After a moment, she sighs and reluctantly walks around to the other side of the bed. She lies down with her back to me, keeping a safe distance, but I don’t care.
I’ve already won.
Her presence next to me is enough for now.
Lauren
The phenomenon known as the “sunrise effect” is a real thing. One theory is that we’re drawn to sunrises and sunsets because of the calming effect of the blue wavelengths they emit. These colors can slow our pulse, a subtle reaction to the overwhelming beauty. Technically, the sun is white, even though we see it as orange. I know—it's one of those “fun facts” that’s now stored in my mental folder of trivia I’ll never use.
But maybe there's more to it than just science. Maybewe find comfort in the sunrise because it’s predictable—it happens every day, without fail. It’s a symbol of stability, something I desperately needed. I realize this as I watch the sunlight slowly wash over the jagged skyline of Manhattan through Silas Walker’s windows. I never thought I’d witness something so stunning.
My eyes shift between the sun and Silas. He’s still asleep, facing me, his breathing steady. It’s strange how serene he looks, considering the chaos of last night. When I first stepped into his apartment yesterday, I was awestruck. Not just by the sheer size of the place, but by its quiet perfection. For a man so outwardly disheveled, his home was a study in minimalist beauty. Immaculate. From raw wooden logs that served as side tables to a painting that consisted of just two clean, horizontal lines—it was all beautiful in its simplicity.
I remember wandering through his living room while he was in the shower, quietly observing the way everything had been curated with such care. Now, here I am, sitting on his impossibly large bed, my head resting against the headboard, thinking about how different Silas is from what I imagined.
It would be easy to assume this was the aftermath of a passionate night, but the truth is far messier. The night had been filled with panic, fear, and illness. At one point, I was sure I was going to lose him. Helplessness consumed me, and I felt things I wasn’t ready to confront—things that terrified me. I’ve never been more scared. And I never want to feel that kind of fear again.
“Why did your expression change?” Silas’s voice is rough, his eyes still closed.
“I was just thinking about yesterday,” I whisper, hoping the softness of my voice will lull him back to sleep.
“Well, stop it. I liked the other expression better.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “And what was that?”
He slowly opens his blue eyes, lifting himself just enough to meet my gaze. “You looked comfortable, peaceful, thoughtful. And I need more of that, so stop frowning.” He stretches his hand, gently smoothing the space between my brows, his thumb briefly massaging the tension there.
“How do you feel?” I ask, steering the conversation away.
“I was fine until I saw you worried.”
“I’m sorry.” I pause, exhaling slowly. “Everything that happened yesterday brought up memories of my mom. I was thinking about her. I should probably go home for Christmas,” I offer half the truth.
“Why don’t you?”
I shake my head, turning my eyes back to the sunlight spilling over the city. “It’s too much money. I’d rather spend it on her.” Flights are ridiculous now that Christmas is only two weeks away, and with Silas’s condition, leaving him doesn’t feel right. He needs me, more than ever. Silas nods, thoughtful. It’s strange—he looks like he understands what it’s like to be caught between two things when, in reality, he’s never had to choose. The Walkers were always the family that had everything. Everyone at school knew it, but they weren’t the kind to flaunt it—not like some of the others, who always had something to prove.
“I’m going to make some calls,” I say, pushing the sheets off me. “This week, you should only work at fifty percent.”
Before I can stand, Silas catches my hand, holding it still. “The sunrise isn’t over yet,” he murmurs, nodding toward the window. “Can’t we stay here a little longer and talk?”
There’s something different in his voice now—humble, vulnerable, almost ... shy. It’s not a tone I ever expected from Silas Walker. I slip my legs back under the sheets, watching him carefully. “What do you want to talk about?”
He slides further into the bed, resting his head on the pillow, turning his back to the sunrise—the same one he wanted to watch just moments ago. “Tell me about your mother.”
I let out a slow sigh, the weight of the topic pressing down on me. I don’t want it to be like this, but there’s no way around it. I’ve spent years wondering how different things would be if she had a healthy heart.
“There’s not much to say,” I begin, staring at the city below. “She was diagnosed ten years ago, and everything changed after that. My dad became obsessed with keeping her safe—so much so that youcan’t even raise your voice in their house anymore. My mom stopped working, and my sister practically became their parent. And I …”
“You’re the bank,” Silas finishes, his voice calm but with no hint of humor.
I manage a weak smile. “Well, not just me. Emma sends them money, too.”
Silas looks away, his gaze drifting back to the sunrise. The light paints his face with warm hues, but his expression remains thoughtful, as if he's evaluating his entire life in the glow of the morning. “So, what are you going to do for Christmas?” he asks, returning to the topic.
I grab a white cushion from the floor and hug it tightly against my stomach. I always do this when I need a sense of protection, holding on to whatever’s within reach. “I don’t know. Probably just a video call with my family. What about you?”
He frowns, letting out a sigh that mirrors my own. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to travel with this,” he says, gesturing vaguely to his heart. “But if things go well, it’s tradition to spend Christmas at a cabin in the Hamptons with my family.”
