“Shay and I went to the same school for a while. We weren’t close, but… she was kind.” Sadie’s voice gentles. “She lookedsafein that photo. Happy. Loved. And I thought maybe—just maybe—she’d believe me.”
A tiny laugh escapes her—brittle, self-deprecating.
“Shay sent me to Marlie. Marlie sent me to the auction. And the universe sent me”—her eyes rise to mine—“you.”
Something shifts under my ribs. Something as heavy as a promise.
She’s trembling now. Barely noticeable—unless you’re watching her as closely as I am.
“That’s the whole story, Wyatt,” she whispers.
I nod. Not because the story is finished, but because I understand what she’s really offering.
Herlife.
Herfear.
Hertrust.
“You’re safe,” I tell her quietly. “Not because you ran. Not because Shay sent you here. Not because of the auction.” I shake my head. “You’re safe because you’re with me.”
Sadie exhales shakily, as if the words cost her something to receive.
“That woman—your stepmother—she doesn’t get to write the rest of your story.” I lean forward slightly. “And she’s not stronger than what we have here.”
Sadie lifts her chin. There’s steel under the softness. “I know that now.” She hesitates, then: “Why were you at that auction, Wyatt? Was it really just to fulfill a favor?”
I won’t lie to her.
I meet her eyes. “I didn’t go looking for this, Sadie. But the second I saw you—saw the way you watched the exits, the way you stood there without flinching—I felt it.” I shake my head slowly. “Not pity. Not an urge to save you. Just… recognition.”
Her lips part. Shock, denial, and hope flicker through her expression like storm light.
“You,” I finish.
Yeah. That lands.
She blinks rapidly, chest rising unsteadily. She’s not used to being wanted for anything but what she can provide, or what she knows.
“Sadie,” I murmur, “you were strong before I ever stepped in. But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she shifts hesitantly, closing the gap between us inch by careful inch. When her shoulder brushes mine, she goes still, like she’s waiting to be told she’s misread the moment.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe.
Finally, her body leans into mine. Her temple presses against my shoulder. My arm moves around her carefully, like if I touch her too fast, the spell will break.
She melts. Not dramatically. Not fully. Enough to tell me she’s letting me in.
She fits against me. Completely. Like she was built for this exact place beneath my arm, above my heart.
Her breath shivers against my shirt. “I don’t…” She stops. Starts again. “I haven’t had much of this. People. Affection. Not since I was a kid.”
I tighten my hold. Not trapping. Supporting. “You don’t have to explain,” I say softly.
“No,” she whispers, lifting her face, “I do. Because I don’t know how to be this. I don’t know how to be close. Or ask for what I want.”
She swallows. Hard. “But… I want you to kiss me.”
