Chapter 136

Chapter 136
Anna's POV


The morning of my release, the sunlight was surprisingly brilliant. After signing the final paperwork, the officer handed me a plastic bag containing my personal items—my phone, wallet and keys.

"You're free to go," the officer said mechanically. "Someone paid your bail."

I nodded, knowing exactly who that "someone" was. The image of him visiting me yesterday was still vivid in my mind.

I pushed open the heavy detention center doors, and the bright sunlight made me squint. As my vision gradually cleared, I spotted the familiar black sedan parked at the curb, and him, leaning against the car door, waiting.

Edward straightened when he saw me, walking toward me without any dramatic expression or words of reproach. He simply said, "Let's go."

I nodded, following him to the car. He opened the passenger door for me and waited until I was seated before walking around to the driver's side. The engine's purr broke the momentary silence as we pulled away from the detention center.

Neither of us spoke. The only sound in the car was the gentle hum of the air conditioning. I gazed out the window at the passing scenery, feeling strangely disconnected from this vibrant world. That small detention cell, the gray-white walls, the acrid smell of disinfectant, the cold metal bed frame—all of it had made two short days feel like an eternity.

Now, returning to this colorful, lively world felt somehow unreal. I glanced surreptitiously at Edward beside me, focused on driving. His profile remained strong and defined, yet somehow softer than before.

We crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, sunlight shattering into thousands of golden scales on the water below. The city's hustle, the pulse of life—everything familiar yet strange. I suddenly realized what I had missed wasn't just this city, but the sense of security that came with the man beside me.

June sunlight in New York fell gently on my hands through the window. The sycamore trees along the streets stretched their tender green branches, and in Central Park, people leisurely strolled and picnicked. Manhattan's skyscrapers glittered with metallic brilliance in the sunlight, creating a vivid, living canvas.

The car eventually stopped in front of my apartment building. The engine died, but neither of us moved immediately. My hand rested on the seatbelt buckle, but I made no motion to unfasten it.

Edward broke the silence first, his eyes still on the windshield. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

I glanced at him, surprised by the question. "I... I want to take a shower first. Then go see Helen. I haven't visited her since..." I trailed off, not wanting to mention the detention center.

"I'll come with you."

The words came out so naturally, so decisively, that for a moment I wasn't sure I'd heard him correctly. I turned to face him fully, my mouth opening to respond—to say what, I wasn't even sure. Maybe to tell him he didn't have to, that I could manage alone, that—

"I insist," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. But then, almost immediately, his expression softened just a fraction. "Can I?"

The addition of those two words—the shift from command to request—caught me off guard. Something warm unfurled in my chest, unexpected and a little frightening. I wanted to say no, to maintain whatever distance still existed between us. But the truth was, I wanted his company. I wanted it in a way that had nothing to do with logic or self-preservation.

"Okay," I said quietly, my fingers finally releasing the seatbelt. "Thank you."

As I reached for the door handle, Edward was already getting out. "I'll walk you up."

"You can wait in the car," I offered, though my voice lacked conviction. "I won't be long—"

"Anna." Just my name, spoken in that particular way that suggested the conversation was over.

I didn't argue. We walked to the building entrance together.

We climbed in silence, our footsteps echoing in the narrow space. Four flights felt both too long and not long enough. I was acutely aware of his presence behind me, close but not crowding, protective without being possessive.

By the time we reached my floor, my heart was racing—and not from the climb.

I fumbled with my keys at the door, hyperaware of Edward standing just behind me. When the lock finally gave way, I pushed the door open and stepped inside, immediately hit by the stale air of an apartment left empty for two days.

"Make yourself comfortable," I said, gesturing vaguely toward the living room. "I'll be as quick as I can."

"Take your time," Edward said, his voice gentle. "There's no rush."

The unexpected consideration in his tone made something tight in my chest loosen slightly. I nodded, grabbing fresh clothes from my room before heading to the bathroom.

Hot water cascaded over my body, washing away the detention center's lingering presence. I hurried through my shower, threw on comfortable clothes, and walked out toweling my damp hair.

The living room was empty, but something was different. The scent of butter and eggs filled the air, warm and domestic and completely unexpected. I followed my nose to the small kitchen, where I found evidence of recent activity—a pan in the sink, crumbs on the counter, my cutting board slightly askew.

On the counter sat a simple breakfast: toast, scrambled eggs, and a glass of milk. The eggs were still steaming slightly, golden and fluffy in a way that suggested more skill than I would've credited Edward with. There was something almost absurd about the image—Edwar making eggs in my cramped kitchen with its chipped countertop and mismatched dishes.

"I got hungry," Edward said from behind me, making me jump. He stood in the kitchen doorway, looking utterly unapologetic. "Hope you don't mind that I used your kitchen."

"I—no, of course not," I managed, still processing the scene. "You made breakfast."

"Nothing fancy." He moved past me to grab the plate. "But you should eat something."

"I need to dry my hair first," I said, more to break the moment than anything else.

"I can do it."

I blinked at him. "What?"

"I'll dry your hair." He was already moving toward the bathroom, returning seconds later with my hairdryer. "Sit on the couch. You can eat while I work."

It felt surreal, like something out of a dream I might've had in another lifetime. The kind of domestic intimacy I'd stopped imagining was possible between us. But Edward was already arranging things—moving the plate to the coffee table, plugging in the dryer, waiting for me to comply.

I sat, feeling dazed. Edward positioned himself behind me on the couch, his knees bracketing my shoulders as he gathered my damp hair in his hands. The dryer whirred to life, warm air flowing over my scalp, and his fingers moved through the strands with surprising gentleness.

"Eat," he reminded me, his voice audible over the noise.

I picked up the fork mechanically, bringing a bite of eggs to my mouth. They were perfectly seasoned, fluffy, better than anything I usually managed for myself. The whole scene felt impossible—sitting in my worn-out apartment, eating breakfast Edward had made, while he dried my hair with the kind of care I'd forgotten he was capable of.

This isn't real, I thought, closing my eyes against the sensation of his fingers working through my hair. This is a dream. I'm going to wake up in that cell, and none of this will have happened.

But the warmth was too vivid, his touch too real. The scent of the eggs, the sound of the dryer, the gentle tug as he worked through a tangle—every detail was too sharp, too present to be anything but reality.

When my hair was nearly dry, Edward turned off the dryer. The sudden silence felt thick, expectant. I thought he'd pull away, but instead, I felt him lean closer. His breath warmed my neck as he brought his face near my hair.

"Your hair smells good," he murmured, so close I could feel the words against my skin.

A shiver ran through me, sweet and unexpected. My stomach fluttered, that familiar pull toward him mixing with something newer, more fragile. I stood abruptly, needing space, needing air.

"I should change," I said, my voice coming out higher than intended. "Into something more... appropriate for visiting Helen."

Edward straightened, his expression unreadable. "Take your time."

I grabbed the empty plate—when had I finished eating?—and carried it to the kitchen, then fled to my bedroom. As I closed the door behind me, I leaned against it for a moment, pressing my palm to my racing heart.

Through the door, I could hear the faint sounds of Edward moving around my living room. In my small apartment. After making me breakfast. After drying my hair and telling me it smelled good.

I pushed off the door and moved to my closet, trying to focus on the simple task of choosing clothes. But my hands were shaking slightly as I pulled out a simple blouse and jeans, and I couldn't quite convince myself that any of this was real.