136
The golden light filtered softly through the drawn curtains, casting a warm glow on the edges of the hotel room. But there was no warmth in her. No comfort in the hush of sunlight or the tangled sheets that wrapped around her like evidence of last night.
Yalda lay still for a long time, her limbs heavy with the weight of exhaustion that went beyond the physical. It sank into her bones, aching where no one could see.
Ioannis had taken her apart last night. Thoroughly.
He’d touched her like he was trying to erase every painful memory embedded in her skin. Like he could kiss away her grief, if only he tried hard enough. She had welcomed it. Needed it. The heat of his mouth, the desperate cadence of their bodies colliding in the dark; it had silenced the ache for a while. But it hadn’t cured it.
Now, in the quiet aftermath, the silence felt louder than ever.
She sat up slowly, her back to the headboard, her body was totally spent, she had no energy at all. Her thighs ached, her lips were swollen, her heartbeat dull and sluggish. The hollowness returned like a ghost, more present than ever. She wrapped the sheets tighter around herself, not for modesty, but protection. From the world and from herself.
She felt something, regret maybe. It wasn't the sex with Ioannis she regretted, it was how she had pushed him to be so unhinged last night, it was how she had used him as a means of escape and nothing more.
He stirred beside her with a low murmur, dark lashes lifting from sleep-heavy eyes. “Yalda…?”
She turned her head, her gaze resting on the man who had held her last night without judgment. A man who had given and given, never asking her to be anyone but herself. Even when that self was shattered.
“I want to go back,” she said quietly.
He blinked, rising onto his elbow. “Back?”
“To Greece. To the villa.”
Something shifted in his expression, something caught between relief and pride.
“I don’t want to be here anymore, Ioannis. Not in this city. Not in this memory. I need to be somewhere that doesn’t remind me of him. Somewhere I can be still. Just for a while.”
He sat up fully now, pulling the covers around his waist, his face open and steady. “I understand. This is what you needed from the very start, we shouldn't have let it stretch for so long.”
She nodded. He was right, she knew he had been right all along, she'd known for so long but she had been helpless. Now, she was defeated.
"Time to head back home." He said smiling encouragingly.
"Home..." She echoed quietly. He said it so naturally as though she belonged there.
As if sensing her thoughtsl, he reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. “Our home,” he corrected gently. “The villa is yours as much as it is mine.”
Her throat tightened.
“I feel safe there,” she whispered. “It’s the only place where I don’t feel like I’m falling apart.”
“I know.” His voice was low, rough with emotion. “And I’m glad, Yalda. I’m glad you finally want peace more than the past. I’ve been waiting for you to choose yourself.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She didn’t blink them away.
“I’m so tired, Ioannis.”
“I know,” he said again, squeezing her hand. “So let’s go home.”
That word again, home. It made her feel something, she just didn't know what.
Yalda exhaled, slow and shaky, her body already leaning toward that image: the villa perched above the sea, the endless blue, the quiet. The life they had begun to build before Monte Carlo, before Alexander’s shadow crept back in.
She wasn’t cured. She still hurt. But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was drowning in it.
~~
Yalda didn’t speak much during the ride to the hanger.
She sat beside Ioannis in the back of the black car, wrapped in one of his softest sweaters, her fingers curled around the hem like it might tether her to sanity. Her eyes remained on the window, watching Monte Carlo slide away behind them; its shimmer, its extravagance, its ache. A beautiful place that had felt like a trap from the moment she arrived.
Ioannis didn’t interrupt her silence. He simply sat there, one arm resting loosely on the seat behind her, his presence calm and steady. It wasn't the silence of strangers, it was the silence of understanding. The kind of quiet where someone doesn’t ask because they already know.
When the car rolled to a stop at the private terminal, she hesitated.
“I should feel something,” she murmured, almost to herself.
He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly. “You will. Later.”
“I feel like a coward.”
“You’re not.”
She finally looked at him. “I’m running away.”
“You’re going home.”
Her eyes burned again, but she didn’t cry this time. She just nodded and stepped out of the car, the wind tugging at her hair softly. The sun was bright, too bright for how hollow she felt inside. But the jet waited, and inside, peace was promised. Or at least quiet.
They boarded with few words. The crew moved around them respectfully, as if sensing this wasn’t a flight meant for conversation or indulgence. Once seated, Ioannis gently reached over to fasten her seatbelt, his knuckles brushing her wrist.
“It's all done now.” he said simply.
As the engines roared and the plane lifted off, Yalda closed her eyes.
She didn’t think of Alexander.
She didn’t think of his eyes in that ballroom last night, or the way he'd turned his back on her and walked away. She didn’t think of the way it broke her, again.
Instead, she thought of olive trees. Of the long stone driveway winding up to the villa she hadn’t seen in days. Of quiet breakfasts by the balcony. Of Loki curling up at her feet. Of sunsets that asked nothing from her.
Greece wasn’t just where she lived now. It was where she could heal.
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