Seraphina didn’t know how long they stayed against the wall — lips swollen, breaths uneven, their hearts pounding like they were still fighting instead of kissing.

But when Adrian finally let her feet touch the floor, he didn’t step back.

He didn’t hide behind distance or silence.

He just looked at her.

Like she was the first thing in his life that wasn’t a negotiation, a threat, or a strategy.

And that was exactly why he looked terrified.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks flushed.

“I should… go to sleep.”

“You’re not sleeping alone tonight.”

Her heartbeat slammed in her chest.

“Adrian—”

“Not for sex.” His voice lowered, softer than she’d ever heard it. “I don’t want anything from you.” He swallowed hard. “I just need to know you’re near.”

There were a thousand replies she could make. Sarcasm, fury, disbelief.

But she simply nodded.

Because beneath everything — the contract, the arguments, the jealousy — she felt it too.

He took her hand.

Not possessively.

Not controlling.

Just holding it, like it grounded him.

They walked to the bedroom without speaking. The world outside the penthouse could have been burning, and he wouldn’t have noticed.

Adrian opened the wardrobe and hesitated, then pulled out a soft black t-shirt and handed it to her.

He didn’t leave while she changed — but he turned his back, jaw tense with respect instead of restraint.

When she slipped into bed, he stayed standing beside it like he needed permission.

“You can lie down,” she whispered.

Those four words were enough to undo him.

He slid in beside her, keeping a careful space between them — a man who wanted to touch but refused to take. Seraphina turned onto her side to face him. The dim light caught the exhaustion in his eyes, the years of silence he had worn like armor.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” he admitted quietly.

“With what?” she asked, heart in her throat.

“You.”

A beat.

“How I feel about you.”

Her breath stilled.

He didn’t touch her hand — he searched for it under the blanket, then laced their fingers together like someone confessing without words.

“You’re not… supposed to matter to me,” he said. “I built my life on needing no one.”

“And now?” she asked.

He stared at her like the truth was a wound.

“And now the thought of something happening to you makes me feel like I’m drowning.”

Her throat tightened.

He wasn’t asking for comfort.

He wasn’t fishing for pity.

He was confessing failure — loving someone.

She squeezed his hand gently.

“You don’t have to know how to do this. You just have to stay.”

His breath shuddered out, sharp and unsteady.

“I would stay every night if you’d let me.”

She didn’t speak. She moved closer instead, pressing her forehead to his. His free hand lifted slowly — uncertain — and he cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing her cheek like she was something breakable.

Not porcelain.

Not fragile.

Precious.

They lay like that for a long time, sharing silence that felt like truth.

When her eyes began to close, he shifted just enough to pull her against him — her head on his chest, his arms around her like the world could try to take her but would have to go through him first.

He pressed a slow, reverent kiss to the top of her head.

Not hungry.

Not possessive.

Devoted.

“Little Storm,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m not pretending anymore.”

Her fingers curled into his shirt, and he held her tighter.

Adrian didn’t sleep that night.

He watched over her, tracing her back with his fingertips — not to wake her, but to memorize her.

Every breath she took was a promise he didn’t know how to keep yet…

but he already knew he would die trying.