I want to explain everything, to apologize until he understands. Until he forgives me, if he can.
Oliver scoops me into his arms, his strength carrying me like a shield. My body goes limp in his embrace. I let my head rest against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear. His arms tighten around me, as if he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers, as if I might disappear.
But how could I fall? Not when I have him. Not when he’s holding me so close, with such care, like I’m the most important thing in his world.
His breath brushes against my skin as he adjusts his grip, lifting me higher, and I clutch him tighter, my hands threading around the back of his neck. I bury my face against his warmth, inhaling the scent of him. He’s here. He’s real.
The words he whispers in my ear are a gentle promise. “Petal, I’ve got you.”
It’s not just reassurance. It’s spoken with such sincerity that it makes me breathless. He says it like he would do anything to protect me, and I believe him completely. Right now, I trust him more than anything.
He doesn’t put me down. Instead, he holds me close, shifting as he opens the car door and carefully slides inside, settling us both into the back seat. I stay wrapped in his arms, my head still resting on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath me.
“Sir, your—” The driver’s voice falters, his words dying on his tongue.
“Drive. Home. Now.” Oliver’s command is laced with an edge I’ve never heard before, not from him.
There’s a wobble in his tone, something raw and vulnerable beneath the authority. It catches me off guard, making my heartbeat spike.
The car moves slowly through the rain-soaked streets. I close my eyes, trying to focus on the sound of his heartbeat. It's the only thing I can cling to. I breathe with it, each pulse settling my racing thoughts, calming the tremble in my body. I let myself surrender to the security of his embrace.
In this moment, all I need is him.
As soon as we stop, Oliver gets out of the car and is carrying me toward the house. My head rests on his shoulder, my body too heavy, too drained to resist. I want to tell him to put me down, that I can walk, but I can’t. The words won’t come and, honestly, I don’t think I could stand on my own.
He carries me inside. The familiar scent of his home wraps around me like a fragile thread of comfort. It smells like wood and safety. I don’t know where he’s taking me until the sound of running water reaches my ears.
I open my mouth to ask, but the razor blades in my throat won’t let me speak. He doesn’t let go, doesn’t say a word, just holds me close like I might slip through his fingers if he loosens his grip. Tears sting my eyes again, falling freely.
Why isn’t he angry? Why isn’t he trying to fix the disaster I caused? I’ve probably ruined everything for him. The gallery, his plans, all gone… and yet he’s here, holding me like I’m the only thing that matters.
The sound of the shower grows louder as he steps inside with me still in his arms. The water spills over us, soaking through my cocktail dress and his suit in seconds. But he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t hesitate.
My sobs return, shaking me as the heat of the water seeps through my skin. His hand brushes my hair back from my face, gently tucking the wet strands behind my ears. I squeeze my eyes shut, too ashamed to meet his gaze, too scared of what he might see in mine. I feel like a kid again, unraveling and wild.
The soft press of his lips on my eyelid startles me. Then he mirrors the kiss on the other lid. My breath hitches, the touch so tender it makes my chest ache. He tips my chin up. His lips find mine.
It’s a whisper of a kiss at first, but it ignites something deep inside me. I clutch his soaked jacket lapels, pulling him closer, holding on like he’s the only thing keeping me afloat. The shame, the fear, the overwhelming mess of it all fades under his touch, leaving only the raw need to feel him, to be near him.
As the water cascades over us, his arms stay steady, holding me like I’m fragile but unbreakable all at once. And for the first time, I feel it too. Little Karley, the girl who used to cry alone, convinced she wasn’t worth the care, finally has someone. Someone who doesn’t let go. Someone who stays.
We stay like this—the water pouring over us—until my tears finally run dry. Slowly, with the utmost care, Oliver moves. He loosens his grip around my waist and carefully lowers me until my feet touch the shower floor. His hands remain steady on my hips until I find my balance, water streaming down between us as I stand before him. His hand then brushes over my shoulder, trailing down to the zipper of my dress.
I barely register the sound of it sliding down, the fabric loosening against my soaked skin. His fingers glide along my back, skimming the bare, wet surface with a touch so soft italmost breaks me all over again. When he pushes the straps from my shoulders, the dress slips down to my hips.
I tip my head back and force my eyes open, my movements sluggish but deliberate. His face comes into focus, the dark strands of his hair plastered to his forehead, water trickling down his sharp jawline. He looks like something out of a dream, but it’s his expression that roots me.
His blue eyes are wide and hold me still. They shine with a quiet kind of devotion that steals the breath I thought I’d lost entirely. I reach up with trembling fingers and brush the wet hair off his forehead. My hand lingers, as if taking every second in.
Oliver doesn’t speak, doesn’t rush. His hands return to the damp fabric clinging to my hips, pushing it away with a light touch that stings more than any of the pain I’ve been holding on to. His unhurried care sends a shiver down my spine, not from desire, but from the overwhelming realization that this moment isn’t about passion or lust. This is something deeper, something sacred. It’s him seeing my pain and holding it with me, letting me know I don’t have to carry it alone.
If I thought I understood my love for him before, I was wrong. This moment, here, with him, this is true love. It’s in the way he cares for me when I can’t care for myself. In the way he reminds me, without words, that I’m worth loving, worth supporting, worth being seen.
And just like that, the walls I’ve spent years building around my heart crumble. Washed away by the water streaming down the drain. I stand there, stripped of everything, my dress, my pain, my fear, but not alone. Never alone with Oliver.
He picks up the shampoo bottle, squeezing a small amount into his palm. “Turn around,” he says softly. He gently works the shampoo through my hair. His fingers dig into my scalp, massaging away the tension pounding in my temples. When he rinses it out, he follows with conditioner, with the sametenderness, as if each stroke of his fingers is meant to reassure me that I’m safe.
Once my hair is rinsed clean, I turn around, and he removes his own soaked clothes, adding them to the pile of damp fabric gathering in the corner of the shower. For all the space in his luxurious, oversized shower, we stand so close, it feels like we’re in a world of our own, where the heat of his body brushes against mine.
