Unraveling him

VIOLET

The door clicked softly behind me as I stepped out of the room.

Leaning against the wall, I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to stop the storm raging inside me. I’d never seen him like that before—so quiet, so… shaken. It scared me, honestly.

The anger, the pain, the guilt—it was all written in his eyes, etched into his every movement. And it wasn’t just about what Luke did. It never was. It was deeper, darker, something he carried inside him like a shadow he couldn’t escape.

The way he fought, the way he pushed people away—it wasn’t just about protecting me. It was his way of coping, of burying whatever had been eating at him for years. And I couldn’t reach him. Not yet.

A lump formed in my throat as I thought about his silence, the way he didn’t even try to deny it. He didn’t fight me this time. But he didn’t let me in either.

And that’s what broke me.

I couldn’t keep standing by, hoping that one day he’d open up. Hoping that one day he’d trust me enough to share the parts of himself he kept locked away. I’d seen glimpses of it—fleeting moments where he let his guard down—but it wasn’t enough. Not when the walls came back up the moment I got too close.

He wasn’t just fighting Luke, or the world, or the people who hurt him. He was fighting himself.

And until he realized that, until he was ready to let me in, I couldn’t do this anymore.

I straightened up, pushing away from the wall. My hands trembled as I adjusted the hem of my dress.

Walking away from him felt like ripping out a piece of my soul, but staying would have destroyed me.

He has to figure this out on his own, I told myself. He has to want to change.

The tears I’d been holding back spilled over as I made my way down the hall. I hated this. I wanted to save him. I wanted to take his pain and make it my own if it meant he didn’t have to carry it anymore.

But I couldn’t save someone who didn’t want to be saved.

I pushed open the door to my room and sank onto the bed. Ashley was gone—she’d already left. It was through her conversation with Ryan earlier I knew. That was how I knew. I hadn't meant to eavesdrop. I was about to go to the bathroom when Ryan's voice made me stop on track. And that was how I pieced everything together.

A ping from my phone jolted me out of my thoughts. It was a text from my mom.

"Hey sweetie, just checking up on you. How’ve you been? I love you so much."

I sighed, my fingers hesitating over the keyboard. Finally, I typed out a reply, telling her I was fine, that everything was okay. It was a lie. I hadn’t told her about the kidnapping. How could I? If she knew, she’d insist on involving the police, and that would only make things worse.

Her work had kept her away for weeks now. She’d traveled with Max—Ryan’s dad. No, he was my dad too now. Mom’s insistence on calling him that echoed in my head. But it just doesn't even sit right given my relationship with his son.

Not anymore

A sharp ache settled in my chest at the thought, and I let out a long, shaky breath allowing sleep to overtake me.

***
The smell of chocolate... warm, rich, and strangely familiar, engulfed me. It was odd—because the only person who’d ever made it for me was Dad. And unless he’d miraculously resurrected, my nose had to be playing tricks on me. But the scent was so vivid, so real, there was only one way to find out.

I blinked my eyes open and slowly sat up, the remnants of sleep clinging to me. Curiosity tugged me out of bed, and I shuffled toward the living room. The trail of the smell led me to the kitchen.

And there he was.

Ryan.

Oh God, no.

The sleeves of his black sweater were pushed up to his elbows, revealing his strong forearms, and the soft hum of a tune I couldn’t place escaped his lips.

He glanced up from where he stood at the counter, a small smile lighting up his face as he spotted me. “Hey,” he said, his voice smooth and uncharacteristically warm. “How’re you feeling?”

I hesitated in the doorway, unsure how to respond. His voice was soft, his expression gentle. It wasn’t the Ryan I’d stormed away from just hours ago. “I’m fine,” I muttered, folding my arms across my chest

“I made you something ” he replied easily, motioning to the steaming mug on the counter. “Hot chocolate. Thought you could use it.”

He picked up the mug and walked over, holding it out to me. “Here. Made it just how you like it—or at least how I think you’d like it.”

II wanted to refuse. I wanted to stay angry, to keep the walls I’d built around myself firmly in place. But the scent was intoxicating, and before I knew it, I was reaching for the mug he held out to me.

The warmth seeped into my fingers as I cradled the cup, and when I took a cautious sip, it was perfect. Rich and creamy, with just the right amount of sweetness. A reluctant warmth spread through me, easing the tension I’d carried since last night.

I hated how good it was. How good he was at moments like this.

He leaned against the counter, watching me. His presence was almost unnervingly calm, as if he wasn’t the same person I’d left behind in anger.

“Thanks,” I muttered, refusing to let the warmth spreading through me extend to him.

He leaned closer. “You know, if you say it with a little more enthusiasm, I might even make you breakfast.”

I raised an eyebrow.“Oh, what’s next? You going to clean the house too? Maybe do my laundry while you’re at it?”

He chuckled, the sound infuriatingly charming. “Don’t push your luck, mouse. One act of kindness at a time.”

I couldn’t help it—a small smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “Kindness? More like guilt. What did you do this time ?”

He feigned offense, clutching his chest. “Wow. No faith in me at all. Maybe I just like seeing you smile.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.
For a moment, it was easy to forget why I was mad at him. The banter, the warmth of the chocolate, and the way he looked at me—all of it made me feel something I wasn’t ready to admit.

But then reality crept back in, bringing with it the reminder of why I was mad at him in the first place. I straightened, setting the mug down on the counter with more force than necessary.

“I don’t get it,” I said, my voice sharper now. “What’s with all this? With the pretense ?”

His smile faded, replaced by a serious expression that made my stomach twist. He set his own mug down and took a step closer, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made it impossible to look away.

“I’m not pretending,” he said quietly.

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words hanging in the air between us. “Then what is this?” I asked.

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as if he was grappling with something he didn’t know how to say. Finally, he took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine.

“There’s something you need to know,” he said, his voice steady but laced with a vulnerability that made my chest ache. “About me.”