Chapter 58 Aiden Stays
Malia's POV
I can finally say to hell with it when the 2:47 AM blink on Aiden's nightstand clock. For hours I've been lying here, listening to the sounds of the suite settling around me, trying to talk myself into sleep.
But every time I close my eyes, I see Lydia leaning toward Aiden, her red lips parted, her hand on his shoulder. I have to go. Need to get back to July’s dorm where I can suck in a lungful of air without his scent choking me, where I can have a moment to myself without the bond tugging at my chest.
I slide out of bed as silently as I can and grab my bag from the spot where I left it. Here’s my plan: unlock the door, sneak through the suite and be gone before anyone wakes up. But when I gently push the door open, my heart skips a beat.
Aiden is sttill there. He's sitting on the floor, his back pressed to the wall across from my door, head tilted backward, eyes closed. For one fleeting moment I think that he’s fallen asleep in that awkward position, but the moment the door clicks, his eyes pop open.
In an instant he is standing and in the faint light coming from the hall I can read the fatigue plainly on his face. Dark circles beneath his eyes, jaw clenched, hair rattled as if he just kept running his hands through it. He's been here the whole time. Waiting. Like he said he would.
“Malia.” When he say my own name, it sounds like a prayer and a plea at the same time.
I freeze in the doorway, holding my bag against my chest like a shield. "I was just—"
"Leaving." His voice is flat and weary. "I know. I can see your bag."
An unspoken wordless silence lengthens between us.
"I kept my promise," he says quietly. "I waited. I didn't push. But please, before you leave—just talk to me. Five minutes. That's all I've been asking for."
I should say no. I should sneak past him and into the nigh t like I wanted to. But no so he’s tired eyes hold me there, looks as if he’s one foot out the door and in pieces.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Five minutes.”
The relief washes over his face so hard it’s almost like seeing him in pain. He motions to the living room and I follow him, leaving my bag by the door—close to the double exits could make a run if I needed to.
We sit at opposite ends of the couch, a cautious barrier separating us. The suite is dark, except for the glow of city lights seeping in through the windows, painting everything in monochromatic layers of darkness and light.
"Tell me what you saw," Aiden says, his voice gentle. "In the library. Tell me exactly what you saw."
I swallow hard, the image rising unbidden in my mind. "I saw Lydia sit next to you. Saw her touch your arm. Saw her lean in like she was going to kiss you."
"And what?"
"For a moment, just a moment, I thought you were going to let her." The words are coming out in stops and starts, and I hate the level of exposure I have when I speak.
Under the low light, Aiden’s face turns white. "Malia, no. I pushed her away.”
"Did you?" I find myself desperate to make eye contact with him. "Because from where I was standing, there was a moment. A hesitation."
"There was no hesitation." His tone is all business now, insistent. "The moment that I knew what she was doing, I pulled away. Got up and asked her what the hell she was doing.”
"I saw that part," I say. "I saw you pull away. But not until then --"
“I was confused then." He runs his hands through his hair, annoyed. "She sat down, began ranting about some garbage pack politics thing. I wasn’t really paying attention because I was waiting for you, watching the door. Then all of a sudden she was leaning in and I know— too late—what she was trying to do.”
I want to believe him. Oh God, I want to believe him so much.
“ It took a split second from the time she realized her intent. I did stop it. I just never would’ve let her kiss me. I mean, I’d never do anything like that to you.”
"What did you say to her?" I ask. "After I left. What happened?”
His jaw tightens. "I told her if she ever did that again I'd make sure she had regrets, she really did." I told her to stay the hell away from me and the hell away from all of us. That she meant nothing to me and never would be.”
“And what did she say?”
"She smiled." His voice turns sinister, menacing. "Like she'd won something. Then she said, 'I wonder if your little mate saw that. I wonder what she's thinking right now.'"
My stomach drops. “She knew I was there.”
"She planned it." Aiden's hands form fists. "The whole thing was a set-up. She waited until you were supposed to come, she put herself where youd see, shes timed it to the minute. She wanted you to doubt me. To doubt us."
And it worked. God, it worked so well.
"I wanted to tell you at once," he goes on, "but you got away before I could let you know. I texted, tried to call—"
"I know. I saw."
"Then why didn't you answer?" There's genuine pain in his voice now. "Why didn't you let me explain before torturing yourself all day?”
"Because I was scared," I confess, my mouth moving faster than my brain. "Because Lydia's been sitting in my brain all week, telling me I'm not good enough, that you'll get bored, that I'm just a phase. Then I saw her leaning in to kiss you and it felt like validation. As if that proved she was right."
Aiden moves before I can react, closing the gap between us on the sofa. He doesn’t make contact with me, but that’s close enough for me to know what he’s thinking and feeling—anger at Lydia, pain at my suspicion, and desperation.
“Listen to me,” he says, his voice low and intense. "You've got to believe me. There’s no one else. There's just you. There is only you. Just you."
"Aiden — "
"I don’t give a damn how many times Lydia throws herself at me. I don’t care how many rumors she spreads and what games she plays. She’s insignificant. What she said is worse than nothing." His vivid blue eyes lock with mine, strong and unrelenting. "You are my mate. Mine. The bond chose you, yes, but even without the bond, I would choose you. Every day, every day, I would choose you."
After hearing his voice full of raw honesty something inside me breaks. All the walls that I've built, all the doubts that Lydia planted in me—they begin to decay.
"I want to believe you," I whisper.
“Then believe me." Taking his time to draw his hand back, as if expecting me to dart in the opposite direction, he finally takes my hand. His touch is soft, worshipful. “I would never betray you. Not treat you like that. Malia, you are everything. Did you not know that?"
I look into his eyes.
"You are everything, Malia... Don't you understand?"
Tears burn behind my eyes. "She said I was a novelty. That you'd get bored and come back to someone worthy.”
“Fuck what she said.” His voice turns hard. “She’s been trying to manipulate you, to tear you down, because she knows she can’t measure up to what we have. So she wants to you race against you, to get you questioning your own value.”
"It's working," I concede, hating how everything about me screams small.
“I know.” He takes my hand to his lips, laying a soft kiss on my knuckles. “And I'm sorry I didn't realize what she was up to earlier. Sorry I didn't keep you safer from it. I'm sorry that in trying to respect your space I gave her the space to poison your mind."
“It's not your fault—”
“It is, though. At least somewhat." “I should have been more explicit.” Shoulda made sure you knew every single day that there isn’t any competition, there isn’t any contest. That Lydia doesn’t exist to me as anything but an annoyance. That’s not any other person, it’s you.”
I see Lydia leaning in, again and again but this time I’m going to watch it all the way through. To know what I left out in my fear―How Aiden's body was closed off, How he wasn't leaning toward her at all, How he was an instant NO as soon as he got the meaning.
“She set me up,” I say slowly, the understanding finally sliding into place. "She knew I'd see. Knew I'd doubt. Knew it would hurt."
"Yes." Aiden's grip on my hand tightens. "And it worked because she's been systematically tearing you down all week. Making you vulnerable to exactly this kind of manipulation."
"I should have trusted you."
"You should have," he agrees, but his voice is gentle. "But I also understand why you didn't. She's been brutal, Malia. You've been fighting a war I didn't even know was happening."
Fresh tears spill over, and suddenly I can't hold it in anymore. Everything from the past week—the constant harassment, the cruel words, the mounting pressure—it all comes pouring out.
"She won't stop," I sob. "Every day it's something new. Rumors, 'accidents,' comments designed to make me feel small. I can't fight her, Aiden. She's too careful, too strategic. And I asked you not to intervene, but I don't know how to handle this alone."
"You're not alone." He pulls me into his arms, and I let him, burying my face against his chest. "You were never alone. I'm sorry I made you feel like you had to be."
I cry against him, letting out all the fear and hurt and exhaustion I've been holding in. He holds me through it, one hand stroking my hair, the other wrapped securely around my waist.
"I trust you," I finally whisper when the tears slow. "I do. I'm sorry I doubted."
“Don’t be sorry.” He retracts just enough to cup my face in his hands, thumbs gently running over my cheeks. “Lydia played a perfect game. She knew exactly where to hit.”
“What now, Aiden?”
His face tightens. “Now? Now we fight back. Together. You gave her one more incident—this counts. She put together a scenario with the specific intention of wounding you, undermining our connection. That’s not simply harassment, that’s psychological warfare.”
“Want to go after her?”
“I want to protect you” he said, correcting himself. “There’s a difference. You tried it your way and she escalated. Time for a new tactic.”
I should probably argue. Should probably stick to my principles about fighting my own battles. But I’m so tired, and Lydia has showed that she is willing to go further than I ever anticipated.
“Okay,” I agree quietly. “Together.”
The pleasure on his face is plain: he’s been holding his breath for hours and now can finally breathe. He begins to lean forward, slow and gradual all the while giving me a chance to pull back, and then he presses his lips to mine.
It's a soft, gentle kiss, full of apology and promise and relief. Not demanding or possessive, just… tender. Like he's trying to prove with touch what he's been saying with words.
When we finally pull apart, he lays his forehead against mine.
“I’m sorry you saw that,” he murmurs. “Sorry she made you doubt us. I’m sorry for everything she’s done to you.”
“I trust you,” again, and this time I mean that fully. No doubts, no questions. "I'm sorry I ran away instead of listening."
"We're both sorry." He kisses my forehead. "Can we say to be better? To talk instead of assuming?"
"Yes."
We sit that way for a while: enfolded in each other, the silence no longer fraught. It hums contentedly in my chest, happy we're back on track with each other.
"Will you stay here?" Aiden asks eventually. "Or are you going to July's?"
I glance at my bag by the door, then back at him. At the exhaustion in his face that matches my own, at the way he’s cradling me as if I’m something precious.
“I'm staying,” I say.
He takes me back to his room — our room, perhaps? — and we lie down together, fully dressed, simply holding one another.
His steady heartbeat is racing in my ear, the arms are wrapped so securely around me and I feel like I can finally breathe.