I tell myself it’s because he’s here.
The thought follows me out of the bedroom.
I don’t examine it too closely.
I head back to the living room, my gaze finding Elias immediately—on the couch, remote in hand, flipping through channels. He’s changed too, the jeans and button-down replaced by sweatpants and a gray t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders.
I stop short. It shouldn't feel strange. He's been here since yesterday. He's made coffee in my kitchen, cooked dinner, fallen asleep on my couch. And yet something about seeing him there now—relaxed, comfortable, flipping through channels like this is the most natural thing in the world—catches me off guard.
For a moment, he looks like he belongs here.
“You want the remote?” he asks, looking up at me as he holds it out towards me.
I shake my head, moving to the armchair instead of the couch. “You can pick. I’m not really watching anyway.”
He nods, turning back to the screen. The show he settles on is something I’ve never seen—a documentary about deep-sea exploration, all quiet narration and blue-tinted footage. It’s exactly what I need—something calm and predictable that gives me space to breathe. I sink deeper into the chair, letting the tension ease from my shoulders as the seconds pass.
Twenty minutes in, my eyes start to drift closed—the combination of warmth and the bone-deep contentment making it impossible to stay awake. The last thing that registers is Elias shifting on the couch as I drift toward sleep.
When I wake, the room is darker, the documentary replaced by the soft blue light of the television’s screensaver image. I’m still in the armchair, but I’ve been covered with the blanket from the back of the couch—the soft one I keep for nights when the heating isn’t quite enough. It carries Elias’s scent now, layered under mine.
Elias is exactly where I left him, though he’s shifted to the far end of the couch, putting more distance between us without making it obvious. He’s watching something on his phone, the screen’s light casting his face in sharp relief—highlighting his mouth and his eyes.
“You’re awake,” he says without looking up. “It’s almost eleven. You’ve been out for a while.”
I push upright, smoothing a hand over my hair out of habit before realizing it's hopeless. The carefully put-together version of me has disappeared somewhere during that nap. “Sorry,” I say softly. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
He looks up, meeting my eyes. “Don’t apologize,” he says simply. “You needed it.”
“Thanks,” I say, gesturing to the blanket. “For this.”
He nods once, turning back to his phone. This should be the part where it gets awkward. But it doesn’t. I push to my feet, suddenly unable to sit still. “I should get ready for bed,” I say.
Elias nods, not looking up from his phone. “I’ll be here,” he says simply. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I head for the bathroom, my thoughts circling everything that's changed in the last twenty-four hours. Not just what I know or what I’ve learned, but what I’m willing to consider, what I’m ready to admit, what lines I’m prepared to cross. I brush my teeth and wash my face on autopilot.
When I emerge, Elias is exactly where I left him. His phone is face-down on the coffee table. “You can change the channel,” I say as I move toward the bedroom. “If you want to watch something else.”
He looks up, meeting my eyes. “I’m good,” he says simply. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I don’t doubt him. “Goodnight,” I as I turn back towards my room. I'm surprised by how little I want this moment to end—or for this alpha to leave my space.
I close my room door behind me with a soft click.
I slide under the covers thinking about my day. I hear the television click off with a soft beep, followed by footstepscrossing the living room and, a moment later, the creak of the couch as he settles onto it.
He's staying. Not just for tonight. Not just until production wraps or the heat Nadia warned me about passes. Maybe for longer than either of us planned.
The certainty of it settles somewhere deep inside me.
I don't know what happens next. I don't know what any of this becomes.
But for the first time since everything started changing, I don't feel like I'm facing it alone.
Chapter 16
Maya
