His thumb began tracing circles at her hip—small, quiet ones. A reminder.You’re not there anymore.
“I didn’t have a choice,” she said softly. “If I hadn’t left… I don’t think I’d have made it out whole.”
When her eyes met his, no trace of pity stared back. Only steady resolve.
“You’re still standing,” he said, voice low. “And not because someone saved you. You did that. You made a life out of what was left.”
He lifted a hand to her face, cupping her cheek with slow, instinctive care. His thumb brushed her skin, and the touch sent a quiet ache through her ribs.
“In case no one ever said it out loud… you made the right call.”
She stilled.
The words hit like truth always did—sharp, clean, undeniable.
He leaned in, his breath warming her skin, and pressed a kiss to her forehead—gentle and unhurried. When he pulled back, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at her.
“And those walls you’ve built?” His voice was low but unyielding. “If I have to, I’ll climb them. Scale them. Hell, I’ll knock them down brick by brick if that’s what it takes to get to you.”
Her throat tightened.
She paused, voice nearly lost to the quiet. “What if I never figured out how to let someonein?”
A beat. Then: “You already have.”
God help her.
He meant it.
The air between them was charged—every glance, every breath, somehow tethered to the other.
“That’s what makes this real, Arden.” His hand found hers, threading their fingers together. “You’re not hiding anymore.”
She felt it—his steadiness, his restraint. No pressure.
“Can we take it slow?” she asked. “See where it goes?”
His smile was quiet. Certain.
“We can take it as slow as you need,” he said, voice firm, reverent. “But make no mistake…”
His fingers brushed hers, then entwined.
His voice dropped.
“You’re mine. I’ve known it since the night we met.”
Her pulse skipped.
She didn’t pull away.
Didn’t run.
She stayed.
For once, the space between her and another person didn’t feel like a battleground.
And when Gideon rose and offered his hand, voice low, steady?—
