Arden turned to grab two glasses from the cabinet. She needed something to do—something to keep from reaching for him. He was watching her like a predator watches a flicker of movement—calm, alert, focused.
Thread by thread, her composure began to unravel.
He broke the silence first. “Nice place.”
She glanced back. “You sound surprised.”
“I’m not,” he said. “Just wasn’t expecting…”
She narrowed her eyes. “Expecting what?”
He didn’t answer. Not right away.
He readthe apartment the way he read her—slow, sharp, thorough. fingers tapped once, twice on the counter, then stopped.
His gaze had landed on the rose.
The shift was subtle, so subtle, Arden almost missed it.
But when she turned back to face him, his expression had changed. Hardened. Something cold had slipped beneath the surface, and the tension in the room tilted.
A chill moved through him. Slow. Coiled.
At first, it was the single bloom on the counter, its petals pristine, waiting for admiration. But his gaze tracked the rest—roses by the door, stems stacked carelessly, petals bruised and wilting.
Some fresh.
Some not.
Something clicked.
His breath stayed even, but the quiet way his body tensed told her he’d seen it for what it was. This wasn’t one gesture. This was a pattern.
It was deliberate.
Gideon’s expression hardened. Not anger, but concern. Sharp. Furious. Controlled.
“You’ve been getting these.”
It wasn’t a question.
Arden’s fingers drifted toward the counter, but didn’t touch the petals. She hovered, avoiding them, like that would make them disappear.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “Some weirdo with a flower budget and too much time to kill.”
But the words rang false, even in her own ears.
He closed the distance between them.
“One rose might be nothing,” he said. His gaze cut to the door.
“But that? That’s not nothing.”
His eyes met hers. Steady. Burning.
“How long?” he asked. Quiet. That restrained edge in his tone should have soothed her, but it didn’t.
“It’s—” she faltered. Her gaze dropped. “A while.”
