Noah woke up in silk sheets.
The room was quiet, too quiet — the kind of silence that pressed on his chest. The curtains were slightly open, letting in soft gray light from the overcast sky.
His hoodie was gone.
Someone — she — had folded it neatly at the foot of the bed.
Noah sat up slowly, his muscles stiff, his head cloudy.
He remembered her voice in the dark, her fingers brushing his skin, the way she looked at him like she owned him. Like she always had.
And he remembered something worse.
He didn't run.
This time, he stayed.
He swung his legs off the bed and rubbed his eyes.
A knock at the door made him freeze.
Then it opened without waiting.
Of course.
Seraphine stood there in a soft gray robe, tied lazily at the waist. Her silver hair was loose around her shoulders, and her green eyes lit up when she saw he was awake.
"Good morning, sunshine," she said lightly, carrying a tray with tea and breakfast. "Sleep well?"
Noah looked away.
She placed the tray on the nightstand and sat beside him on the bed.
"You didn't run this time," she said, voice quieter now. "Progress."
He stayed quiet.
Her fingers brushed his wrist.
"You're still shaking," she whispered. "Was it too much?"
Noah finally spoke. "Why are you doing this?"
Seraphine tilted her head. "Doing what?"
"You show up out of nowhere… You treat me like I'm still your—your property. You make me feel—" He cut himself off.
She didn't flinch. Didn't argue.
Instead, she leaned closer and said softly, "I'm just giving you what you need, Noah. I always have."
He pulled his arm back.
"Don't."
She smiled — that same infuriating, confident, Seraphine smile.
"You say that, but you stayed."
"That doesn't mean I wanted—"
"But it does," she interrupted. "You wouldn't have come here if you didn't want this. You wouldn't have let me touch you. You wouldn't still be sitting here, wearing that confused little face I like so much."
He felt the heat in his chest rise — anger, shame, maybe something worse.
But her hand was already on his cheek.
"I know what you're afraid of," she whispered. "You think I'll break you again. You think I'll disappear again."
He met her gaze.
"Won't you?"
Seraphine's smile faded for the first time.
"No," she said. "Not this time."
He wanted to believe her.
But he didn't know if he could.
Or worse — if he wanted to.