Chapter 18 Before Anything Else
Coralyn's POV
“What?” he says.
“What?” I echo, my face burning. I can feel the heat crawling up my neck, a manifestation of the absolute mortification swirling in my gut.
“I—” he starts.
“I didn’t mean—” I say, the words tripping over each other in my haste to retract what I’d blurted out. I want to swallow the last ten hours whole, to rewind the clock until we are back to the safe, predictable silence of yesterday.
We stop again. The air between us is thick, heavy with the weight of everything we aren’t saying.
He rubs a hand down his face, exhaling slowly, his fingers dragging against the stubble on his jaw with a rasping sound that seems too loud in the quiet room. “Okay. One at a time.”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid he can hear it, a frantic drumming against my ribs that makes it difficult to draw a full breath.
“You go first,” he says. He’s giving me the floor, but it feels more like a ledge.
I swallow hard, trying to find the place my own thoughts start through the wave of anxiety. “I just… I thought maybe you felt awkward this morning because you regretted it. I convinced myself you were looking for an exit strategy, and I panicked. I didn’t want to be the person holding you to something you didn't want, so I said the wrong thing.”
His brow furrows slightly, a crease appearing between his eyes that I want to reach out and smooth away. “You think I regret it?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, the honesty feeling raw and uncomfortable. “I didn’t know what you were going to say when you woke up. I had a dozen different versions of this conversation playing in my head, and in most of them, you were looking for a way out. And then you left so abruptly and—” I trail off, embarrassed by how small my voice sounds, how much I’ve let my insecurities dictate the narrative.
“I don’t regret it,” he says firmly. There is no hesitation in his voice, no flicker of doubt in his eyes.
I look up at him, searching for any sign that he’s just saying what I want to hear, but his expression is unreadable and steady.
“I meant what I said,” he continues, his voice dropping an octave, anchoring me. “I don’t think last night was a mistake, Cora. I’ve thought about it all day, and 'mistake' isn't the word that comes to mind. Not at all."
My chest tightens, a knot of conflicting emotions tangling in my throat. “But I said it was. I stood right there and called it a mistake.”
He gives a short, almost amused exhale, though there isn’t much real mirth in it. “Yeah. I noticed. It wasn't exactly the highlight of my morning.”
“I was scared,” I say quietly, finally letting the truth out. “I thought you were going to ask me to leave. I thought if I didn't give you an out, you’d have to force one, and I couldn't handle that.”
His expression softens immediately, the hardness in his shoulders dissipating as he leans toward me. “Coralyn. No. That was never on the table.”
The certainty in his voice makes my eyes sting. It’s a level of reassurance I didn’t realize I was starving for until this exact moment.
“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he adds, his gaze locked onto mine. “I just didn’t want to say the wrong thing in front of Zilla. She’s too observant for a kid, and I didn't want her picking up on a tension she doesn't understand yet. And I also didn’t want to rush you into a conversation you weren't ready for.”
I nod slowly, absorbing that. It’s so much simpler than the maze of rejection I’d built in my mind.
“I didn’t plan for any of this,” he continues, gesturing vaguely between us. “It wasn't on the agenda. But I’m not pretending it didn’t happen just because it’s fucking complicated.”
I stare at my hands, tracing the familiar lines of my palms, then force myself to meet his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. There’s no manual for this—for being here, for you, for the way my head spins when you look at me.”
“That’s okay,” he says, his voice a low, soothing hum. “You don’t have to have it all figured out tonight. You don’t have to know.”
The tension in my chest eases just a little, the invisible band around me finally loosening its grip.
“So,” he says after a moment, the silence stretching between us like a bridge. “Last night wasn’t a mistake?”
I hesitate, the old instinct to protect myself flaring up one last time, then I shake my head. “No.”
The word feels small when it leaves my mouth, a tiny spark in the dark, but it’s the most honest thing I’ve said in weeks.
Orion studies my face like he’s trying to read something written between my features, searching for the fine print of my thoughts. He’s not pushing. He’s not crowding me into a corner. He’s just… there. Present in a way that makes my chest ache with a strange, sweet pressure.
He exhales slowly, a long release of held breath. “Okay.”
Okay. It isn't a declaration of love or a promise of forever. It isn't relief or triumph. It’s just acceptance—a quiet acknowledgement of the ground we’re standing on.
Currently
\~~~
Orion’s POV
What was I doing?
The question has been circling my head like a predator since the moment she shook her head and said no.
Not no to me but no to the lie that last night was a mistake.
I’d spent the entire walk to the suite bracing for her to double down on that word, to build a wall I couldn't climb over. Knowing she feels the same should’ve felt like a clean relief.
Instead, it feels like standing at the very edge of a high cliff, looking down into something I swore I’d never step into again. It’s the feeling of control slipping through my fingers.
I look at her sitting there on the sofa, her hands folded tightly in her lap as if she’s trying to hold herself together.
Her eyes are still a little too guarded, a little jumpy, despite the honest answer she just handed me. She doesn’t see the calculations running through my head. She doesn’t see the ghosts of past failures or the mental list of risks I’m currently ticking, making a pros and cons list in my head. The memories of the last time I let my guard down are screaming at me to be careful.
Zilla comes first. Always. That isn't a choice; it's the foundation of my entire existence.
Anything that risks confusing her, anything that might disrupt the stability I’ve fought so hard to give her, needs to be handled with care, precision and intent. I can’t afford to be messy.
I rub a hand down my face slowly, trying to wipe away the exhaustion and the overthinking. “Cora… I need to say something, and I don’t want you to think I’m pulling away or changing my mind.”
She stiffens slightly, her shoulders hiking up just a fraction. I hate that I’m the cause of that reflex. I hate that she expects a blow.
“I like you,” I continue, putting the words out there clearly so there’s no room for her to misinterpret them. “More than I expected to. More than I ever planned for when I saw you honestly.”
Her eyes flicker, attentive and wide, but still cautious. She’s listening for the 'but.'
“But I can’t rush this,” I say, my voice steadying. “Not with Zilla involved. She’s the center of my everything, and I won't move faster than her world can handle. And not with you still finding your footing here. You’ve been through enough shit; you don't need me adding to it by moving at a pace that confuses things.”
She nods, her expression thoughtful, the tension in her jaw receding. “I get that. I really do.”
“I don’t want you feeling like you’re stepping into something messy,” I add, leaning in. “Or something temporary that we’re just doing because we’re in the same house. I don't do temporary.”
Her lips part like she’s about to speak, a question forming behind her eyes, then she stops herself, waiting for me to finish.
“So,” I say, choosing my words with the care of a man walking through a minefield, “I want to take it slow. I don't mean being distant. I don't mean pretending nothing happened or going back to being strangers. I just mean being… intentional. Making sure every step we take is the right one for all three of us.”
A small, genuine smile appears on her face, the first one I’ve seen in hours that didn't feel forced. “I think I’d like that. Intentional sounds good.”
The heavy tension that’s been sitting in my chest since this morning finally eases, replaced by something steadier. Something that feels like a solid foundation rather than shifting sand.
We’re not defining anything tonight.
We aren't putting a label on it or making grand promises we might not be able to keep.
We’re just acknowledging that whatever this is, whatever sparked between us last night, is real enough to deserve our patience.
And for the first time since she arrived, that feels like the right thing to do. It feels like the only thing to do.