Chapter 27 Chapter 27
The sun began to sink, painting the ocean in shades of orange and rose-gold. Zarlia leaned against Stetson’s shoulder, her hair brushing his arm, her eyes tracing the horizon. Neither of them spokefor a while. The silence wasn’t awkward — it was thick, full of unsaid words.
The tide whispered against the shore, retreating and returning, just like her heart.
“I used to come to places like this with my grandma,” she said softly. “We’d just sit and listen. She said the sea was honest — it gives what it takes.”
Stetson hummed lowly; his gaze still fixed ahead. “Honest. That’s a rare thing.”
“She was the only one who was,” Zarlia whispered. “The only person who saw me… and didn’t try to change me.”
Her voice trembled at the end, and she blinked hard. The last thing she wanted was to cry again — not here, not in front of himagain. But her chest ached. “I should’ve been there for her, Stetson. I should’ve—”
He turned to her then, catching her hand before she could finish. “Stop,” he said quietly. “You can’t change what’s already gone.”
Tears gathered in her lashes. “But I could’ve—”
He shook his head. “No. You loved her. That’s enough.”
The words were simple, but the way he said them — like they were a truth carved out of pain — made her crumble. A tear slipped down her cheek, and before she could wipe it, Stetson’s thumb brushed it away.
Her breath caught.
“I’m not good at this,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Comfort. Words. Any of it. But I meant what I said, Zarlia. You’re not alone anymore.”
She looked up at him, searching his face for something — maybe for proof that he meant it. And in that moment, under the fading sunlight, she saw it: the quiet promise in his eyes. It was either that or Asher staring at her.
“I don’t deserve that,” she whispered. She didn’t deserve words he didn’t mean, he didn’t like her like she did; she could feel it—he was only doing this, treating her like this because she was Luna.
“Maybe not,” he said, his lips twitching slightly, “but you have it anyway.”
Something in her broke — something she’d been holding together with smiles and jokes and pretending to be fine. She moved closer, almost without realizing it, resting her head against his arm—he was too tall for her to reach his shoulder.
Silence fell again, comfortable but heavy. The wind tugged at her hair, and she tucked it behind her ear, eyes tracing the fading light. She could feel his gaze on her sometimes — brief, fleeting — like he was trying not to be caught looking. And every time she felt it, her chest tightened.
She took a shaky breath, heart pounding. “Stetson…”
He hummed lowly.
“I don’t even know when it started,” she said, her voice small, “but I think… I’m growing to love you.”
The words came out before she could stop them. The moment they hung in the air, her heart froze. She swallowed hard, terrified by her own honesty.
He didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe.
“I know it sounds ridiculous,” she continued quickly, her fingers gripping the hem of her dress, “you barely trust me, and half the time I can’t even tell what you’re thinking, but I just—” She stopped, her voice trembling. “I can’t help it. I feel it. Every time you look at me, or… when you don’t. I—”
Her words faltered.
At first she thought it was the mate bond that made her feel the way she did about him—that made her heart skip a beat, made her nervous, made her want him more than ever—but now she knew it was just him.
He was still silent, his eyes shadowed, unreadable.
Something in her broke. She took a breath, leaned in, and reached for him. Her hand trembled as it brushed his jaw, her lips barely parting — just a whisper of distance between them. She swallowed; she never imagined making the first move but that’s what time with Stetson makes one do.
He stared at her lips, she was certain he wanted to kiss her too, it was written all over his face. With a hand on his chest, she leaned in, intending to close the distance when he caught her wrist and covered her lips with his large hand.
“Zarlia.” His voice was rough, restrained. “Don’t.”
Her heart cracked at the single word.
He stood up abruptly, turning away, running a hand through his hair as if he could tear out the tension knotting inside him. “It’s getting late,” he said, his tone distant now. “We should head back.”
She stared at him, disbelief and humiliation burning her chest. The ocean suddenly seemed colder, the air heavier. “Right,” she murmured, barely audible. “You’re right.”
She forced a small, broken smile and brushed sand from her dress. “I’ll shower first.”
He didn’t answer, and that silence stung more than rejection itself. She turned away before he could see the way her eyes glistened and began walking back toward the beach house, her bare feet leaving faint, trembling footprints in the wet sand.
When she was gone, Stetson exhaled sharply and pressed his palms into his face. A growl rumbled deep in his chest — not from anger at her, but at himself.
“You idiot”, Asher’s voice snapped in his head. “You broke her heart. You saw it in her eyes”.
Stetson clenched his fists. “I had to stop it.”
“No, you didn’t. She was honest — she showed you what you’ve been denying since the first day you met her”.
He shook his head, his voice low. “She doesn’t understand what I am, Asher. What happens when I lose control? You’re only mad for your own selfish reasons. Do you not know she might run away again?”
“She’d still come back. She came back before, didn’t she?”,Asher snarled.
Stetson didn’t respond. He just stood there, staring at the last trace of her footprints fading into the sand. The wind carried the sound of the waves, and for the first time in a long while, he hated the quiet.
Back at the house, Zarlia showered quickly, the warmth of the water doing little to ease the ache in her chest. When she stepped out, wrapped in a towel, she caught her reflection in the mirror — flushed eyes, trembling lips.
She bit back a sob. “Stupid,” she whispered to herself. “You’re so stupid.”
She got dressed in silence, the loose shirt clinging to her still-damp skin. When she finally left the bathroom, Stetson wasn’t in the room. The relief hurt almost as much as the disappointment.
Downstairs, she found him in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, trying to focus on cooking — though the tightness in his shoulders betrayed the storm inside him.
She sat quietly at the counter, watching him. The smell of garlic and herbs filled the air. He didn’t look up, and she didn’t speak.
It was painful — the way they were both pretending nothing had happened.
When he finally placed a plate before her, she smiled faintly, just enough to hide the tears threatening to rise again. “Thank you,” she said softly.
He nodded, eyes fixed on the food instead of her. “Eat.”
She tried. For his sake. But the silence between them was deafening.
Later that night, when the lights were out, Zarlia lay awake listening to the rhythm of his breathing beside her. The room was dim, the moonlight silvering the outline of his face. She wanted to reach for him — to tell him she didn’t regret saying what she said — but she stayed still.
Because maybe she’d already said too much.
And maybe, just maybe, he was fighting not to want her back.