Chapter 30 Chapter 30
Emily's POV
I told myself I wasn’t going to bring it up. That I would be rational and professional. That I would treat today like any other day with review notes, prepare tomorrow’s session, and maintain distance. But the moment I stepped into the apartment this evening, I knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Noah was already there, sitting on the sofa with his elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped like he had been thinking too hard about something he didn’t want to name.
The TV was off. There was no games or noise. It was like he was waiting for something or... someone. The air felt tighter, like something unfinished had followed us home. It was suffocating.
I closed the door behind me, slower than usual, my fingers lingering on the handle for just a second too long. “You’re early,” I said.
He glanced up. “So are you.”
I walked past him, setting my bag on the counter, moving into the kitchen because movement felt safer than standing still. “Dinner?” I asked.
“No.”
“Of course not.”
“You’re annoyed.”
“I’m not annoyed.”
“You’re definitely annoyed.”
I opened the fridge, staring at the neatly labeled containers without really seeing them. “I’m focused.”
He let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “You use that word a lot.”
“It’s accurate.”
“It’s convenient.”
I closed the fridge harder than I meant to. The sound echoed through the apartment. I turned around to face him. “Why did you do that?”
He didn’t pretend not to understand. “Do what?”
“At the training center.”
“I asked a question.”
“No,” I said. “You made a scene.”
“It wasn’t a scene.”
“You interrupted me mid-conversation.”
“I walked in.”
“You inserted yourself into something that had nothing to do with you.”
His jaw tightened slightly. “It had something to do with you.”
“And that makes it your business?”
He didn’t answer immediately, nor joked about it, which made it worse. “You don’t get to do that,” I continued. “You don’t get to walk in and act like-like I owe you an explanation.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“You implied it.”
“I observed it.”
I shook my head. “No. You judged it.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is when your tone makes it obvious.”
He stood up slowly, my chest tightened because when he stood up like that with nothing hiding behind sarcasm, it meant something real was coming. “You’re right,” he said.
The words stopped me. “What?”
“You’re right,” he repeated. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
The admission threw me off balance, I didn't expect that. I didn’t know what to do with it. “Then why did you?” I asked.
His gaze held mine steadily. “I told you.”
“That you didn’t like it?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“It’s the truth.”
“That’s not enough.”
“Maybe not for you.”
I crossed my arms. “No, Noah. It’s not enough for anyone.”
His expression shifted slightly to frustration, but not directed at me. It was directed at himself. “I didn’t like seeing you with him,” he said again.
“I heard you.”
“And that’s all you have to say about it?”
“What do you want me to say?” I snapped. “That I’ll stop talking to people because it makes you uncomfortable?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s exactly what you implied.”
He took a step closer and my body reacted before my mind could catch up. I sucked in a breath. “You bring women home,” I said quickly, the words sharper than I intended. “But I can’t have a conversation?”
There was a flicker of something in his eyes that was complicated. He didn’t deny it, he didn't even try to argue about it. That made it worse. “That’s different,” he said.
“How is that any different?” I asked.
“It just is.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
I stared at him. “You don’t get to have double standards.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“You are.”
“I’m reacting.”
“To what?”
“To you.” I was taken aback.
“Me doing my job?” I asked.
“No.”
“Me having a conversation?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then what?”
He stepped closer again. Now there was barely any space between us. My heartbeat was racing inside my chest and my breath hitched. There was tension in the air. “I don’t like him,” he said quieter.
I swallowed. “That’s not your decision to make.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like it is.”
“I’m not acting.”
“Then what are you doing?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“I don’t know,” he said. The honesty should have eased something, but it didn't.
“You don’t get to not know,” I said.
His gaze sharpened. “Why not?” He asked.
“Because this affects me.”
“I know.”
“Then figure it out.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
The words came out harsher than I had intended, but I didn’t take them back. If I let this shift into something else, I wasn’t sure if I would be able to pull it back. I needed to keep this contained.
“You think I’m trying to control you,” he said.
“I think you’re overstepping.”
“I think I’m reacting to something I don’t understand.”
“And that makes it okay?”
“No.”
“Then stop.”
“I can’t.” The words were immediate. And they hit me like a shock.
“What do you mean you can’t?” I asked.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I mean I can’t just ignore it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s there.”
“What is?”
He looked at me. I thought he was going to say it, but he didn’t. He stepped more closer to point that I could feel his heat and my breath caught yet again. Everything else faded away, it was just the two of us.
“You feel it too,” he said quietly. The words sent something sharp through my chest.
“No,” I said, I lied, but it didn’t sound convincing to him or to me.
“Yes, you do.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“This isn’t real.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Then what is it?”
He didn’t answer, because he didn’t have to. Whatever this was... it wasn’t something either of us had planned, and that made it dangerous.
“I don’t do this,” I said.
“Do what?”
“This.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Feel things you can’t control?” I flinched. “Exactly,” he said.
“I’m not-”
“You are.”
“Stop telling me what I feel.”
“Then tell me I’m wrong.”
I opened my mouth but the words didn’t come. This is something that I didn’t want to face. “I’m not doing this with you,” I said.
His gaze didn’t softened. “Why not?”
“Because this isn’t part of the arrangement.”
“Neither was half of what’s happened already.”
“That doesn’t mean we ignore it.”
“That’s exactly what you have been doing.”
“I’ve been managing it.”
“You’ve been avoiding it.”
“I’ve been professional.”
“You’ve been scared.
“I am not scared.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Of what?”
He didn’t hesitate. “This.” The space between us, the tension. My heart slowed down, my hands felt unsteady. I couldn’t look away from him even when I knew I should. “This is temporary,” I said.
“I know.”
“It’s not real.”
“I know.”
“It’s part of a deal.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like it’s something else.”
“I’m not acting.”
“Then what are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. I stepped back, “This doesn’t change anything,” I said. My voice was steadier now.
“It should,” he said.
“It won’t.”
“We will see.”
“No,” I said firmly. “We won’t.”
I turned around and walked towards my bedroom. I'm supposed to hate Noah Harris but here I was starting to feel different towards him. I reached my door and paused for a second before opening it and stepping inside. I closed it behind me, leaning against it. Just breathing. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was part of the plan. It wasn’t one-sided either. This was a huge problem and it was dangerous for me. My hands were still shaking. And I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or the moment between Noah and I. I needed to get a grip and keep a distance because Noah was not my type... or had that changed?