I never looked down. Not at her body. Not at the curves the towel revealed as it slipped.
Just her face. Watching for the moment she'd break again. The moment she'd push me away.
She didn't.
I reached for the pants next. Held them open near her feet. "Lift."
She obeyed.
I slid them up slowly—over her calves, past her knees. When I reached her hips, I paused. Waited for her to flinch. To protest.
She just sat there.
I pulled the waistband over her hips gently, careful not to touch more than necessary. The elastic settled at her waist, and I adjusted the hem so it sat right.
When I was done, I stepped back.
She looked small in those pajamas. Soft. Human. Just Belle. Tired and trembling and trying so hard not to cry that I could see it in every line of her body.
"Lie down," I said quietly.
She did.
I pulled the blankets over her, tucking them around her shoulders the way my mother used to before everything went to hell.
Then I stood there, watching her eyes flutter closed. Watching her breathing even out. Watching her fall asleep in my bed wearing pajamas I'd bought for a version of this I hadn't understood until now.
I didn't leave.
Couldn't.
Just stood there in the dark, wondering when the hell taking care of her had become more important than breaking her.
"Why… why are you being nice to me?" The question floated in the darkness between us.
Soft.
Hoarse.
Devastating.
I went still. Everything in me seized up—chest, lungs, the words I'd been about to say. Gone. My hand hovered inches from her face, caught mid-motion, frozen by something I couldn't name.
The question landed wrong. Hit deeper than it should have. Because I didn't have an answer. Not one that made sense. Not one I could say out loud without revealing too much.
I should be cold. Distant. The man who'd forced her here. The man who'd stripped her choices away one by one until she had nothing left but the contract and me.
That version of Gideon didn't feed her grilled cheese. Didn't kneel on bathroom tile to dry her legs. Didn't stand in the dark watching her sleep like I was guarding something precious.
But here I was.
And I didn't know why.
Belle's eyes searched mine—exhausted, confused, terrified of the answer. Terrified she already knew it.
I looked at her. At the vulnerability she couldn't hide. At the fear and softness and something else bleeding through the cracks.
"I don't know." The words came out rougher than I intended. Raw. Honest in a way that made my jaw clench.
