Chapter 168 Chapter 168

Chapter 168 Chapter 168
Aurelia

I don’t know when it shifted. But at some point, being with him stopped feeling like I was stepping into his world. It just felt like ours. I looked at him. And said softly, “I like this version of you.” He glanced at me. “There is no version.”
“There is,” I said. “You just don’t always show it.” He didn’t argue. 

That silence said more than anything else tonight. We stayed like that for a while no rush, no pressure, just the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty. Eventually I leaned slightly closer, and he did too, and the next thing I knew, his mouth was on mine.

The kiss started slow but quickly turned deeper, hungrier. His hand slid under my shirt, warm against my back, pulling me closer until I was straddling his lap. I could feel how much he wanted me, and it sent heat rushing through my whole body.

We didn’t talk much after that. Clothes came off piece by piece between kisses, my top, his shirt, until there was nothing but skin and breath and the low lamplight in the room. He reached over to the side table, grabbed a condom from his wallet, and tore it open without breaking eye contact. I watched him roll it on, my heart pounding hard. That small, responsible pause somehow made it feel even more real.

When he pulled me back down onto him, we both let out a shaky breath. It wasn’t rushed or perfect. It was messy in the best way, our bodies figuring out the rhythm together, hands gripping tighter, mouths finding each other again and again. He felt good. Really good. The kind of good that made me bury my face in his neck and whisper his name against his skin.

We moved like we had time, like the rest of the world had disappeared. Slow and deep at times, faster and more desperate at others. When I came, his arms tightened around me, holding me through it. A few moments later he followed, groaning low against my shoulder. Afterward, we stayed tangled together, breathing hard, skin damp and warm. He pressed a lazy kiss to my collarbone, then my jaw, before finding my lips again softer this time. The rest of the night became something private. Something just for us.

When I woke up later, everything felt calm. Not different, just quieter in a good way. Talon was still beside me, relaxed. No tension in his posture Like he had finally stopped holding something even in sleep. I stared at him for a moment. And thought something simple We didn’t talk about forever tonight. We didn’t need to because we were already building it in small moments like this.

It didn’t start as a fight. It started as a silence that felt slightly off. We were back at Silverridge after the weekend, and everything looked normal on the surface. Same house, same routine. Same version of us that had been building for a while now But something in the air felt different. Not tense exactly, just… heavier in a quiet way.
I noticed it first when I came down in the morning. Talon was already in the kitchen, coffee in hand, staring out the window instead of at his phone. That alone was unusual. He usually moves with intention. Even in stillness I walked in slowly.

“You’re up early,” I said. He didn’t turn right away. Then, "Didn't sleep much.” That got my attention. I leaned against the counter.
“Okay,” I said. “That’s new.” He finally looked at me.

Not tired exactly, just… thinking too much again And I recognized that version of him. The one that doesn’t talk first because everything is still sorting itself out inside his head I poured myself water before speaking again. “You want to tell me what’s going on,” I asked lightly.
He didn’t answer immediately. Which already told me this wasn’t simple. Then he said, "It's not one thing.” I nodded slowly. “It never is with you.” That got a faint reaction from him.

Not humor, just acknowledgment. He set the cup down. “Future pressure is increasing,” he said. I blinked slightly. “That sounds like your life in general.”
“It’s different now," he said. I leaned forward a bit. “Different how.” "I asked." He paused. Then, quieter. “Because it includes you more directly than before.”
That made me go still for a second Not because I didn’t expect it But because hearing it said like that made it real in a sharper way. I nodded slowly. “Okay,” I said. “And that’s the issue?”

He looked at me properly now. “No,” he said immediately, then paused. “Not you.” I exhaled slightly. “Good. Because I was about to get defensive.”
That got a small shift in his expression. Not a smile But something softer He leaned back slightly against the counter. “It’s not about regret,” he said. “It’s about scale.”
“Scale,” I repeated.

"Yes," he said. I waited, and he continued.
“The more stable things become, the more external expectation increases,” he said. “Not just for me. For what that stability represents.”
I frowned slightly. “You’re talking like people are studying us.”

“They are,” he said simply. That made me pause. Because he wasn’t wrong I had noticed it too. Just… not as intensely. He watched my reaction for a second. Then added, "Not in a harmful way. But in a persistent one.” I nodded slowly.

“So what are you actually worried about?" I asked. That made him go quiet again. It's longer this time. Then he said it. “Loss of privacy," he said, simple and direct, no dramatic buildup. Just truth. I looked at him carefully. “You mean people knowing more about us,” I said.
"Yes," he said.
“And you don’t like that.”

“I don’t like lack of control over it,” he corrected. That sounded more like him. I leaned against the counter again.
“Okay,” I said. “But that’s not new.”
“It’s increasing," he said. I nodded slightly. “And you’re worried it keeps increasing.”
"Yes," he said.

A pause. Then I said, "You know I’m still the same person even if people know things about us, right?" He looked at me immediately.
“I know," he said.

“But,” I added. He shook his head slightly. “Not you.” That again, I studied him for a moment. Then said, "Then what is it really?"
He exhaled slowly. “Pressure to structure everything around expectation,” he said.
I frowned slightly. “That sounds like you’re describing your entire life again.”

“It’s more concentrated now.” he said, and I went quiet. Because I could hear it Not fear exactly But awareness of momentum Of things moving faster than pause points, I stepped closer slightly.

“So what are you actually asking yourself?" I said quietly. He looked at me for a second. Then answered honestly, “Whether pace is sustainable. “ he said That landed differently. Not heavy, just real. I nodded slowly.

“And where do I fit into that question?" I asked. That made him pause again. Not because he didn’t know, but because he was choosing honesty carefully. Then he said, "You don’t destabilize it.”