He hadn't asked about my trip again. Which scared me more than if he had.
Aiden was watching me more closely now. I could feel it.
Little things.
The way he paused at the doorway before leaving, the way his fingers grazed my arm longer than necessary, the way his eyes scanned the room when he walked in like cataloging what had moved while he was away.
I tried to act normal, stay quiet, fold clothes the way he liked, pour his whiskey before he asked, look at him like I wasn't hiding something.
Because I was. God, I was.
That envelope sat behind the hollowed-out copy of wuthering heights, like a ticking clock with my name etched on it. I hadn't touched it since. I didn't dare.
Three nights passed like that. Tension stretched thin across hours I couldn't hold onto.
And then came the rain. Not soft romantic rain, not the kind that slammed against windows like it was trying to get in. The sky cracked open and didn't close for hours. The city blurred behind wey glass, and the lights looked like ghosts.
Aiden came home early. His coat was soaked, like jaw tense, his mood unreadable. I waited the door, unsure if I was supposed to greet him, speak or disappear.
He looked at me for a moment, eyes rimmed with tiredness and something else. Something I didn't want to name.
Then, without a word, he reached out and cupped the side of my face.
I froze.
His thumb traced the edge of my jaw slowly, and his voice came low and quiet. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
I swallowed. "You're wet."
A shadow of smile tugged at his mouth. "Sharp observation."
He left his hand fall and peeled of his coat. Droplets hit the marble like whispers.
"Come here." He said.
I hesitated. Then obeyed.
He led me to the balcony. The rain slammed against the glass beyond it, but we stayed inside, cocooned in shadows and warm air and silence.
Aiden poured a drink. Only one. Handed it to me.
Gosh, I really hoped it wasn't acoholic.
I took it, my fingers brushed his and the warmth made me flinch.
"I thought we could talk," he said.
That set every nerve in my body on edge. "About what?" I asked carefully.
He sat, stretching out like he belonged in every inch of the space. His eyes held mine.
This guy probably isn't understanding the weather. God, I was so cold! Like, give me a f**king break man!
"You."
I stiffened. "What about me?"
"You've been quiet. Quieter than usual. Like you're thinking too much."
His head tilted, eyes narrowing slightly. "Should I be worried?"
The drink shook in my hand. Just a little.
"No," i said softly. "I just… there's a lot in my head lately."
"Like?"
I bit my lip. "What happens to us. Where this ends. If I'll ever feel normal again."
Aiden's expression shifted, barely. But enough.
He stood slowly, walked over, and took the glass from me. Set it down on the table without breaking eye contact.
Then he touched my waist, softly. Like he wasn't the one I was afraid of.
"Do you think I don't think about that too?" He said.
I blinked. "Do you?"
"Every night."
He leaned in, and my breath caught.
There's a version of this where you stop being afraid of me, Cait." He whispered. "Where you stop thinking I'm your prison."
I couldn't breathe.
"Is this what you want?" I whispered back.
He didn't answer. His hand slid up my arm, then curled around the back of my neck. I shivered, but not entirely from fear.
His forehead pressed against mine. And for a second, there was no war. Just heat. Just breath. Just the horrible ache of wanting something you're not allowed to want.
Then his lips brushed mine. Barely, a flicker, a pause, a promise.
And I kissed him back. Just once.
Gosh! This version of Caitlin was purely a fool. But what could I have done, anyway?
Maybe I responded because, I was tired of being afraid, because part of me missed being touched, because part of me –the wrong part– still wanted to be wanted by him.
When I pulled back, my heart was hammering against my ribs.
His eyes burned into mine.
"You don't belong to anyone else," he murmured.
I didn't respond. I couldn't.
But later that night, when he finally fell asleep, beside me, I sat at the edge of the bed in the dark. The taste of him still on my lips. The plan still whispering in my head. And I realized something that almost broke me.
If I don't run soon… I wasn't sure I'd want to.
The next morning, Sophia's message came through the calendar app.
Event moved. Reschedule ASAP. Priority.
That meant she knew.
I stared at the screen, nausea twisting in my gut.
She knew I kissed him. She always knew. But how?