks it again.
"You're not dressed," I add gently, shifting carefully.
She blinks once, then shrugs lightly.
"Oh," she says. "I'm not going."
I swallow.
"Can I ask why?"
She smiles.
And it's sharp.
"Oh, I figured you don't need me to lighten things up," she says sweetly. "It's already a party."
The words hit exactly where they're meant to.
"And since I'm not serious enough," she continues, her voice soft but cutting, "I can't really engage with your very important business associates."
The bond flares with her hurt and my regret and the echo of words I can't take back.
I step forward before I can think better of it.
And then I drop to my knees right there in the middle of the kitchen. In my suit.
"What are you doing," she says flatly.
I take her hand, gently and carefully, like how I should have cradled her heart from the beginning.
"Claire," I say quietly, my voice steadier than I feel. "I'm so sorry."
Her eyes hit the floor.
"I shouldn't have said that," I continue, my throat tightening slightly.
"Not then. Not ever. It wasn't true, and it wasn't fair, and you didn't deserve it.
I was cruel and short sighted. I don't need you to lighten anything," I add, softer now.
"I need you there because you're you. Because you matter.
Because I..." I hesitate, then force myself to tone it down. "Because I like being around you."
The bond pulses. I feel her warmth and hopefulness. And her terror of opening up to me ever again all at once. Her gaze flickers just slightly, something uncertain breaking through before she tightens again.
"...you're very bad at this," she mutters.
I let out a quiet breath. "I know."
"And this is weird."
"I know."
"And I don't trust you."
"I know," I say again, softer this time. "Come with me. Please." She stares at me, eyes searching mine. Unimpressed.
Then, she exhales.
"Fine," she says.
Relief flickers in my chest briefly before she adds: "Just this once. And not for you," she continues quickly. "Because the dress is pretty and I like the little finger snacks."
"Those are valid reasons," I say solemnly, leaning for ward to press a kiss to her had.
"They're the only reasons," she insists.
"Understood. I still consider myself lucky." She pulls her hand free, glares at me and turns to stride out of the kitchen with purpose.
"Get off the floor," Abuela says.
"Yes ma'am."
But I'm smiling. Claire didn't shut me out completely. She's giving me a chance.
And I'm going to make damn sure I don't waste it.