Chapter 50 The Weight of a Promise #3
“You’re not taking the subway,” he said, voice low and final.
Arden’s chin lifted, a familiar spark in her eyes. “It’s only a few stops. We’ll be fine.”
He held her hand a little tighter. “Car’s already en route.”
She blinked, clearly not expecting the gentle steel in his tone. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” he said, steady as stone. “I wanted to.”
A subtle shiver wound through her, not from fear, but from the quiet care beneath his dominance.
Her lips curved. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Anytime.” His gaze lingered, unreadable and full.
Penny swanned into the room like a Broadway finale. “We’re on a schedule, people! And schedules don’t wait—not even for smoldering billionaire makeouts!”
She paused, green eyes darting between them before a slow, delighted grin overtook her face. “Oh. Did I interrupt foreplay?”
Gideon’s smirk was effortless, but his eyes… his eyes told a different story. “Nothing that won’t pick back up later.”
Arden snorted, stepping toward Penny, but the heat of Gideon’s hands clung to her skin, the taste of his kiss lingering on her lips.
“You’ve got a car downstairs,” he said, addressing Penny with quiet authority. “No subway tonight.”
“Ooh, we’ve officially entered my rich-girl era,” Penny crowed. “I’m choosing not to question it.”
She bumped Arden’s shoulder, and for once, Arden didn’t roll her eyes.
Instead, she turned back to Gideon, something softer slipping through her expression.
“Thanks,” she said, quiet but unflinching.
He nodded once, gaze locking with hers. “Have fun tonight.”
The way he said it—it shouldn’t have landed the way it did.
But it did.
Like he was feeling her absence before she’d even walked out the door.
She hesitated, then smiled. Not coy. Not careless.Warmth sparked in her chest.
Fingers on the doorknob, she paused, then turned back again.
“Oh, don’t look so tragic,” she teased, the edge of her voice softened. “I’m not exactly running off with someone new.”
“No.” His eyes moved over her, slow and unapologetic. “But I’m not thrilled about you stepping out looking like that.”
“Like what?” She arched a brow.
He let the silence stretch. Then, quietly, “Like trouble I don’t want to share.”
She smirked, sharp and knowing. “Perfect. That’s the look I was going for.”
He stepped in, too close now. Close enough to feel the hum between them.
“Menace,” he murmured.
She tilted in close, her mouth barely skimming his jaw. “You say that like I should apologize.”
His hand found her waist again, holding her there like he didn’t want to let go. He didn’t kiss her—just rested his forehead to hers, holding her like letting go might wreck him.
“Don’t make me wish I’d stopped you,” he said, low, gravel-laced.
Her heart kicked, but she didn’t back down.
“You won’t,” she said softly. “But you’ll be thinking about me all night.”
They stood there for one last breath, then she slipped away. The door clicked shut behind her.
And Gideon didn’t move.
In the hallway, Arden let her spine touch the wall, breath catching sharp in her throat.
She wasn’t fragile. Never had been. But letting him in hadn’t felt like surrender. It felt like armor. Like choosing softness and keeping her edge. Like handing someone the weight of your world and knowing, they’d carry it if they had to.
Downstairs, Penny’s voice echoed by the curb.
But all Arden felt was the imprint of Gideon’s touch.
The door shut behind her with a soft click.
Gideon didn’t move. Not immediately.
Arden’s scent lingered in the air—wild floral, soft and sharp at once. Unexpected. Unruly. Untamed.
The apartment smelled like her.
But beneath it… something else.
Rot.
He scanned the space. Penny’s shoes were near the door, kicked off in a swirl of color. A sweater draped carelessly over the couch. Her presence was loud, unmissable.
But beneath the chaos, it was still felt like Arden’s place too. Clean. Minimal. Intentional.
His gaze drifted left.
The roses.
Dozens of them, wilting in silence. Petals dried and curling like old wounds. Crimson blooms scattered across the floor.
It wasn’t one or two.
It wasn’t love. It was a graveyard.
The mood of moments ago—the heat, the laughter—bled right out of the air.
Gideon stepped forward, jaw tight, the stillness in his body coiled and dangerous.
He crouched and picked up one of the roses from the floor. The thorns, like warnings, had been clipped. The stem clean. Too clean. The petals still perfect.
A warning. Not a gift.
He rose without a word and crossed to the kitchen. Under the sink, he found the trash bags and gathered every single rose: fresh, fading, fallen.
One by one. Methodical. Final.
He tied the bag tight, knuckles pale.
She was out there, laughing. Singing. Finally letting herself breathe.
And here, in the quiet, he was calculating the breach.
He brushed his hand along the counter’s edge, where her body had pressed against his just minutes before.
Then he reached for his phone.
He didn’t call. Not immediately.
Not until the anger had settled low in his chest. Dense. Deliberate.
He looked at the bag by the door. Heavier than it should’ve been.
How the hell had no one seen this?
Christian’s team was supposed to be watching the building. After the shattered window, there were protocols. Surveillance. Coverage. Oversight.
Someone had trespassed over and over—unseen, unchallenged.
His jaw flexed.
She hadn’t told him. He understood that now. The silence wasn’t forgetfulness.
It was fear.
He tapped Christian’s name and waited. When the line picked up, he didn’t pace. He didn’t shout.
“She didn’t say anything. But I’m looking at more than a dozen. Some fresh. Some rotting.”
A pause.
“Find out how the hell they got there.”
Another pause.
“And if your team missed this,” he said, voice low and cold, “I want to know why.”
He ended the call and set the phone down, the quiet click like a final nail.
His gaze stayed fixed on the door.
She hadn’t been gone long, but already the air felt wrong without her.
Gideon was in her space.
Not orbiting. Inside.
Among her things.
Breathing her air.
The boundaries were dissolving.
Sebastian hadn’t expected him to cross the line so soon.
To walk in like it meant nothing.
Like she already belonged to him.
The cameras didn’t catch everything.
Not yet.
But they caught enough.
The way she moved toward him.
The pause.
The look.
That look.
He hated it.
Too soft. Too trusting.
Like she’d forgotten everything that came before.
She was stunning tonight.
Not dressed up.
Set on fire.
Hair down.
Eyes glowing with something dangerously close to hope.
Every detail seared into him.
She didn’t need polish.
She was the spark.
Little Fire.
And now she was walking into the night.
Not alone.
But not safe.
He’d follow.
Of course he would.
And that smug bastard who thought he could contain her?
He didn’t see the blaze coming.