The apartment felt different when Max wasn't in it.
Althea stepped inside quietly, her keys soft against the bowl by the door, and waited for the usual rhythm of home to greet her. The faint buzz of his laptop, the quiet shuffle of footsteps, the low hum of the TV he sometimes left on without watching, it should've all been there.
But tonight, there was nothing. The silence wasn't peaceful. It was heavy. Heavy in the way that pressed on her ribs and whispered that something was wrong.
She kicked off her heels and left them by the mat, her toes curling against the cool wood floor. "Max?" she called softly.
No answer. Her voice got lost in the empty rooms, swallowed by the dim hall light.
Althea walked further inside, passing the living room where the sofa sat neatly, cushions undisturbed. His jacket wasn't thrown over the armrest like it usually was. His shoes weren't by the couch.
She tried the kitchen. No Max. The faint smell of yesterday's coffee lingered, but the counters were clean.
She checked his office. The door was open, but the chair was empty, his laptop closed, the faint blue glow of the charging light the only sign he'd been here at all.
A nervous coil twisted in her stomach. She wandered into the living room and sank onto the sofa. Her hands fidgeted in her lap. She hadn't seen him since he walked out of the party, his shoulders stiff and his words still echoing in her head.
"Don't look at me like that."
She hadn't meant to upset him. She hadn't meant for any of it to spiral the way it did.
The memory of his eyes; hurt, sharp, made her chest ache.
She pressed her lips together, her hands curling in the hem of her cardigan. Lilith brushed against her ankle, meowing softly, as if urging her to calm down. Althea bent to stroke the cat's fur, taking in the softness, the familiar rhythm of life, trying to anchor herself.
The rest of the night replayed in pieces she couldn't seem to stop watching. Max standing there, rigid and raw, his eyes dark with something she hadn't seen before—not anger exactly, but a kind of ache that bled through everything else. Then the way he'd left, cutting through the murmurs of the party like a storm cloud slipping out the door.
She sank onto the sofa, tucking her legs under her, and hugged one of the throw pillows to her chest.
What if he wasn't okay?
He'd been under so much pressure for weeks. The board meeting, the late nights, this reception he clearly hadn't wanted but had endured anyway. And then… Adrian.
Her stomach knotted harder.
She didn't want to think about the way Max's expression had changed when Adrian showed up. He'd looked—no, felt—smaller somehow. Like the air had shifted against him.
Althea curled tighter into the pillow. She hadn't meant to make things worse. She hadn't meant to look at Adrian that way—soft, maybe even forgiving. But what else could she do? He'd apologized. He'd looked… sincere.
And Max had looked like it gutted him.[1]
A lump rose in her throat.
She got up and padded to her room, Lilith weaving between her legs. The soft carpet muffled their footsteps. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Althea stared down at her hands. They were trembling, just faintly.
"Did I do something wrong?" she whispered to no one.
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
Lilith jumped onto the bed beside her, curling into a tight ball. The small rhythmic purring was a tiny balm to the storm in Althea's mind. She buried her face in her pillow, her chest tightening painfully. She hadn't cried in a while, not really, but tonight, the tears slipped out silently. They felt hot against her skin, soaking the fabric, and she let them fall because holding them in made her feel like she might burst.
She turned onto her side, hugging the pillow, her heartbeat loud in her ears. She didn't know what scared her more. Him being angry with her, or him deciding she wasn't worth coming back to.
The sound of the front door unlocking snapped her eyes open. Althea sat up immediately, her pulse quickening. She glanced at the clock. Past midnight. The door clicked shut, followed by slow, uneven footsteps. A soft thud of shoes against the wall. A muttered exhale.
She hesitated for only a second before slipping out of her room. The living room was dark except for the soft wash of moonlight spilling through the curtains. In the shadows, she saw him.
Max was sprawled on the sofa, one arm draped over the backrest, the other dangling toward the floor. His tie was half-untied, his hair messy, and his blazer had slipped halfway off his shoulder. The faint scent of whiskey drifted toward her.
He looked exhausted. Althea's chest ached as she approached quietly. She crouched beside the sofa and studied his face in the pale light. His lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, his mouth slightly parted in sleep.
Something in her softened.
Slowly, almost without thinking, she reached out. Her fingers brushed his hair back, smoothing the strands that had fallen across his forehead. He didn't stir. Just let out a small, tired sigh, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that somehow eased the tightness in her own.
She hesitated before letting her hand drift down to his. For a moment, she only hovered, as if afraid to wake him. Then, carefully, her fingers curled lightly around his, a soft touch that felt like the safest thing in the world.
He was warm. Steady. Real.
Althea's eyes softened as she watched him sleep. He looked different like this. Peaceful, almost boyish, as though the weight he carried in the day had finally loosened its grip.
A quiet flutter stirred in her chest, not sharp or overwhelming, but tender. Like the warmth of a candle in the dark. She didn't try to name it. She only let it be, a small, gentle thing.
She should go to bed. She knew she should. But she didn't. Instead, Althea slowly lowered herself to the floor, the carpet soft beneath her knees, and leaned against the edge of the sofa. Her head rested lightly against the cushion near his shoulder, close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating from him.
For a long moment, she just listened, to the quiet hum of the night, to the gentle rise and fall of his chest, to the way his breathing filled the empty apartment in a rhythm that soothed something raw and restless inside her.
She didn't let go of his hand. Some part of her, small and quiet and a little scared, whispered that if she let go, he might slip away. Like everyone else had. The thought ached in her chest in that tender, almost-childlike way. Like a little girl reaching for a hand in the dark, praying it wouldn't leave her alone.
So she held on, gently but firmly, fingers fitting into the spaces of his as though she could anchor him here with her. Her heart loosened just enough to let the heaviness inside her breathe; as though she had finally caught something she didn't realize she'd been chasing. Somewhere between exhaustion and comfort, her eyes drifted shut.[2]
Her breathing slowly matched his, their rhythms syncing in the quiet living room, as though the night itself was holding its breath for them.
And like that, head against him, fingers clinging to his as if letting go would break her. Althea fell asleep. The apartment stayed hushed through the night, the kind of silence that didn't feel empty anymore.
End of Chapter 46.
[1] Max has spent his whole life in Adrian’s shadow. For one night, he was finally recognized for his own achievements, and he let himself feel proud… only for Adrian to appear and unintentionally steal the attention again. It’s not that Max thinks Althea still loves Adrian, or that he’s jealous in the traditional sense. It’s that her forgiveness, her softness toward Adrian, reminded him of every time he’s felt like the “lesser” brother. He’s not angry at her. He’s scared of being unchosen. Of being the one people leave when someone brighter walks into the room. It reopened his wounds.
[2] It’s an important turning point for Althea.
She isn’t fully aware of her feelings yet, and this moment isn’t a conscious romantic move. It’s a childlike, instinctive act of holding on.
Althea has grown up in an environment where love was conditional and people could leave if she didn’t meet their expectations. Max walking out of the party triggered that fear, and when he finally returned; vulnerable, asleep, and safe, her heart reacted before her mind did. Holding his hand wasn’t about romance, not yet. It was about security. About anchoring herself to someone she was terrified might disappear if she let go.