Chapter 150: The Answer She Wouldn't Ask For

Grayson didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied me with that infuriatingly calm expression of his, the kind that always made me feel as though he was reading every thought I was desperately trying to hide. The sounds of the party drifted faintly behind us, muffled by distance and the steady rhythm of the harbor waves. For several long seconds, neither of us spoke. Then, very quietly, he tilted his head.

"What answer do you want me to give?" I blinked. "...What?"

"You heard me." His voice remained gentle, but there was unmistakable curiosity behind it now. "What do you want to hear, Liela?" My mouth opened, then immediately closed again. That wasn't how this conversation was supposed to go. He was supposed to answer the question. Instead, somehow, he'd handed it back to me.

I frowned. "I asked first."

"I know." "Then answer."

"After you answer mine."

He folded his arms loosely. "What answer are you hoping for?" I stared at him in disbelief. "You're negotiating?"

"I'm asking."

"You're absolutely negotiating." A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Occupational hazard."

I looked away toward the dark water, pretending it had suddenly become fascinating. It hadn't. It was just significantly easier to look at than Grayson Hale.

"I don't..." I began before stopping myself. "I don't care what the answer is." The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. They sounded hollow. Even I didn't believe them. Grayson certainly didn't. "You don't?" he asked quietly.

"No."

"Then why ask?" I hesitated. "Curiosity."

"Curiosity."

"Yes."

"You left your own conversation, walked halfway out of my birthday party, stood outside alone looking for a taxi, and the first serious question you ask me is about Camilia..." He paused just long enough to let that sink in. "...because you're curious?" I folded my arms defensively. "People are allowed to be curious."

"They are."

"Exactly."

"Most people don't look heartbroken while asking curiosity questions." My head snapped toward him. "I do not look heartbroken."

"No?"

"No." He nodded once. "Then I've apparently become very bad at reading people." I didn't know whether to be offended or alarmed by how calmly he'd dismantled my excuse.

"I overheard people talking," I admitted after another long silence, choosing each word carefully. "That's all." His expression remained unreadable. "Talking about?"

I sighed. "You already know."

"I'd rather hear you say it." Of course he would. Why was he always so frustratingly patient?

"They were..." I searched for the least embarrassing wording possible. "...making assumptions."

"About?" I rubbed my forehead. "You and Camilia." He remained silent, waiting. I continued before I could lose my nerve. "They said you looked perfect together." Another pause. "They said they'd always expected..." I cleared my throat awkwardly. "...that eventually..." I made a vague gesture with my hand. "Eventually?" he prompted. "That you'd end up together." The words came out in one rushed breath. "Happy?"

"Not particularly." I frowned.

"Why not?"

"Because you still haven't told me why that bothered you."

"It didn't bother me." The lie arrived so quickly it practically tripped over itself. Grayson actually laughed. Not loudly. Just one short, disbelieving laugh. "Liela."

"It didn't."

"You've been avoiding eye contact for the last five minutes."

"I'm looking at you right now."

"After staring at the pavement, the road, three taxis, a lamppost, and the harbor." I immediately glanced toward the harbor again out of pure instinct. "...That doesn't count."

"Thank you for proving my point."

I let out a frustrated groan. "You're impossible."

"Probably."

"Extremely irritating."

"Frequently."

"Do people tell you that often?"

"Mostly you." Despite everything, despite the tightness still lodged in my chest, I felt the smallest smile trying to appear. I suppressed it immediately. "Don't change the subject."

"I'm not." He took one slow step closer, though he still left enough space between us that I didn't feel cornered. "I'm trying to understand why complete strangers discussing my friendship with Camilia made you walk out of my birthday."

I swallowed carefully. Because that was the problem, wasn't it? I couldn't tell him the truth. I couldn't admit that hearing those whispers had hurt. I couldn't confess that watching him stand beside Camilia while everyone talked about how perfectly they fit together had made something inside me crack. I couldn't say that every comment had reminded me of those wealthy women judging my dress, my gift, my place in that room.

Most of all, I couldn't admit that I'd spent the last hour feeling painfully, embarrassassingly jealous. So I reached for the safest answer I could find. "I just..." I shrugged lightly. "Thought maybe people were right."

He frowned. "About what?"

"About the two of you making sense." The sentence came out quieter than I'd intended. "You've known each other forever. You understand each other's world. You're comfortable together." I forced an indifferent smile that fooled absolutely no one. "It seemed like a reasonable observation."

Grayson watched me for several long seconds, his expression softening in a way that somehow made my carefully constructed walls feel even less stable. The breeze carried the distant sound of laughter from inside the venue, but neither of us turned toward it. Finally, he spoke. "Liela..." His voice was lower now. Gentler. "You've answered every question tonight..." He paused, holding my gaze. "...except the only one that actually matters."

I felt my heartbeat quicken. "Which one?"

He didn't hesitate. "Why did it matter to you?" I looked at him. Then away. Then back again. A dozen answers crowded my mind. None of them were safe. None of them were ones I was brave enough to say aloud. So instead, I wrapped my fingers more tightly around the strap of my handbag, looked him straight in the eye, and quietly replied with the only lie I had left. "It didn't."

The silence stretched between us until it almost became unbearable. Neither of us seemed willing to surrender first. Finally, I glanced toward the street where another taxi rolled past without even slowing down and forced myself to smile. It wasn't convincing. I knew it. He knew it. Even the taxi probably knew it. "It's getting late," I said quietly, smoothing invisible wrinkles from my dress simply to give my hands something to do. "I should go." I took half a step backward, increasing the distance between us. "You should go back inside." I nodded toward the entrance where music and laughter still drifted into the night. "Your guests are waiting." I attempted another smile. "And before anyone notices the birthday guest of honor has disappeared." I turned slightly toward the road, fully intending to wave down the next taxi that appeared. I had made it exactly two steps before his voice stopped me.

"Liela."

I closed my eyes for the briefest moment.

"...What?"

"I think you're forgetting something."

I frowned and turned back around.

"My phone's here."

"I wasn't talking about your phone."

"My purse?"

"You have it."

"My dignity?" I sighed dramatically. "That left approximately forty-five minutes ago."

A tiny smile appeared on his face.

"I noticed."

"Rude."

"Accurate."

I folded my arms.

"So what exactly have I forgotten?"

Instead of answering, his eyes slowly dropped toward my handbag.

Then they lifted back to mine.

"My birthday gift."

Every muscle in my body immediately froze.

...Oh.

Oh no.

I instinctively tightened my grip on the strap of my handbag like it contained classified government documents instead of a tiny birthday present. "I..." My brilliant vocabulary abandoned me completely. "It's..." I looked down at the bag as though seeing it for the first time. "Technically..." My brain searched desperately for an escape route. "I wasn't..." Wonderful. I had become incapable of constructing full sentences. Grayson watched me with unmistakable amusement dancing in his eyes. "Liela." "Yes?" "You were planning to leave with my birthday present." "I wasn't planning it." "No?" "It just..." I made a vague circular motion with my hand. "...started happening." One of his eyebrows lifted. "The gift accidentally climbed back into your handbag?" "Exactly." "Without your permission?" "It's surprisingly independent." "Remarkable." "Honestly, modern gift boxes have become very difficult to manage."

He crossed his arms, looking entirely too entertained by my rapidly collapsing excuses. "Interesting." "What?" "Earlier tonight you told me the gift wasn't for me." I winced internally. "...Did I?" "You did." "That sounds like something I'd regret saying." "Probably." He took one slow step closer, though there was still plenty of space between us. "Then I watched you carry the same box around the party for almost two hours." I blinked. "...You noticed that?" "I notice more than you think." My heart betrayed me with one particularly enthusiastic beat. I ignored it. "Well..." I cleared my throat awkwardly. "Perhaps I simply enjoy carrying decorative boxes." "For two hours?" "Excellent arm workout." "Without putting it down once?" "Commitment is important." "You hid behind a pillar with it." "...The pillar was emotionally supportive." Grayson actually laughed. A real laugh. The sound echoed softly through the quiet street, and despite every miserable emotion I'd experienced tonight, I felt myself fighting the urge to smile with him.

I looked down at my handbag again. Suddenly it felt absurdly heavy. Thirty minutes choosing the gift. An entire evening carrying it. Then another thirty minutes convincing myself not to give it to him. I honestly wasn't sure which decision was more embarrassing. "It's..." I hesitated again. "It's not very impressive." My voice came out much smaller than I intended. "After everything everyone else gave you..." I shook my head. "It's kind of ridiculous." He didn't say anything. That somehow made it worse. "I saw the watches." I laughed weakly. "The first editions. The mystery keys." I looked up at him with an embarrassed smile. "I'm still concerned about the mystery keys." Another small laugh escaped him. "And then there's mine." I shrugged. "Mine looks like it wandered into the wrong birthday party." The words felt painfully honest. "So I thought..." I looked away toward the harbor. "...maybe it was better if I just took it home."

Grayson didn't let me look away for long.

"Liela."

I slowly met his eyes again.

"It's my birthday."

"I know."

"So stop deciding for me which gift I'm allowed to want."

For a second, I simply stared at him.

Then, with the dramatic resignation of a woman surrendering after losing an argument she had secretly known she would lose from the very beginning, I let out a deep sigh.

"You are unbelievably persistent."

"I've heard that."

"You're also incredibly annoying."

"I've heard that too."

"Mostly from me?"

"Exclusively from you."

I shook my head in defeat before slowly opening my handbag. My fingers hesitated around the small wrapped box for what felt like an entire lifetime. Once. Twice. Three times. I almost put it back. Then I stopped myself, took one steadying breath, and finally pulled it free. The littl box looked almost comically small beneath the glow of the streetlights. I stared at it for another long second before extending it toward him with both hands. "...Happy birthday, Grayson." My voice was barely above a whisper. "And before you open it..." I sighed for what felt like the millionth time that evening. "...please lower your expectations. Dramatically."

Grayson didn't reach for the gift immediately.

Instead, he looked at me.

Not the box.

Me.

For several long seconds, his attention never left my face, as though he were trying to understand why handing him a simple birthday present looked so much like an act of surrender. It was honestly infuriating. "Take it," I mumbled, extending the box a little farther toward him. "Before I change my mind." A corner of his mouth lifted. "You're still thinking about it?" "Constantly." "Should I be concerned?" "Very." I wiggled the box impatiently. "My confidence has already filed for retirement. Don't make it wait any longer." He chuckled softly before finally reaching out. Our fingers brushed for the briefest second as he accepted the little box, and for reasons I absolutely refused to analyze, my heart immediately decided to perform gymnastics without requesting permission first. I quickly shoved both hands into the pockets of my coat as though hiding the evidence would somehow restore my dignity. It didn't.

He turned the small gift over carefully in his hands, studying the wrapping paper with an amount of concentration usually reserved for ancient historical artifacts. I watched him nervously while mentally preparing myself for disappointment. The silence stretched longer than necessary. Finally, I cleared my throat. "You know..." I said cautiously. "Most people actually open presents." He glanced up innocently. "I'm building suspense." "You're giving me hypertension." "That's unfortunate." "Grayson." "Hmm?" "Either open it..." I pointed dramatically at the box. "...or hand it back before I fake a robbery and run away." His smile widened. "You'd rob yourself?" "If it prevented embarrassment? Absolutely." He laughed again, shaking his head as he carefully untied the ribbon instead of ripping it. Naturally. Even his gift-opening process was unnecessarily elegant. Mine usually involved violence and flying wrapping paper.

The moment the lid finally lifted, I instinctively held my breath. Inside, nestled carefully against dark velvet, rested a handcrafted silver bookmark. It wasn't extravagant. It wasn't covered in diamonds or made by some famous designer. It was beautifully simple, with delicate engraved vines curling along the edges and a tiny crescent moon intertwined with a quill near the top. Hanging beneath it was a small charm engraved with a single sentence: "Every story deserves its favorite chapter." My cheeks immediately warmed. "I know," I said before he could speak. "It's small." I rushed the words together. "And probably looks incredibly underwhelming after everything else you've received tonight. But..." I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly. "You spend most of your life surrounded by books, and I thought..." I stopped myself with an embarrassed laugh. "Actually, never mind. The explanation sounded significantly better inside my head."

He didn't answer.

Which was somehow worse.

I risked looking up.

Grayson was still staring at the bookmark.

Not politely.

Not absentmindedly.

Actually staring.

His thumb traced the tiny engraved quill with surprising care before his eyes drifted to the words engraved beneath it. The smile on his face disappeared—not because he disliked it, but because something quieter had replaced it. Something thoughtful. Almost... emotional. The harbor breeze stirred gently between us while the sounds of the birthday party faded into the background until they barely existed at all. Finally, after what felt like forever, he looked back at me. "...You picked this yourself?" he asked quietly. I blinked. "Of course." "You didn't ask someone else?" I looked offended. "Ruby offered." He immediately understood. "And you said no." "She wanted to buy you a gold-plated pen worth more than my rent." His eyebrow rose. "She has expensive ideas." "She has terrifying ideas."

I shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. "Look..." I said quietly. "I know everyone else bought you incredible things tonight." I gestured vaguely toward the brightly lit venue behind us. "Collector's editions, watches, mystery keys that I'm still emotionally invested in..." A sigh escaped me. "I couldn't compete with any of that." I offered him a small, uncertain smile. "So... I didn't try." My eyes dropped briefly to the bookmark still resting in his hands. "I just wanted to give you something you'd actually use." My voice softened. "Books eventually end." I swallowed carefully before continuing. "I figured... maybe the bookmark would stay with whichever story you happened to be reading next." I laughed nervously. "Unless you hate it." I pointed toward the harbor. "In which case, the river is right there. Convenient disposal."

Grayson slowly closed the box again, still holding it with surprising care.

Then he looked directly at me.

"Liela."

"...Yes?"

"I've received expensive gifts my entire life."

I stayed quiet.

"I honestly can't remember most of them."

The words caught me off guard.

He glanced down at the little bookmark again before smiling—a genuine, quiet smile that reached his eyes.

"But this..."

His fingers tightened gently around the small box.

"...I'm going to use it."

My heart forgot how to function.

"And," he added softly, never looking away from me, "I already know exactly which book it's going in first."

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The city seemed to grow strangely quiet around us, as though even Manhattan had decided not to interrupt. Grayson was still holding the little navy-blue box with both hands, looking down at it every few seconds before glancing back at me as if he couldn't quite believe it was real. It was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. People had given him luxury watches, priceless collector's editions, and whatever those mysterious keys belonged to. Yet here he was standing beneath a streetlamp looking at a silver bookmark like it was somehow the most interesting thing he'd received all evening. I didn't understand it. More importantly, I didn't trust it. "You're being nice," I said quietly. He frowned. "I beg your pardon?" "You're trying to make me feel better." "No." "Yes." "Liela." "It's fine." I smiled, though it came out more tired than convincing. "You don't have to pretend." His eyebrows drew together slightly. "I'm not pretending." "You don't have to spare my feelings." "I'm not sparing anything." "Grayson..." I let out a small laugh. "It's okay." I looked toward the glittering entrance of the venue. "You don't have to tell me it's your favorite gift just because I'm standing here looking emotionally unstable."

He looked at me for a long second before shaking his head in quiet disbelief. "You really don't believe me." It wasn't a question. I lowered my eyes to the pavement. "I believe..." I searched for the safest answer. "...that you're a very kind person." "That wasn't my statement." "Close enough." "Not even remotely." I could feel his gaze lingering on me, waiting for me to look back up. I didn't. If I did, I had the uncomfortable suspicion that whatever fragile composure I still possessed would immediately resign. "Liela," he said softly, "I wasn't complimenting your gift to protect your feelings." I remained silent. "I meant every word." My throat tightened unexpectedly. The worst part was that I wanted to believe him. I really did. But tonight had done an excellent job reminding me that hope was a dangerous hobby. So instead, I gave him the only response I trusted. A tiny nod. Quiet. Polite. Safe.

Another cool breeze drifted between us, carrying faint laughter from the birthday party behind him. Somewhere inside, someone cheered loudly enough for us to hear it even from the entrance. Reality slowly settled back over the moment. I looked toward the venue, then back at Grayson. His guests were still inside. His birthday was still happening. Camili was probably searching every corner of the pier wondering where the guest of honor had disappeared to. "You should go back," I said gently. "Before your event planner declares a citywide emergency." A tiny smile appeared on his face. "She probably already has." "Exactly." I took a slow step backward. "Which means this is where I leave before she sends security after both of us." He didn't laugh this time. He simply watched me, as though he knew something I didn't. That somehow made walking away even harder. "Thank you," he said quietly. I blinked. "For what?" He glanced down at the little gift box in his hands. "For this." Then he looked back at me. "And... for coming tonight." My chest tightened painfully. "Happy birthday, Grayson." My voice came out barely above a whisper.

Before he could say anything else, I turned around.

I knew if I waited even another second, I wouldn't leave.

My heels clicked softly against the sidewalk as I walked toward the street, refusing to look back no matter how much every instinct begged me to. The harbor breeze brushed against my face, carrying away the warmth that had settled there during our conversation. I wrapped my arms around myself and kept walking, one step after another, telling myself that this was the right thing to do. He belonged inside the beautifully lit venue with the people who celebrated his world. I belonged... somewhere else. Maybe tomorrow the ache in my chest would feel smaller. Maybe tomorrow I would stop replaying every smile, every glance, every word he'd said beneath that streetlamp. Maybe tomorrow I'd convince myself that leaving had been the smartest decision I'd made all night. Behind me, the music from the party continued drifting across the harbor. Ahead of me, the glow of an approaching taxi cut through the darkness. I raised my hand, and this time, the cab slowed to a stop.

I opened the door, pausing for only the briefest moment before climbing inside. The driver asked for my destination, but my voice caught before I could answer. I cleared my throat, quietly gave him my address, and settled back against the seat. As the taxi pulled away from the curb, I couldn't stop myself from glancing out the rear window one last time. Grayson was still standing exactly where I'd left him, beneath the streetlamp outside his own birthday party, the little navy-blue gift box still held carefully in his hands. He hadn't moved. He wasn't looking toward the celebration behind him. He was watching the taxi disappear into the Manhattan night. My heart ached so sharply that I had to look away. By the time the city lights swallowed the pier from view, one thought echoed relentlessly through my mind.

Leaving had been the hardest thing I'd ever chosen to do.