Chapter Fifteen
Dawn
I must have sat frozen for longer than I realized.
The shower cuts off, and the bathroom door opens, steam curling into the bedroom, thick and clinging. The sound barely registers. I hear his slow, steady footsteps, the quiet shift in the air as he moves.
I don’t move.
I should. I should have stood up. I should have grabbed the clothes he told me to find. But I’m still just sitting on the edge of the bed, hands resting in my lap, staring at nothing.
A drop of water hits the floor. Another.
“Why didn’t you join me?” His voice is smooth, casual. But there’s something underneath it—curiosity.
I blink hard, forcing myself to lift my head.
Nikolai stands next to me, a towel wrapped low around his waist, damp hair tousled from the shower. Droplets slide down the ridges of his chest and stomach, tracing along every defined muscle before disappearing beneath the towel. He looks effortless, like always. Composed. In control.
He has no idea I’m falling apart.
His brows furrow slightly. “Are you okay?”
He steps closer, tilting his head just enough that I know he’s picking me apart, analyzing the tension in my posture, the stiffness in my shoulders.
I need to answer. I need to get up, pretend I was lost in thought, brush it off. But I can still see it—the file, Luke’s name, my name.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I feel sick.”
The words come out flat, but I keep my expression neutral, willing him to believe them.
A flicker of something—concern, maybe—crosses his face. He looks over me again, reading the way I haven’t moved, the way I’m holding myself too carefully.
Then, before I realize what he’s doing, he reaches out.
“What’s wrong?” His fingers brush my arm. The warmth jolts me like a live wire.
I stand too fast, stepping back before I can stop myself. His hand drops. His jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t say anything.
I exhale, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I think I should go home.”
A heavy pause stretches between us.
“Right now?”
I nod.
Nikolai doesn’t move right away, he watches me, expression unreadable, his dark eyes lingering on mine.
The air between us shifts, heavier now, but not with anger.
Something softer, something thoughtful. His brows pull together—not in frustration, but in curiosity.
Like he’s trying to figure out what changed.
For him, this morning was good. Better than good.
And maybe that’s why he doesn’t press me.
Maybe that’s why, after a beat, he exhales slowly, running a hand through his damp hair before finally nodding back. “Alright. I’ll take you.”
His voice is even, disappointed, but he’s still looking at me when he turns to his closet. Still thinking.
. . .
The drive is quiet.
The hum of the engine, the occasional turn signal—those are the only sounds between us.
The city moves past in a blur of neon reflections and darkened windows, but I don’t really see any of it.
I keep my gaze fixed on the window, watching without really watching, trying to convince myself I’m somewhere else.
But I can feel his eyes on me. Not just glancing, but watching. Studying. Like he’s trying to decode something unspoken, searching for the shift in me that he missed before.
He already knows something is wrong.
When we pull up in front of my building, I reach for the door handle immediately, fingers curling around the cool metal like it’s an escape route.
“Dawn,” His voice is quiet, but there’s a thread of worry woven into it, a softness I don’t want to acknowledge.
I pause, fingers tightening on the handle, but I don’t look at him. Silence stretches between us, thick and pressing, coiling around me like a vice. I hear the shift of leather as he leans slightly toward me.
“Talk to me.”
I force my fingers to relax, unclenching them one by one. “I don’t feel well.”
It’s a weak excuse, one I’ve already given him, but this time it comes out thinner, stretched too tightly over the truth. A brittle thing, barely holding together.
He exhales, slow and measured, the kind of breath that says he doesn’t believe me. That he’s weighing whether to push for more. I can almost feel the weight of his gaze, picking apart the way my shoulders are drawn too tight, the way I haven’t met his eyes once since we got in the car.
“You were fine this morning.” His voice is steady, but there’s something behind it. Not suspicion. Not anger. Something quieter. Something sad. A hesitation that spills into the words like he knows I’m already slipping away from him.
The man who never lets anyone in let me in last night. And now I’m pushing him away.
I swallow, still staring at the door. “I just want to lie down.”
Another silence. Then, softer— “Call me if you need anything.”
The words barely graze the air between us, but they settle deep in my chest, heavy and unshakable.
I nod, forcing myself to keep my voice even. “Yeah.”
I open the door, step out, and shut it behind me.
I don’t look back.
Inside, the apartment feels wrong. It’s familiar—the same walls, the same furniture, the same muted glow from the streetlights outside—but it doesn’t feel like mine. It should feel like a safe space, a place where I can breathe, but instead, the air is thick, pressing down on me.
I stand in the middle of my living room, hands limp at my sides, waiting for the relief that doesn’t come.
I lower myself onto the couch, but I don’t stay there. I stand. I sit again. Then I get up and start pacing, my body restless with an energy I can’t shake. My mind won’t stop looping through everything—
The file. Our names.
The way Nikolai looked at me this morning, like he was seeing something new. Something delicate. Something he was still learning how to touch. The way he spoke to me just now, like he didn’t understand why I was pulling away.
Like he wanted to fix it but didn’t know how.
I run a hand over my face, exhaling hard. My phone is on the coffee table. I check it, even though I already know there won’t be any messages.
There’s nothing.
My finger hovers over Nikolai’s name for half a second before I lock the screen.
I can’t talk to him.
Not until I figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do.
I don’t know how much time passes before I finally grab my phone again. The screen lights up in the dark, illuminating the quiet space around me.
Then, before I can second-guess myself, I dial.
The ring stretches on, feeling longer than usual.
Then, “Dawn?”
My throat tightens, and for a second, I don’t know what to say. I almost hang up. But then it crashes into me—the weight of it, the reality of why I’m calling. “I miss you.”
It’s not a lie. It’s just not the whole truth.
There’s a pause on the other end. I hear the slight hitch in Luke’s breath before he speaks, like he’s trying to read between the lines. “I miss you, too. Are you alright?”
I force my voice to stay light, casual. Like I didn’t just spend the last hour spiraling. “Yeah, I just still haven’t seen you since I got back to LA. We should meet up.”
Luke softens slightly, his tone lighter now. “Yeah, I’d like that.” A pause. “I’m slammed tomorrow, though. Would you mind coming to my office? I can do a working lunch.”
I nod before remembering he can’t see me. “That’s fine, whatever works.”
His voice sounds a little more like himself when he responds. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
I exhale, relief tangled with something heavier. “See you then.”
I end the call.
My phone screen dims. The apartment settles into silence again.
I don’t feel any better.