Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
-Xander-
Watching her tremble, nearly unraveling in front of me, ignites a fierce desire to annihilate the part of me that caused this fear. I kneel in front of her chair, mindful of the distance, careful not to crowd her.
“You’re safe with me,” I whisper, feeling my voice tremble.
“Even when I’m angry, even when I lose my control, I will never hurt you.
I need you to believe that.” Those words tumble from my lips like a pledge, but deep down, I realize that mere promises won’t suffice.
I have to prove it, to her and to myself.
With time, with restraint, with every ounce of strength I possess.
Our eyes lock, and I see them glimmering with unshed tears, revealing a crack in her facade.
It’s not a sign of weakness; it’s a testament to her exhaustion, a woman who has battled countless storms and is weary from the relentless fight.
Slowly, cautiously, I extend a hand toward her, palm open and waiting.
-Thalia-
A weighty stillness envelops the space between us.
For what feels like an eternity, I remain motionless, the silence thick with all the unsaid words we’ve hurled at one another and the countless others that linger unarticulated.
But his hand remains there, steady, patient, not demanding or forceful.
That unwavering presence compels me to reach back.
My fingers tremble as I place my hand in his; it feels delicate and small, yet it signifies a hopeful beginning, simple yet profound.
The moment our palms touch, something inside me loosens, like a knot beginning to unravel.
He doesn’t pull.
He waits.
I didn’t know waiting could feel like love.
With Damian, silence was a countdown.
With Xander, silence is a choice.
When I wake the next morning, an unsettling feeling permeates the atmosphere, making everything seem fragile, as if it could shatter at any moment.
I find myself attuned to every sound around me.
The creaking of the floorboards under Xander’s weight, the gentle bubbling of the coffee maker, the soft clang of the fridge door as it swings open.
Instead of recoiling at the noises, this time, I commit them to memory.
They are his sounds; they denote safety, and they remind me how deeply I want to hold onto this fleeting moment.
At first, we navigate the morning like cautious dancers, moving around one another, silent and tentative. But then, Xander places a plate of toast in front of me, a simple offering devoid of expectation or commentary. Just… food. A warmth blooms in my chest at his kindness.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely escaping my lips.
He nods in acknowledgment, choosing to slide into the chair beside me instead of across the table.
Our knees brush against each other, and for the first time in days, I resist the urge to retreat.
Instead, I lean into the familiar comfort of his presence. The touch is feather-light, accidental.
Or maybe not.
My body reacts before I can think, every nerve flaring at once.
But instead of fear, warmth spreads down my spine.
He doesn’t notice, not really. He’s too focused on eating toast like he’s trying not to scare it.
A laugh slips out.
Soft. Genuine.
His head snaps toward me, eyes wide.
“There it is,” he murmurs.
My cheeks flush. “What?”
“That sound I’m addicted to.”
The quiet stretches between us, but it transforms, softening into something tender instead of sharp. He sips his coffee, and I nibble on the toast, the intimacy of this silence allowing me to realize that we’re slowly finding our way back to each other.
Later, as we stand together at the sink, tidying up the breakfast dishes, he reaches for my hand.
This time, it’s not born from desperation but a steady assurance.
My breath hitches slightly, but I don’t freeze, don’t pull away.
Instead, I let him gently tug me toward the couch.
He sinks into the cushions first and opens his arms, not demanding, not assuming.
Inviting. I crawl into his lap slowly, almost timid.
He tucks his chin on top of my head, holding me like I’m something precious.
We don’t talk.
We don’t have to.
The quiet isn’t empty; it’s full, surrendering to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat, a sound that signifies safety, warmth, home.
“I wasn’t mad at you,” he murmurs softly into my hair, his voice thick with regret.
“I was mad at him. At everything. At the fact that I can’t tear this world apart fast enough to ensure you never have to endure pain again.
” His words penetrate deep, unraveling something inside me.
My throat tightens, and tears threaten to spill over, but unlike before, these tears aren’t born from fear. They stem from a profound relief.
“I know,” I whisper, gripping his shirt as though it’s my lifeline. “I know, Xander. And I don’t need perfection. I just need you.”
His arms surround me tightly, and for hours, we remain like this, no tension, no arguments, just enveloping each other in the comfort of our presence.
For the first time, I understand that love isn’t fireworks or whirlwind romance.
It’s safety. It’s being able to breathe without flinching.
It’s knowing that even when things get loud, they won’t get violent.
Love isn’t the absence of conflict. It’s the presence of peace.
-Thalia-
I open the door to go get the mail when I see it. The package is small, deceptively so. Wrapped in dull brown paper, it bears no return address, only my name scrawled in a hurried, uneven handwriting that sends a shiver down my spine. I stare at it like it might sprout teeth.
My brain does that thing where it jumps ahead, painting images I don’t want.
A note. A threat. Evidence of him standing here.
My vision blurs around the edges.
This isn’t paranoia.
This is memory.
The sight of it perched ominously on the welcome mat sends my pulse racing. A knot tightens in my stomach. The realization washes over me: no one knows my address. No one except Xander, Isla, the leasing office... and him.
As I bend down slowly, my fingers hover over the box, trembling like leaves in a gale. I hesitate, caught between the instinct to flee and the desperate need to know what’s inside. I can’t just leave it there, not when it’s marked with my name.
Finally, I gather my courage and scoop it up, cradling it in my hands as if it were a ticking time bomb. The weight of the package shifts within, impeding my breath and making the air in the apartment feel colder, more oppressive.
Once inside, the atmosphere feels charged, as though the walls are closing in around me.
I place the box on the kitchen counter, staring at it with anxiety, trying to will it not to come alive.
My heart races as I muster the strength to rip open the paper.
The tearing sound is maddeningly loud in the silence.
A single object clinks onto the countertop—a lighter.
Silver and polished to a shine. It’s the same kind Damian flicked on and off during our date, that flickering flame so innocent yet loaded with memories I’m desperate to forget.
This isn’t random. This isn’t a coincidence. It’s him, finding a way to remind me of his existence. Adrenaline surges through my veins, and I don’t hesitate this time. I grab my phone and dial Xander, my voice shaky but urgent.
“Hey, baby,” he answers, his tone instantaneously warm, but that warmth falters as I interrupt him.
“There was a package,” I say, my voice cracking under the weight of dread. “On the doorstep. No return address. It’s his lighter, Xander. I know it is.”
A silence ensues, heavy and suffocating, until his voice emerges, draining away any hint of warmth. “Don’t touch it again. I’m coming right now.”
“Xander—”
“Thalia.” The sharpness of his tone disallows any argument. “Stay inside. Lock every door, every window. Don’t move until I’m there.”
My hands tremble as I fumble to work the lock, but I force myself to take a deep breath and push through the anxiety.
I double-check the sliding door and the kitchen window, ensuring they are secured.
Then, trembling, I curl up on the couch, deliberately avoiding looking at the counter, where the lighter lies like an unwelcome guest, taunting me with its presence.
I tuck myself into the smallest shape possible.
One hand grips my phone so tightly my knuckles turn white.
The other clutches Xander’s sweatshirt, dragging it to my face so all I can smell is him.
Motor oil. Cedar. Safety.
I inhale until my heartbeat slows.
-Xander-
The instant Thalia utters the words ‘package’, an icy dread pools in my gut.
It fractures something deep within me, sparking an urgent inferno.
My stomach turns to ice while my blood ignites.
I can almost hear the thunder of my pulse ringing in my ears as I mentally replay her words.
I can’t allow her to feel my fear, threatening to spill over like molten lava, but the truth is, I’m terrified.
Not of Damian—he’s already dead in my mind—but of what that bastard’s presence does to her.
I want to tear through the city with my bare hands.
Beneath the anger, beneath the violence simmering in my veins, there’s fear.
Pure.
Unfiltered.
Terror.
Not of him. But of losing her.
Every second feels like a haunting reminder of my failure.
He knows she’s alone. He knows I don’t live there.
He’s playing with her, toying with fear, enjoying the sick game of watching me rush to her aid.
It's a battle for control, and I can’t stand the thought of her being trapped in this nightmare.
When I shove through the door, my breath catches at the sight of her curled on the couch, trembling like a leaf in a storm.
The image nearly breaks me; she’s enduring pain that she doesn’t deserve, not again.
I notice the lighter on the counter, shiny and unassuming, yet it harbors the weight of memories that threaten to crush us both.
I bury my face in her hair, inhaling deeply, trying to breathe through the overwhelming fear and rage that seeps into my bones.
She did exactly what she should have and called me, trusted me, and while I should feel proud, all I experience is a deep-seated fury.
“Good girl,” I whisper, my hands instinctively tightening around her back, as if I could shield her from the world. “You told me right away. That’s all I need from you.”
I kiss her forehead gently, but my eyes are laser-focused on the lighter, which suddenly feels like a loaded gun, a silent trigger waiting for a moment to discharge.
“He’s not done,” I tell her, my voice low and steady. “This is him reminding us that he’s still out there. But it’s also his mistake. Because if he comes near you again, Thalia, I swear on my life, he won’t walk away.”
Her arms tighten around me, and for a fleeting moment, I feel her breathe a little easier. But within, I’m wrestling with a tumult of fury and a burning desire for retribution. Not until I have his blood on my hands will I finally feel peace. There’s a fine line between protector and monster.
I don’t know which side I’m on anymore. But if becoming a monster is what it takes to keep her safe, then I will become the darkest thing in her world, as long as I am never a threat to her.
Only for her.
-Damian-
The lighter is gone now, absent from its usual place.
It lies on her doorstep like a sinister calling card, a tangible reminder of my presence.
I can almost envision her hands trembling as she bends down to pick it up, fingers brushing over the cool metal.
I imagine the way her heart would drop in her chest when the realization of what it signifies washes over her.
The thought ignites a spark of delight within me, a twisted thrill at the chaos I’ve left in my wake.
She’s probably sprinting to him right now, her boyfriend, the mechanic, the so-called hero who believes he can shield her from what’s to come.
Let him rush in, let him sweat and fume, insisting he’ll protect her.
In the end, she’s still mine. She’ll never know when I’ll materialize again, lurking in the shadows, watching her from afar.
She’ll never be able to tell if it’s my car she spots out of the corner of her eye, my footsteps echoing behind her in an empty parking lot, or my voice whispering her name in the dark.
That’s where the excitement lies, in the anticipation, the uncertainty.
And when the moment is ripe, she’ll remember what it feels like to be utterly helpless beneath me.
Because no matter how hard she tries to escape, she will always be that way.