Arden’s chin lifted. “Let her.”
No bravado. Just defiance.
For a moment, Gideon didn’t speak. He watched her. As if she’d become something he hadn’t dared hope for.
“You don’t make anything easy,” he murmured.
“Would you really want me to?”
His smile was slow. Dangerous. “No. I’d hate it.”
He didn’t want easy.
He wanted her.
The moment stretched, pulling tighter with every breath.
The air between them pressed heavier, denser.
He should’ve said something.
But for once in his life, Gideon Blackwell was speechless.
She was it.
The most dangerous thing he’d ever seen.
And fuck if he’d ever let her go.
“You’re chasing approval that doesn’t matter,” she murmured, almost conspiratorial.
His eyes lingered on her mouth, then returned to hers with something unresolved between them.
Her breath snagged.
She hadn’t seen that coming.
Her gaze fell to the table, trying to find something safe to anchor herself to, but nothing felt steady. Not with him looking at her like that. Like he saw her.
All of her.
“I built walls,” she admitted, her voice brittle. “Too high. Too thick. I built them so no one could get in.”
Her fingers brushed his chest, catching in the fabric of his shirt, subtle and reflexive.
“It was survival. That’s what it was. I got good at being alone.”
Gideon didn’t move. But his presence settled, anchored and certain.
She took a shaky breath. “Some people would call it selfish—cutting ties. Leaving them behind like they didn’t matter.”
She shook her head.
“But that life… that wasn’t living. It was barely breathing.”
He said nothing. Just listened.
Present. Anchored.
