It's been four days. Four long, quiet days since he walked away. Since I stood there in my room with my heart wide open and watched him leave like none of it meant anything. And I've been doing everything I can to erase it.
Delete the text? Done. Wash the hoodie? Twice. Push it all to the back of my mind and bury myself in my to-do list? I'm trying. I really am. But his name still lives under my skin, and no amount of work is deep enough to drown it.
I've been spending more time downtown at the studio. Not the family one—my studio. The small co-working space I rented three months ago when I started taking my designs seriously. It's nothing fancy, just two white desks and some pinned sketches on the wall, but it's mine. It's the one place I don't have to be Elijah's sister or Westwood's daughter. I can just be Lyra. The girl with unfinished ideas and too many journals.
I've been sketching more too. My latest pieces are softer than usual. Flowing lines. Exposed backs. Empty spaces. My professor said they felt vulnerable. I said nothing.
It's easier to lose myself in fabric and pencil strokes than it is to think about what I almost did with Kairo. I haven't seen him since. Haven't heard from him. He's gone silent, which should be a relief—but it's not. It's just... heavy. Like he's taking up space without being in the room. And worse, it's making me doubt myself.
Was it just a game to him? A moment of heat? Did he regret it the second he touched the door? Or was I the only one stupid enough to feel something that lingered?
I shake the thought out and bend over my desk, adjusting a pinned sketch on the wall. My phone buzzes, and I check it quickly.
It's Elijah.
E: Just booked my return flight. Thursday night. Can't wait to be home. Bring wine. And real food.
I stare at the screen for a moment before typing back.
L: No promises on the food, but I'll have wine. Miss you.
He's been abroad for three weeks, handling some massive corporate case that made headlines. I've missed him more than I expected to. There's something about his presence that always steadies me—even if he's overprotective, even if he doesn't always see me clearly. He means well. He always has.
And now he's coming home.
Which means Kairo will probably come too.
They're inseparable. Business partners. Family. If Kairo comes here again, I don't know what I'll do. Pretend I'm fine? Avoid eye contact? Pretend I don't remember the way he almost kissed me? The way I wanted him to?
I sit down slowly, heart tightening with the thought.
Maybe it's better this way. Maybe the silence is a warning. Maybe it's a line drawn for my protection. Or maybe… maybe he's just not thinking about me at all.