I’m not alone.
I blink into the dim light, confusion clinging to the edges of sleep. Then I feel it—his breath, slow and measured against the back of my neck. The rise and fall of his chest pressed against me.
Cameron.
He stayed.
Last night comes back in flashes—the tears I couldn’t control, the panic I couldn’t shake, the quiet hands that guided me back into bed when the dark got too loud.
And now—this.
He didn’t run. Didn’t leave me to spiral alone. He’s still here.
My throat tightens.
It’s a comfort I didn’t ask for and don’t deserve, but it wraps around me anyway, quiet and unwavering. I shift slightly, just enough to glance over my shoulder.
He’s awake.
Eyes open. Watching me, like he’s been waiting.
“You didn’t leave,” I say softly, the words dry and small.
His voice is husky, in that sexy sort of way that flips my stomach. “You didn’t let me.”
For a second, the silence blooms thick between us. Then he lifts a hand and brushes a strand of hair from my face—gentle, careful, like touching glass, and I don’t flinch, not this time.
“I’m used to doing this alone,” I murmur.
“Not anymore,” he says. Like a promise.
“Don’t do that,” I mutter, shifting across the bed like distance will protect me.
“Do what?” His voice is low, confused—like he hasn’t just cracked open something I’ve spent years keeping sealed.
“Don’t act like I matter to you.” I look at him, but not for long. “Maybe it’s just words to you—just something you say in the moment. But to me, it’s different. Ifeelit. And when this is all over, and you’ve had your fill of danger and chaos and me…I’ll be the one left picking up the pieces. Alone.” I turn away. Chin high. Shoulders tense like armour. “Please just go.”
I hear the silence press in around us, heavy with things he won’t say. Maybe can’t.
But I don’t let myself crack. Not in front of him.
I know how this works. Men like him always say the right thing—just long enough to make you believe it. And when they’re done playing hero, they vanish without a sound.
I won’t let that happen again. I can’t.
I’m not like the girl I saw him with on the camera. She had steel in her spine and ice in her eyes. She could handle him. Handle this.
But me?
I’m soft. Breakable.
And I don’t bounce when I fall.
He leaves with a grunt, confirming my fears—I’m right. I’m a target for him to protect and nothing more.
I can’t even deny it—the smell drifting from the kitchen is criminally good. Whatever Cameron’s cooking, it’s working. My shoulders feel lighter, my brain less like a pressure cooker on the verge of detonation.
And weirdly… I feel structured. Mind and body, like someone hit a reset button I didn’t know I needed.
