43. Adrian #3
"How are you feeling?"
"So good."
I smile and take her hand, and we walk toward the salt room. I open the door for her, and she hesitates. Then it hits me—she's worried people are in here.
"It's just us two. Our own room."
The moment we step inside, the world changes.
The door closes behind us with a soft, final click, sealing us into something that feels less like a room and more like a sanctuary.
The walls are covered floor-to-ceiling in pure white Himalayan salt—crystalline, textured, glowing softly under warm amber lighting that makes everything feel golden and safe.
The floor beneath our feet is covered in fine salt granules, soft and yielding, like walking on powdered snow.
The air is different here. Cleaner. Almost medicinal.
Each breath pulls in microscopic salt particles designed to calm the nervous system, to settle the mind, to heal from the inside out.
The temperature is perfectly controlled—warm but not hot, dry but not uncomfortable.
The silence is pristine, broken only by the faint hum of the climate system and our own breathing.
Kaia stands just inside the doorway, taking it all in.
Her eyes move slowly across the salt-covered walls, the plush couch in the center of the room, the soft lighting that makes her skin glow.
I watch her shoulders drop—not all at once, but gradually, like a weight she's been carrying is finally being lifted.
"Come here," I say softly, guiding her to the couch.
We sit, and she leans into me immediately, her body fitting against mine like it was always meant to be there. I wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer, and we just...breathe. In and out. Slow. Steady. The salt-laden air fills our lungs, working its quiet magic.
I can feel the moment her fight-or-flight response finally powers down.
Her breathing deepens, becomes rhythmic and calm.
Her jaw unclenches. Her fingers, which had been gripping the edge of her robe, relax and settle against my chest. The tension that's been living in her body—tension from the massage, from being vulnerable, from everything she's been through—drains away, leaving her soft and pliant against me.
The salt room holds us. Cradles us. There's no pressure here, no expectations.
Just warmth and quiet and the steady rhythm of our breathing syncing together.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in her scent—wildflowers and sea salt, now mingled with the clean, mineral scent of the salt surrounding us.
"This is perfect," she whispers after a while, her voice barely audible.
"Yeah," I agree. "It is."
We stay like that for half an hour, maybe more.
Time doesn't matter here. The salt works its way into our systems, calming, healing, grounding.
Her body becomes heavier against mine, completely relaxed, completely safe.
I feel my own tension ease—tension I didn't even realize I was holding.
My breathing slows to match hers. My mind quiets.
When we finally stand to leave, she looks different. Softer. More at peace. The salt room has done what I hoped it would—it's given her a container for healing, a space where she could finally let go.
After, we go to the red light sauna. I hand her the goggles—soft gel eye pads with a gentle rose tint, designed to seal completely around her eyes and block the intense red wavelengths while allowing the healing benefits to reach the rest of her face and body.
"You'll be in there with me?"
"Unfortunately not, there’s only room for one. But I'll be sitting right out here. No one can get in, Kaia. And I won’t move a muscle."
She looks at the door, the red glow beneath it casting a thin line across the floor, then at me.
"We don't have to shut it all the way. We can leave it cracked, and you can reach out and I'll hold your hand whenever you need me." She looks again at the door. "Trust me. I will not let anyone ever touch you."
She nods and gets into the sauna pod. I press the start button on the control panel outside, then pull the door closed, leaving it ajar. Then I sit down and wait.
A few minutes later, she says, "Adrian."
"Hey, baby, I'm right here."
"I can't."
I'm already moving before she finishes the sentence.
The chamber door is right there—I never sat far from it—and I pull it open fully.
The red light spills out, casting everything in a deep crimson glow.
She's still in her robe, but her skin is flushed from the heat, her breathing rapid and shallow.
Her hands are gripping the edges of the sauna pod like it's the only thing keeping her tethered.
"You’re okay," I say, my voice steady and certain. "I've got you."
I reach for her, my movements deliberate and sure. Not rushed. Not panicked. Just present. She reaches back, her hand finding mine, and I guide her out of the chamber carefully. Her legs are slightly unsteady, so I keep my grip firm on her hand as she steps down.
The moment her feet touch the ground, she turns toward me and I catch her, my arms wrapping around her immediately. She collapses into me—not weakly, but like she's finally allowing herself to let go. Her forehead presses against my chest, her breathing still rapid against my skin.
"I'm right here," I murmur, one hand settling on the back of her head, the other at the small of her back. "You're safe. Just breathe with me."
I feel her take a shaky breath, then another. My own breathing stays calm and measured, a rhythm for her to follow. I don't move. Don't rush her. Don't ask questions. I just hold her, completely present, completely certain, until her breathing begins to match mine.
"I think I have more anxiety than I thought."
I tilt her face up gently, my thumb brushing across her cheekbone.
Her eyes meet mine—still a little wide, still a little uncertain.
The soft hum of the spa's climate control surrounds us, steady and grounding.
I can feel her heartbeat against my chest, still elevated, still racing from the heat and the panic.
"That's understandable. You've been through a lot," I say quietly. "Want to go take a shower? The dressing rooms are locked. We can both go shower."
"Together?"
"If you'd like. Or I can stand right outside and leave the door open so you can see me."
She's quiet, then whispers, "We could shower together."
Everything in me goes still.
Not with hesitation. Not with doubt. With recognition.
She just collapsed into me seeking safety—her body overwhelmed, her anxiety spiking. I held her through it. Grounded her. And now she's asking me to be completely vulnerable with her. Naked. Intimate. Trusting.
She's not scared of me.
The realization hits harder than it should.
I've been so careful. So controlled. Waiting for her to be ready.
Waiting for her to choose me without pressure, without obligation, without the bond forcing her hand.
I've held back because I was terrified she'd see my intensity—my need to control, to protect, to possess—and run.
But she's not running.
She's standing here, still trembling slightly from her panic attack, and asking me to shower with her. Not because she has to. Not because the bond demands it. Because she wants to. Because she trusts me. Completely.
Lachlan was right. Jonas was right. Even Finn was right.
She's choosing me. She's been choosing me. And I've been too afraid to see it.
"That sounds amazing," I say, and my voice comes out rougher than I intended. I clear my throat, let my hand slide down to the small of her back. "Come on."
I lead her to the dressing rooms and put in the code to ours. Our clothes are already inside. I go to turn on the water to let it warm, then turn back to her.
"May I?" I ask, gesturing to her robe.
She nods slowly.
I step closer, moving with deliberate care—no rush, no urgency. Just presence. My fingers find the tie of her robe, and I pause for a moment, letting her feel the weight of this choice, the significance of what she's offering me.
Then I untie it slowly. The knot loosens beneath my fingers, and I guide the fabric open with reverence, watching as the robe falls away from her shoulders.
It slips down one arm first, then the other, the soft cotton whispering against her skin as it moves.
I guide it gently, letting gravity do most of the work, my hands steady and careful.
She stands before me in just her bra and underwear, and I take a moment to simply look at her. The flush from the sauna still colors her skin—her shoulders, her chest, the delicate line of her collarbone.
She's beautiful. Vulnerable. Completely, utterly trusting.
My control isn't about domination in this moment—it's about honoring what she's giving me. I reach out and brush a strand of damp hair from her face, my touch gentle, reverent. My thumb traces her cheekbone softly.
"You're beautiful," I say quietly, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.
She meets my eyes, and I see the trust there. Complete. Unwavering. And I will spend the rest of my life making sure she never regrets it.
"Your turn," she says softly. I nod and take my robe off, left only in my briefs.
Her gaze moves over me, slow and deliberate.
The steam rises around us, curling through the air, soft and gentle.
The sound of water running softens the room around us.
The air is thick with heat, the mirrors all fogged over.
We both remove our underwear, and I step into the shower first, offering her my hand.
She takes it, stepping in after me.
The water cascades over us. Warm. Soothing. Perfect. I reach for the shampoo and pour some into my palm.
"Turn around," I say softly.
She does.
I work the shampoo into her hair, slow and deliberate, massaging her scalp. She sighs. Quiet. Content.
"That feels good."
"Good."