Chapter 9 Adaline
Adaline
By the time I reach my room, my hands won’t stop shaking. No, scratch that. My face burns, my chest aches, and that twist low in my stomach is dangerously close to hurt. I should’ve known Hunter would find a way to ruin a moment that almost felt… human. Almost gentle. Almost something.
But no. He had to remind me, again, that we "haven’t even signed your contract," that I’m on trial, temporary, and replaceable.
My door shuts behind me with a soft click, and the quiet hits me like a wall. The room is dim except for the soft lamp on my nightstand. My reflection in the window looks exhausted, with shadowed eyes, and tension curled into my shoulders.
Why does it bother me so much? Why do his words even matter?
I drop onto the bed and sink into the mattress, lying on my back, staring at the ceiling. The faint floral scent of Aunt Jane’s detergent lingers on the bed. My muscles feel tight, like I’m bracing for something I can’t name.
My phone glows beside me on the quilt. A new notification.
HeartLines — 1 New Message from North.
My lungs finally draw a full breath. North. Someone who doesn’t look at me like I don’t belong anywhere. I pull the phone into my chest for a moment before unlocking it.
His message appears.
North: You can’t be that bad at judging people if you’re the only one I can be myself with.
He doesn’t open up often—not like this. And whatever this is… it feels real.
I roll onto my side, curling into the pillow, phone balanced in my hand as I type.
Wind: I don’t know. I feel like I’m terrible at reading people. I once trusted someone who manipulated me. Everyone warned me, and I didn’t listen. I only saw the version of him he wanted me to see.
I stare at the blinking cursor. My chest feels tight again—not painful, just raw.
The reply comes faster than I expect.
North: That’s not on you. Manipulators pick good people who give trust freely. Don’t let someone like that control your life ever again.
The room feels different, quieter, softer, like the shadows around the furniture have settled.
The tightness in my chest eases. Safe enough to tell him more.
Wind: I’m not like you. You sound strong. Sure of yourself. I feel like everything in my life is shaking loose. I just want to focus on my career. It’s the only thing that feels solid anymore.
As soon as I send it, anxiety prickles at my skin. I’m being too honest; I suddenly feel too exposed. But that’s what North is for, not escape, but the place where I can say the things I don’t feel strong enough to say out loud yet.
He types for a long time, then….
North: Strength isn’t being unshakable. Strength is deciding to build something better when everything falls apart. Focusing on your career isn’t weakness. It’s choosing yourself.
A warmth blooms under my ribs, small, but real, like the first spark in a long-dark fireplace.
I settle deeper into the bed, toes slipping under the comforter. I turn onto my back again, phone resting lightly on my stomach, screen glowing up at the ceiling.
He types again.
North: You’re stronger than you think, Wind.
I close my eyes. No one has said that to me in… I can’t remember how long. Maybe ever. Not Connor. Not coworkers. Not anyone who saw me fall apart after the engagement ended.
My breath calms, and my heart slows.
For a moment, the weight of the tension in the garage lifts just a little. I blink at the ceiling, the glow of my phone soft against the shadows of the room. Then, curiosity tugs at me, something he said earlier in the week, something I brushed past at the time.
I lift the phone again.
Wind: What did you mean the other day… when you said people judge you without knowing you?
For a full minute, nothing happens. Just the faint hum of the heater. My own heartbeat, slow and heavy in my chest. Then three dots appear. Disappear and reappear.
Finally—
North: It’s nothing. Just people making assumptions based on what they think they know about me.
The message feels too carefully worded.
I roll onto my stomach, chin propped on my pillow as I type.
Wind: Assumptions about what?
A longer pause this time.
North: About who I am. What I’ve done. What I’m "known" for. People don’t really want the truth. They want a version that fits whatever story they already believe.
Something tightens in my chest. Is this how Hunter feels every time someone whispers about him in town? The thought unsettles me.
Wind: Maybe you should tell people the truth. Clear things up. It might help.
His reply is immediate, almost too fast.
North: Or maybe it’ll make things worse. I’m not great at letting people close. They see what they want. Or they leave.
My fingers hover above my phone. There’s something hollow in his words, something that echoes the same ache I’ve been trying to outrun.
Wind: Are you afraid of people really knowing you?
Another pause and then.
North: Always.
Just that. A single word that feels like a confession. I swallow and shift onto my side, blanket pulled to my chin.
Wind: Everyone’s afraid of that. But shutting everyone out doesn’t fix anything. Trust me. I’ve tried. You still have people in your life, right? People who care?
For a moment, I think he won’t answer. Then—
North: People who mattered… left a long time ago.
My heart sinks. Something about that loneliness is too familiar and feels too sharp. I sit up slightly, clutching the phone.
Wind: Then enjoy the people you do have. Don’t push them away just because you’re scared.
He doesn’t reply right away. When he does—
North: I don’t push away the ones I care about. I protect them.
My fingers still. A warmth unexpected, spreads through my chest.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I type.
Wind: That sounds like something a good man would say.
The three dots appear. Then disappear and then appear again. But no reply comes.
My thoughts drift back to when I was engaged to Connor.
Even then, my conversations with North felt deep and meaningful, but now there’s something else threaded through them, something more honest, a different kind of connection.
It makes me wonder why I never felt safe enough to be myself when Connor said he loved me.
What was missing in our relationship that made it easier to bare my thoughts to a stranger than to the man I planned to marry?
I lie back down slowly, phone pressed to my heart. The room feels softer now, quieter. The storm inside me, just for tonight, eases.
And somewhere out there, a man I’ve never met is holding pieces of me no one else has touched in years.
I set my phone aside, but sleep still avoids me, skirting around the edges of my mind like it’s afraid to come too close. North’s last message lingers in my chest—I protect them.
Something I’ve not had directed at me in a long time.
I wish… I wish I had someone like that in my life. Someone who wanted to protect me. Someone who cared enough and not just use me.
My parents died when I was a senior in high school, and everything unraveled after that.
One car accident, one phone call, and my entire world collapsed.
Grandma Ruth took me in—thank God—but she was old, tired, grieving her own daughter.
I never wanted to be a burden. I learned quickly to take care of myself so she wouldn’t worry.
And then she passed too.
Too old for the foster system. Too young to know how to be an adult alone.
I swallow hard, blinking up at the ceiling. Maybe Connor saw that. The gaps in my life, the lack of family, of protection, and thought I’d be easy to mold. Easy to manage. Easy to use.
A sour twist tightens in my stomach. He wasn’t wrong.
Everyone warned me. I chose not to hear them.
I only saw his charm, his carefully curated empathy, the side of him he wanted me to believe in. I walked right into his world with open hands and open heart, never questioning why he kept me separate from his real life until it was too late.
And now I’m here. In this massive mansion with people who barely know me. Trying to rebuild something that resembles a future. Trying not to think about what he might still be capable of.
My thoughts drift, unexpectedly, to Hunter.
The way he repaired my car in his garage, and arranged for my luggage to be delivered. The way he rubbed his forehead where I touched him, almost like he could still feel my hand there.
He confuses me. Infuriates me. Pushes every button I didn’t know I had.
He’s protective of Aunt Jane. Fiercely, instinctively, almost violently protective.
My thoughts go back to wondering what would it feel like if someone cared like that about me? Someone who didn’t lie? Someone who didn’t use my loneliness as leverage?
But then I remember tonight, when he mentioned the contract in his garage. That moment still prickles at me.
Like I’m disposable. Like he’s reminding himself, and me that I don’t belong here. That I’m temporary. That I can be replaced with a single phone call.
And then something that is part anger, part embarrassment… and part something else I don’t want to name.
Because when he rolled out from under my car tonight—oily, irritated, wearing a sleeveless black tank that showed tattoos on his upper arms I hadn’t known existed—I felt something I wasn’t prepared for.
Something sharp. Something warm. And something I don’t trust.
And when I touched his forehead, the way he looked at me like he couldn’t breathe.
I glanced at his lips. His lips.
What is wrong with me? How can I be attracted to a man I can’t stand half the time? A man who clearly doesn’t like me either?
A man the entire town thinks is ruthless?
I squeeze my eyes shut and groan into my pillow.
This is ridiculous. All of it.
Hunter Rexon is cold, rude, unfair, infuriating, and yet somehow the image of him lying on the garage floor looking up at me with surprise and something like softness keeps replaying in my mind.
I don’t want to feel this. I don’t trust myself to feel anything after Connor.
And Hunter? He probably regrets every second of that moment. He probably wishes I’d never stepped foot in his house. Still…
For one suspended moment in that garage, it felt like the world narrowed down to just us. Like something hovered between us—alive and dangerous and impossible to ignore. Something I do not trust or understand.
I bury my face in my pillow. I’m more confused than ever. And it’s only my second night in this house, with him.