Five years had passed since the explosion that nearly took my life. Five years of struggling to keep up in a world where words often slipped past me, where conversations turned into puzzles I had to piece together with careful observation.
The doctors had called it an auditory processing disorder, a result of years of childhood bullying that had rewired my brain to fear words. My stutter had been the most obvious wound, something I had fought hard to control. With therapy, I had improved—but I never told anyone. Not even Chase.
The first thing I noticed was the blood on Chase’s cuff.
I was curled up on the couch when he walked in, the fire casting long shadows across the library walls. His suit was pristine, except for that single, crimson smear near his wrist. I knew better than to ask.
“Miracle, you’re still up?” His voice was smooth, careful, like always.
I nodded slowly, fingers gripping the edges of the blanket around my shoulders. Words sat heavy on my tongue, tangled like knots I couldn’t undo. I waited for you. That’s what I wanted to say. But what came out was just, “…Late.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Business.”
Of course. It was always business.
Chase walked past me, unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling his sleeves up. My gaze followed him, tracing the hard lines of his shoulders, the way his hands flexed as he poured himself a drink. I had memorized him over the years, the way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he smiled at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
Except—I was paying attention. More than he realized.
“Did Mason call?” he asked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
I hesitated. Mason had called earlier. I had answered, even though I wasn’t supposed to. The words had been hard to follow, but I understood enough. A problem with a shipment. Something about Michael . My childhood friend. The one who always looked at me like I was something breakable. The one Chase never let too close.
“He—uh.” My throat tightened, frustration bubbling beneath my ribs. I knew the words, I just couldn’t get them out fast enough. “S-Said…”
Chase sighed, already turning away. “Never mind. I’ll talk to him myself.”
Something in me twisted. I hated this. Hated how easily he dismissed me, how little he expected me to understand. But that was my fault, wasn’t it? I had let him believe I was slow, that words slipped through my fingers like water, that I couldn’t grasp the weight of the things left unsaid.
For years, that had been true.
But I was getting better.
He just didn’t know it yet.
Chase set his glass down and walked toward me, tilting my chin up with two fingers. “You should sleep, honey,” he murmured. “You look exhausted.”
I was. But not in the way he thought.
“Can I…c-come with you?” My voice was small, uncertain.
His lips curved, slow and knowing. “Not tonight.”
Because tonight wasn’t for me.
I swallowed hard and nodded, letting him press a kiss to my forehead.
Letting him think I didn’t understand.
Outside, the truth waited for me.
I shouldn’t have followed him. I should have stayed wrapped in my blanket, sipping cold tea in the empty library. But something inside me—a quiet, gnawing thing—wouldn’t let me sit still.
Through the frost-covered window, I saw him step outside, his breath curling into the night air. The sleek black car was already waiting, engine humming softly against the silence.
And then she stepped out.
Camille.
I knew her. Of course, I did. She was part of his world, the one I had never been allowed to enter.
Her arms slid around his neck, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered something that made him smile. A real smile. One I had never been able to pull from him.
And then—he kissed her.
Not the way he kissed my forehead like I was something fragile.
No. This was something else. Something deeper. Something real.
I pressed a trembling hand to the window, my nails biting into my palm. The cold glass blurred beneath the heat of my breath, but I didn’t move.
I just watched.
Because for the first time in five years, I finally understood.
