12. Chapter Twelve - Silent Yearning #2
His jaw tightened, then loosened again. I could see him trying—actually trying—to weigh my disappointment against whatever darkness lived behind his eyes. He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lifted a hand to my cheek, slow and careful, as though he thought I might pull away.
I didn’t.
If anything, I leaned into him.
I grabbed the strings of his hoodie and pulled him down until we were eye-to-eye.
I should’ve been afraid for myself. I should’ve worried he’d turn that violence on me next.
But some reckless part of me knew he never would, and I believed it completely.
Around him, I felt strangely safe, as though no matter what I did, he would allow it. Maybe even indulge it.
“Is this who you really are?” I asked softly, my breath brushing his cheek.
Something shifted across his face, haunted and raw, as though he wanted to become the version of himself I needed but didn’t know how.
His thumb traced slowly along my cheek to my ear, tender enough to steal my breath.
I leaned into it even more, shame warming my skin as I wondered whether I was comforting him or searching for comfort myself.
“Answer me,” I added, though the warning had softened into something closer to a plea.
He took the strings from my hands and gently loosened my grip. Then he stepped back, his eyes flicking briefly to the space between us as though he were trying to regain control over something internal.
“He became far too familiar with what does not belong to him.”
My shoulders stiffened. “And I’m not yours either.”
Even if my nervous system apparently disagreed.
Culver’s mouth opened, then closed again. He exhaled slowly, fighting something possessive behind his eyes. “Even so,” he said after a moment, “I would prefer no one touch you at all than see someone of his stature do so without permission.”
I stared at him. “So now people need permission just to help me with a jacket? Like you?”
His expression cooled. “He is not me,” he said firmly. “Ira, I am not here to quarrel with you. I apologize for subjecting you to that. It was careless of me, and I will refrain in the future.”
I crossed my arms, doubt settling heavily inside me. “Forever,” I asked quietly, “or just when I’m around?”
He didn’t answer right away. He only offered a smooth, polished smile that never reached his eyes. “We will be late for dinner,” he said instead. “Shall we?”
I didn’t reply. I just turned and walked toward his car, staring at the luxury vehicle waiting for me like an expectation I hadn’t fully agreed to. Apparently, I made terrible decisions under emotional distress.
One thing was painfully clear now: some of the rumors about Culver were true. I just didn’t know how deep they went, or what any of it meant for me.
Once I slid into the passenger seat, silence settled between us.
Thick and suffocating, the kind that made it hard to breathe if I thought about it too long.
I stared straight ahead as Culver closed the door and moved around the front of the car, the faint sound of his footsteps echoing through the quiet like punctuation marks I couldn’t quite interpret.
He got in without a word, the interior light flickering briefly before dimming again.
I watched him from the corner of my eye as he pulled the seatbelt across his chest, the quiet click slicing cleanly through the tension.
Such a small thing, so ordinary after everything that had just happened, yet it lodged itself deep inside me anyway.
The same man who could break bones without hesitation or unravel me with a single look was still trying to hold himself back because I’d asked him to.
I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure I trusted my voice yet.
The car rolled forward smoothly, the world outside the window slipping into motion as though nothing had happened.
Streetlights passed in steady intervals, washing the glass in quick flashes of gold and shadow.
I pressed my forehead lightly against the cool window, trying to quiet the thoughts tearing through me.
Sorting through my feelings felt impossible. Every time I thought I understood where I stood with Culver, something shifted again. Attraction tangled with fear until I couldn’t separate one from the other anymore.
And the truth sat there, impossible to ignore: I was hopelessly, humiliatingly attracted to Culver Scarbrough.
Every glance from him left me dizzy. Every touch lingered. But it wasn’t only physical. Curiosity kept pulling me deeper, making me want to understand the things he refused to say out loud and the parts of himself he kept hidden beneath all that control.
Underneath all of it sat fear.
Not the loud kind that screamed at me to run, but something quieter that warned me I might willingly let this consume me anyway.
Because no matter how strong the pull between us felt, I couldn’t lie to myself and pretend I truly mattered in his world. I was probably temporary. A passing fascination he could pick up whenever he pleased and abandon just as easily once he grew bored.
I forced myself to stop looking at him and focused instead on the scenery outside. The houses grew larger the farther we moved from the city center. Modern and imposing, but still recognizable enough to make sense. The kind of wealth that tried to look effortless.
Then the view changed again.
The shift was so dramatic it felt like crossing into another reality.
The houses didn’t simply get bigger. They became estates, sprawling properties hidden behind towering hedges and gated driveways that stretched beyond sight.
Wrought-iron gates gleamed beneath the fading light while manicured lawns rolled endlessly behind them.
Of course it would be like this.
Culver’s family didn’t just have money. They had lineage. Old, generational wealth layered with the kind of power that could buy silence, erase records, and bury secrets deep enough never to surface again. Their business was “successful” on paper, but that barely covered it.
It was influential.