Alexander read her message once.
Then again.
And again.
Each word landed carefully but they cut deeper than any accusation ever could.
I won't be kept in the dark.
I need to know who you are.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of the city outside his window reminding him that the world never really slept not the one he came from.
Honesty.
He had promised himself that word once. Long ago. Before lines blurred. Before decisions had consequences that could never be undone.
His jaw tightened.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he murmured to the empty room.
Images surfaced uninvited rooms he no longer visited, names he never spoke, choices made in moments where there had been no room for mercy. He had learned early that survival sometimes demanded things that stained the soul quietly, permanently.
Things that didn't wash off.
He closed his eyes.
Eliora's face replaced it all.
Her laughter.
Her warmth.
The way she believed in goodness so naturally, like the world had never taught her otherwise.
She was still untouched by that kind of darkness.
She's too little for this, he thought not in age, but in spirit.
Too gentle. Too human.
How could he tell her that his hands had done things meant only for nightmares?
That there were doors he could never open again, because what waited behind them would never forgive him?
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
"If I tell you everything," he whispered, "you won't sleep the same again."
And he couldn't be the one to do that to her.
Not when she still looked at him like he was safe.
Across the city, Eliora sat curled on the edge of her bed, knees drawn tightly to her chest as though she could fold herself small enough to escape the ache pressing against her ribs. The room was too quiet, the kind of silence that rang loudly in the ears. The soft glow from the lamp painted golden shadows on the walls, but none of it warmed her. She kept replaying the way he had left hurried, conflicted, torn between duty and desire wondering if love was always meant to feel like this: unfinished sentences and doors closing too softly.
Her phone lay beside her, face down. She told herself she wouldn't look at it again. That she wouldn't hope. Yet hope clung to her anyway, stubborn and fragile.
Minutes later maybe an hour, she wasn't sure the screen lit up.
A message.
Her breath caught before she even read it.
My little bun,
I didn't leave because I wanted to.
I left because I had to.
And I swear to you, hurting you is the one thing I never want to do.
Her eyes burned instantly. Tears slipped down her cheeks, slow and silent, soaking into the fabric of her sleeve as she pressed it to her mouth to keep from breaking apart completely. He always found a way to soften her edges, even from afar. Always knew the words that made her feel seen and held, even when he wasn't there.
She typed a reply… deleted it. Typed again. Deleted that too.
Instead, she pulled the blanket tighter around herself, clutching the phone to her chest like it could carry his heartbeat through the city, through the distance, through everything he refused to say out loud.
And somewhere deep inside her, she realized something had already shifted.
She was afraid but she was still his.
Morning arrived gently, almost apologetically.
Eliora woke to pale light slipping through the curtains, brushing her face in thin, fragile lines. For a few seconds, she didn't move. She stayed exactly the way she had fallen asleep curled on her side, phone clutched loosely in her hand, the weight of the night still sitting heavy on her chest.
Her eyes drifted to the screen.
His message was still there.
My little bun… I never want to hurt you.
She read it again. And again. Each time, the words softened her and wounded her all at once. They felt like a promise and a warning wrapped together.
She sat up slowly, letting the blanket slide off her shoulders. The room felt colder in daylight, stripped of the warmth she'd imagined the night before. Everything looked too ordinary for how much her heart was carrying. The chair by the window. The mirror across the room. The quiet hum of the city waking up without asking if she was ready.
She walked to the mirror.
Her reflection startled her a little. She looked… changed. Not broken. Just different. Her eyes held something deeper now something that hadn't been there before. Love, yes. But also awareness. Questions she hadn't known how to ask yet.
She pressed her fingers lightly against the glass, as if the girl staring back at her might have answers.
What are you walking into?
And why does your heart still choose him?
Her phone buzzed again.
Not a call. Just another message.
I hope you slept, even a little,
I'll explain everything one day.
Just… not yet. You're too precious for the ugliness of my world.
That word precious made her chest tighten.
She sat back on the bed, pulling her knees up, resting her chin on them. Part of her wanted to demand answers. To tell him she wasn't fragile glass, that she could handle the truth. Another part of her quieter, softer felt protected by the way he held pieces of himself back, like he was shielding her from a storm she hadn't seen coming yet.
Across the city, Alexander stood at his window, suit jacket still undone, eyes dark with exhaustion. He hadn't slept at all. The sunrise reflected off glass and steel, painting the world in gold, but none of it reached him. His thoughts were only with herwondering if she was awake, if she was hurting, if she hated him a little for leaving.
He clenched his jaw.
I'd burn the whole world before I let it touch you, he thought.
But some fires… I can't let you see yet.
Back in her room, Eliora finally typed a reply.
I'm still here.
Just… scared.
She stared at the message for a long moment before sending it.
When the read receipt appeared almost instantly, she felt something steady her from the inside out.
The day had begun.
And with it, the quiet understanding that whatever lay ahead truths, danger, distance neither of them was walking away.
Not yet.