Chapter Twenty-Seven — Show Up & Stay
(Sienna's pov)
The city lights spilled into my apartment like liquid gold, cutting through the shadows of my tear-streaked living room. I sat curled on the couch, blanket clutched to my chest, eyes red and swollen. Ice cream long abandoned, phone buzzing relentlessly beside me. Social media was still a storm.
Ember had been relentless all evening, pacing, fussing, trying to "cheer me up" like some over-caffeinated guardian angel. But finally, after I snapped at her for the tenth time, she relented.
"Fine. Fine, you two need a private meltdown. I get it," she huffed, gathering her stuff. "Call me when you stop crying, okay? Or when you throw a dish at him. Either way."
I didn't answer. I barely even registered her leaving. The door clicked, and suddenly, silence settled in. Only my quiet, ragged breaths filled the apartment.
Then — a knock.
I froze, heart thundering.
No. He's not here. He wouldn't… right?
Another knock. Firm. Insistent.
I stumbled to the door, trembling, and opened it.
There he was. Axel. Dressed casually, dark jeans and a soft shirt, hair slightly mussed as if he'd run his hands through it a thousand times in anticipation. His eyes, usually smoldering with mischief, were wide and frantic, scanning me like he could see every broken piece.
"Pretty girl…" His voice was low, raw, almost pleading. "I saw… I saw everything. I need you to know—"
I couldn't stop the sob that broke from me. He froze for a heartbeat, then stepped forward carefully.
"Hey, hey…" he murmured, wrapping his arms around me gently. His chest pressed against mine, warm, solid, grounding. The world fell away, leaving only him, only us.
"I… I saw the photos. The headlines… everyone's saying…" My voice cracked, tears spilling faster. "I don't… I don't know what to think anymore."
Axel's hands cupped my face, thumbs brushing against my cheeks, wiping away tears. "Pretty girl. Look at me."
I forced my gaze up, blinking against the tears. His dark eyes were full of intensity, honesty, and something impossibly soft that made my chest ache.
"They're lies," he said firmly. "Do you hear me? Lies. The photo? It's just a photo. Out of context. Nothing happened. Nothing. And you… you're the only one I want. The only one I see. Always."
I trembled against him, letting my forehead rest against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, grounding, and slowly, the tight knot in my chest began to loosen.
"I… I feel like the world is tearing us apart," I whispered, voice muffled against his shirt.
"And it's trying," he admitted softly. "But I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Not for tabloids, not for Anna, not for anyone. Pretty girl… I'm yours. Only yours."
I let out a shaky laugh, burying my face into his chest. "You're impossible."
"Exactly," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my head. "And that's why you love me."
For the first time in what felt like forever, the chaos outside — cameras, viral clips, angry fans — didn't exist. There was only the quiet, the warmth, the whispered pretty girls, and the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my ear.
We stayed like that for a long while, tangled together on my couch, letting the world rage beyond the walls. The scandal, the photos, the rumors — nothing mattered as long as he was here.
Finally, when my sobs had slowed and my chest had stopped aching, he pulled back slightly, eyes searching mine.
"You still trust me?" he asked quietly.
I nodded, a small, trembling smile breaking through. "Always. But I still hate tabloids."
He chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand of midnight-blue hair from my face. "Pretty girl… you're impossible too. But I love you. Always."
And in the soft glow of my apartment, with the city lights spilling over us, I believed him.
Because despite the headlines, the viral chaos, and the world watching, we were ours. Private, messy, real. And that was all that mattered.