Chapter 45
* * *
Emma
The new apartment smelled faintly of paint and lemon cleaner, the kind of manufactured freshness that came with a space no one had lived in yet.
Afternoon light spilled across the hardwood floors, catching on the edges of stacked moving boxes and the plastic-wrapped corners of the sofa the movers had maneuvered in an hour ago.
Candace stood in the middle of it all, arms folded, her focus wandering the room like she wasn’t sure she had permission to look. I watched her take it in slowly—every corner, every empty stretch of wall, every possibility the space offered—and something tight in me loosened.
She was safe.
Finally, unquestionably safe.
“They’ll finish setting up the bedroom in the next hour,” I said, stepping beside her. “Damien hired the movers directly, so they know to bring everything from your old place.”
Her lips twitched. “Of course he did.” She glanced up at the ceiling. “And he just happened to find an opening one floor below you?”
“He wanted you close,” I said. “To me. To somewhere safe.”
A long exhale left her. “I know.” Her gaze drifted to the window, where sunlight pooled across the sill. “It’s just strange. Being taken care of like this.”
“You okay?” I asked.
Candace didn’t answer right away. Instead, she walked across the room and sat on the edge of the new couch, fingers smoothing the fabric in slow, absent strokes.
“I don’t know what I am yet.” She looked down at her hands. “One minute, I feel like I escaped something I should’ve left years ago. The next…” Her throat worked. “Next I miss him. Or miss the version of him I thought I had.”
I eased into the seat beside her. “That’s normal. It doesn’t mean you made the wrong choice.”
“It feels wrong.” A humorless laugh escaped. “Like I’m betraying someone. Isn’t that fucked up?”
“No. That’s survival rewiring itself. Your body’s still choosing the familiar, even when the familiar hurt you.”
Her eyes shut. “I didn’t expect it to feel like grief.”
“It is grief,” I murmured. “You’re mourning the person you thought he could be.”
“And all the years I wasted believing him.”
She leaned into me and I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her something steady to rest against.
We didn’t speak for a minute.
Just sat there while movers worked down the hallway, their footsteps and the scrape of furniture our only company. Her breathing evened out, tension loosening from her shoulders in small, uneven drops.
Eventually, she drew back and wiped the corner of her eye with her sleeve. “How’s work?” she asked, reaching for something normal.
I let out a slow sound. “It’s… moving.”
“Moving,” she echoed, eyebrows lifting.
“I’ve been trying not to think about it too much,” I admitted. “Every time I do, it hits too hard. And you—” I gave her a small, wry smile. “You’ve been a convenient distraction.”
Candace snorted softly. “Glad to be of service.”
“But it’s more than that,” I said. “Damien told me to stay out of it. Completely. No files. No back-channel updates. No late-night rabbit holes. He said he’d handle everything, and I…” I hesitated. “I’m letting him.”
“Since when do you let anyone handle things for you?”
“That’s the part that scares me,” I said. “My team keeps looking to me for answers, and I don’t have any right now. Not because I don’t want to… but because I’m doing exactly what he told me to do.”
“And you trust him enough to do that?”
“After last week?” I nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
Candace studied me for a moment. “This is different for you.”
“It is,” I admitted.
She didn’t push, which almost made it worse. The silence opened up just enough for the other thing—the thing I’d been avoiding—to make itself known.
“He didn’t say it back.”
Candace’s expression softened. “Em…”
“I’m not upset,” I said quickly. “It just… caught me off guard. That’s all.”
She waited, giving me space to figure out the rest.
I twisted the delicate chain of my collar between my fingers. “It wasn’t rejection. I know that. I’ve seen the way he loves me. Felt it. He shows it in everything he does.”
“So what’s bothering you?” she asked gently.
I exhaled. “I think he wasn’t ready to say it out loud. That’s the truth of it. When he names something… it’s final. And I think he takes that seriously. Too seriously, maybe.”
Candace gave a small nod. “Some people need time.”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “And honestly… I don’t need to hear it yet. Not if he isn’t ready.”
“Really?” Candace asked.
“Really,” I said. “I knew what I was saying. I didn’t say it to get it back. I said it because it was true. And because I wasn’t going to let fear keep me from saying it.”
My voice strengthened. “He cares for me. There isn’t a doubt in my mind about that. And when he’s ready to say it, I’ll know. He’s not the kind of man who says anything halfway.”
Candace let out a small, relieved sound. “That does sound a lot like him.”
A tentative knock on the doorframe made both of us look up. One of the movers—a guy in his mid-thirties with a baseball cap pulled low—leaned in, clipboard in hand.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “We’re about done with the bedroom setup. Just wanted to check where you want the last dresser.”
Candace blinked. “Me? Oh—uh, just put it on the wall opposite the bed.”
He nodded, then hesitated. He looked my way. Recognition sparked.
“Hey—sorry, are you… Emma Sinclair? From Elion?”
Tension coiled through me. “Yeah.”
He let out a low whistle. “Thought I recognized you. Saw the news coverage about that data breach—your face was all over it.” He shook his head. “Rough situation. Hope you guys get it sorted.”
“We will,” I said, keeping my tone steady. “Thanks.”
“Didn’t mean to make it weird,” he added, stepping back. “Just one of those things—you see someone on TV, then they’re standing in front of you.”
“It’s fine,” I said, offering a small smile. “Comes with the territory.”
He grinned and disappeared down the hall again.
Candace watched the doorway long after he left. “That’s… a lot,” she murmured. “People knowing you. Expecting you to have answers.”
“It is,” I admitted, shoulders shoved down by the insurmountable pressure.
A few minutes later, another mover called her name from the hallway, asking about hanging the closet rods. Candace stood, brushing her hair behind her ears.
“You good?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll head upstairs and let you finish.”
“Tell him thank you,” she murmured, pulling me into a hug. “For all of this.”
“Of course,” I said.
She gave a small, watery smile. I squeezed her hand once, then stepped into the hallway.
The building was quieter than usual. Late afternoon settling in.
A stretch of calm that felt strange after the last week’s chaos.
Candace was safe. Garrett had been blocked.
The doorman paid handsomely to deny any unwanted entries.
I pressed the elevator button, watching the light blink once before the doors slid open.
The space was empty—just stale air and the faint scent of someone’s morning coffee.
I stepped inside and hit the button for the ground floor, the opposite direction of my apartment, just a floor above.
Close enough to hear her if she screamed.
Close enough to be there in seconds if she needed me.
Damien had thought of everything.
As the doors closed, that familiar weight tugged at me—not panic, not dread. A pull toward Damien I could no longer ignore.
A need for stillness. Direction. Something I didn’t have to control for once.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Damien: You done at Candace’s?
Me: Just finished.
Another buzz.
Damien: Perfect, I’ll see you soon.
Warmth unfurled beneath my skin. Slow. Certain.
For the first time since everything had fallen apart, the path ahead didn’t feel like something I had to brace myself for. I just had to walk toward him.
And I couldn’t wait.