46.

The days stretched into a quiet rhythm of stability and newfound ease. For the first time in what felt like forever, Alina allowed herself to slow down. The world was still spinning, responsibilities still weighed on her shoulders, but she had carved out moments of peace between the chaos.

Mornings began with a leisurely cup of coffee instead of a rushed sprint out the door. Afternoons were spent at the publishing house, where the air was thick with the scent of paper and ink, and where Ms. Davenport’s sharp eyes monitored every manuscript with unrelenting scrutiny. In the evenings, Alina would return to her condo, curl up with a book, or sketch out new story ideas. Some nights, she even called Jace just to hear his voice, to talk about anything and nothing all at once.

But no matter how much she settled into her new routine, no matter how much laughter she shared with Jace or how much pride she felt in herself, one thing remained unchanged.

The silence in her heart never went away.

And so, every night, she returned.

It had started impulsively. The first night, she had stood outside the towering gates of Caelan’s mansion, staring up at the cold, imposing structure. The place that had once been alive with quiet murmurs, the rustle of papers, and the distant hum of his voice, was now hollow, abandoned in his absence. She had pressed her palm against the gate, her fingers curling around the iron bars, as if they might somehow bring her closer to him.

Then, one night, she had climbed over.

It was reckless, ridiculous even, but she hadn’t cared. The need to be in his space, to feel his presence even in his absence, had outweighed her logic. The first time she stepped into the empty mansion, the air was heavy, the silence deafening. She had wandered through the halls, her fingers ghosting over the spines of his books, tracing the edges of his desk, standing before the chair where he had once sat, brooding and enigmatic.

And then she had whispered it.

“Please come back.”

The words barely made a sound, but they settled into the vast emptiness of the mansion, swallowed whole by the night. And that was the beginning of the habit she couldn’t shake.

Every night, after finishing work, after pretending she was okay, after telling Jace she was fine, she would find herself here. She would curl up on the couch in his study, burying her face into the fabric that still carried the faintest trace of his scent. She would close her eyes and pretend he was there, just in the next room, just out of sight. Some nights, she read his books. Some nights, she simply sat there, her heart aching with a longing she couldn’t suppress.

Some nights, she cried.

But always, before she drifted into restless sleep, she would whisper it again.

“Please come back.”

She didn’t know what she was expecting. Perhaps nothing at all. Perhaps she was just trying to fill the void, to hold onto something that had slipped through her fingers. Perhaps she was foolish to think that her words could ever reach him.

But still, she kept coming back.

Still, she kept waiting.

\~~~

Caelan stepped into his penthouse, his fingers loosening the first button of his crisp shirt as he walked through the dimly lit space. The city skyline stretched beyond the glass windows, a blanket of lights flickering against the deep night. He exhaled, moving towards the kitchen, reaching for the chilled glass pitcher of water. The cold liquid ran down his throat, momentarily washing away the exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin.

Just as he placed the glass down, his phone vibrated on the marble countertop. He glanced at the caller ID—Will.

He picked up. "What is it?"

"Sir," Will’s voice was steady but laced with something that made Caelan pause. "There’s been… an incident."

Caelan's eyes narrowed. "What kind of incident?"

"Someone’s been sneaking into your mansion."

A beat of silence stretched between them before Caelan leaned against the counter, his grip tightening around the phone. "What?"

"Hope and I have been monitoring the security feeds. It’s not just a one-time thing. Someone’s been entering almost every night." Will hesitated. "They don't take anything. They just... stay there. In the living room."

Caelan’s mind raced, dissecting the possibilities. A thief wouldn’t return to the scene of the crime. Someone looking to damage or steal something wouldn’t linger in the shadows night after night.

"Have you seen their face?"

Hope’s voice filtered through the line now. "Not yet. They move carefully, almost like they know where the cameras are. But they leave just before dawn."

Caelan’s gaze darkened as he straightened. His mansion was a fortress, a sanctuary untouched by the chaos of the outside world. The idea of an intruder—one who did nothing but exist in his absence—left a strange unease coiling in his chest.

"Don't alert security yet. If they’ve been coming every night, I want to see for myself."

"Sir, are you sure?" Will asked cautiously. "This could be dangerous."

Caelan exhaled, already forming a plan. "I’ll handle it."

He ended the call and placed his phone down, his fingers drumming against the surface. Whoever it was—they wanted something. And if they were willing to risk entering his house, night after night, then he needed to know why.

Tonight, he would return. And this time, he wouldn’t be the one in the dark.