Elias's POV
The house was too quiet that evening.
Mr. and Mrs. Vale had gone out for dinner with the Andrews, and I'd been asked to stay behind—to watch the house. Beckett Vale trusted me enough to leave his daughter under my supervision. That should've been an honor.
But tonight, it felt like a punishment.
Ariana was the only one at home. The precious heiress, they called her, the one I was sworn to protect. I'd guarded her for a long time—stood behind her at events, followed her to school, kept the world from touching her. But somewhere along the line, I'd forgotten that I wasn't supposed to want to touch her either.
I hadn't been able to face her properly since that night. The memory still burned at the back of my mind—the closeness, the mistake, the silence that followed. She'd gone back to pretending nothing had happened, her composure perfect as always. But I could see through it. I always could.
She acted so strong, so composed, but something in her eyes had changed. It was smaller now—quieter. Almost tired.
I tried to ignore it. I told myself I was imagining things.
But this morning, at breakfast, I saw the truth written all over her face.
Mr. Vale had answered a call—a business tone in his voice, short and clipped. Ariana had gone still the moment he hung up. Just that quiet way she folds into herself when something hurts.
I should've asked what was wrong.
But what right did I have?
I'm just a bodyguard. That's what I remind myself every day.
So why does it hurt when she hurts? Why does it matter so much what she feels, or whether she looks at me?
I checked the security feeds again, pretending to be busy, but my eyes kept drifting to the monitor showing her window. Light spilled softly from her room, the curtains half-drawn. I could see her silhouette moving slowly, her head bent over something.
Was she studying? Writing? Or just lost in thought again?
The thought crossed my mind before I could stop it. Should I go to the balcony?
That was our thing.
When she couldn't sleep, she'd step outside, barefoot, and I'd be there on patrol. We'd talk about nothing—the stars, the city lights, how she loved seafood. Little things that made me forget who I was.
But now? After that night?
Going to her balcony would be a mistake. A dangerous one.
Still, the longer I stood there, the heavier my chest felt.
Oh, screw it. I'm going.
The air outside was cool. My footsteps were soundless on the stone tiles. I paused under her balcony, hands in my pockets, heart pounding like I was doing something criminal. Maybe I was.
I climbed up carefully.Through the window, I saw her sitting on the bed, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. She was staring at her phone—focused, serious, almost anxious. Then I knocked softly on the glass.
Her head snapped up. For a second, panic flashed across her face. She quickly turned off the phone and placed it on the bed, almost like she was hiding it.
I frowned. What was she hiding?
"Can I come in?" I asked. My voice sounded calmer than I felt.
She hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly. Then she sighed. "Sure."
I stepped inside quietly, shutting the window behind me. For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched like a thread about to snap.
"I…" I started, then stopped.
She crossed her arms and looked at me. "Go on."
"I wanted to apologize. For that night."
Her lips parted slightly. Her eyes softened for half a second, then hardened again.
"Apologize?" she repeated, her voice trembling just enough to betray her calm. "For disappearing? For pretending it didn't happen? Which part are you sorry for, Elias?"
I froze.
She stood from the bed and took a step closer. Her face was wet before I even realized she was crying.
"You think I don't notice when you avoid me?" she said, her voice breaking. "You think I don't see you turn away every time I walk into the room? You act like I'm some assignment you can file away, but I'm not."
I took a step forward, instinctively. "Ariana—"
"No, don't. Don't say my name like that."
Her hand shook as she wiped her tears. "You think I don't know what this is? You care, but you're too scared to admit it. And I'm the fool for thinking you ever could."
Her words hit harder than I expected.
I wanted to tell her she was wrong—that I did care, more than I should—but what good would that do?
Still, the words slipped out. "You're not a fool. You're… everything I can't have."
Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, neither of us moved. The space between us felt fragile, like one breath could shatter it. I didn't mean to reach for her, but I did. My hand brushed her arm, light as air.
Her breath caught.
"Elias…" she whispered, almost like a warning.
I should've stepped back. I didn't.
Instead, I leaned in slightly—close enough to see the shimmer in her eyes, close enough to feel the heat of her skin.
Her eyes fluttered shut for half a second, and that was all it took. The pull between us tightened. For a brief, dangerous moment, we were both standing on the edge of something we couldn't take back.
Then she exhaled sharply and stepped away.
"Stop," she said, her voice shaking. "Please. I can't do this."
I froze, hands dropping to my sides.
She turned her face away, tears streaming again. "You should go, Elias."
I hesitated. Every part of me wanted to stay—to explain, to hold her, to tell her that she wasn't imagining any of it. But I knew she was right. Staying would only make things worse.
So I nodded slowly. "I'm sorry," I said again.
She didn't answer. She just stood there, staring at the floor, her shoulders trembling.
I left the room quietly, closing the window behind me.
. I leaned against the balcony wall, breathing hard. My hands were still trembling. I stared at the stars—silent witnesses to a mistake I couldn't undo.
What the hell was I thinking? Why did I go to her?
Did I really believe I could talk without feeling anything?
I was supposed to protect her, not want her.
But every time I tried to remind myself of that, I remembered the look in her eyes—the one that said she wanted me to stay, even as she pushed me away.
Maybe going to her was a bad idea. Maybe it ruined everything we still had left.