Chapter 82 Cian's Gentle Pursuit
Malia's POV
Morning comes soft and golden, the kind of light that filters through palm leaves in dappled patterns. I wake to a gentle knock on my door, Cian, already dressed in hiking boots and a faded green shirt that brings out the gray in his eyes, a small backpack slung over one shoulder.
"Want to see something?" he asks, voice quiet as always, but there's an anticipation there I rarely hear.
I'm up and ready in minutes, pulling on sneakers and tying my hair back in a loose braid. The others are still asleep, the villa peaceful in the early hour. We slip out together, following a narrow trail that winds into the island's interior, leaving the sounds of the ocean behind.
The path is overgrown in places, vines creeping across the dirt, roots gnarling underfoot like nature's trying to reclaim what was once cleared. Cian moves with easy confidence, occasionally reaching back to help me over fallen logs or pointing out particular plants—a rare orchid clinging to bark, its petals almost translucent in the filtered sunlight, tiny blue flowers I don't recognize that smell faintly of honey.
"You remember these?" he asks, crouching beside a cluster of white blooms with delicate purple centers that seem to glow against the dark earth.
I kneel next to him, my knee brushing his. "From the greenhouse."
He nods, fingers brushing the petals with impossible gentleness, the same way he touches everything living. "They're native here. Hard to find, but worth it. They only bloom in places untouched by too many footsteps."
We continue deeper, the canopy thickening overhead until the sunlight becomes scattered gold coins on the forest floor. Birds call from hidden branches, wild and beautiful. The air smells like earth and green things growing, that rich scent of life thriving without human interference.
Finally, after twenty minutes of climbing, we emerge into a small clearing that takes my breath away. The space is ringed with wildflowers—crimson ones with velvety petals, violet blooms that dance on thin stems, brilliant yellow flowers that turn their faces toward the patches of sky visible through the canopy—all swaying in the breeze like they're dancing to music only they can hear. In the center, a flat boulder sits surrounded by soft moss that looks like emerald velvet.
"Cian, this is beautiful," I breathe, turning in a slow circle to take it all in.
He sets down his backpack, pulling out a water bottle and some fruit—mango slices and strawberries in a small container. "Thought you'd like it. Thought maybe... you'd want to see it with me."
The slight vulnerability in his voice makes my chest tighten. We sit on the boulder, shoulders touching, sharing the water between us. The silence is comfortable, filled only by wind rustling leaves and distant waves—a reminder that we're on an island, surrounded by ocean, in our own little world.
"I've been thinking," he says eventually, eyes on the flowers rather than me.
I wait, knowing he'll find the words in his own time. Cian's never been one to rush.
"About my role. In... this." He gestures vaguely between us, his hand hovering in the space that connects us. "I'm always the steady one. The one who doesn't make waves. Rowan's the responsible leader, Aiden's the passionate one, and I'm just... there. Reliable. Boring. The brother you can count on but never really notice."
"You're not boring," I say firmly, turning to face him more fully.
He looks at me then, something vulnerable and raw in his gray eyes that I've never seen before. "I haven't really dated anyone. Never kissed a girl. Mom tried setting me up once with her friend's twin daughter—Ashley, I think her name was. Pretty girl, smart, into environmental science like me. Mom thought we'd be perfect together."
"What happened?"
"I never gave her a chance to even talk to me. Would leave rooms when she entered, made excuses not to attend dinners. Mom was furious, said I was being rude." He picks at the moss beside him, not meeting my eyes. "I just... didn't feel anything. She could have been the most amazing person in the world and it wouldn't have mattered. There was nothing there. No spark, no pull, no... anything."
I smile gently, my hand finding his and squeezing. "And now?"
"Now I feel too much." His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. "With you. It's different. You're different. From the moment we walked into each other back in campus, I couldn't breathe right. Couldn't think straight. I kept dropping things, forgetting what I was saying mid-sentence. Rowan noticed, made some comment about me being off my game."
My heart squeezes. I remember our first meeting—how uptight he'd seemed, how carefully controlled. How he'd barely looked at me.
"You were so serious when we first met," I laugh softly. "So professional and distant. I thought you hated me."
His mouth quirks into a half-smile. "I was terrified. Figured being invisible was safer than making a complete fool of myself. At least if I focused on other things, I could pretend to be competent."
"And now?"
"Now I'm making a fool of myself anyway." He finally meets my eyes fully, and the intensity there steals my breath. "Now I'm taking you to secret clearings and confessing that I think about you constantly. That I replay every conversation we've had, every smile you've given me."
We both laugh, the sound bright in the clearing, breaking some of the tension. He reaches over, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch feather-light but deliberate, his fingers lingering against my cheek.
"I don't expect anything," he continues, his thumb now tracing the line of my jaw with devastating gentleness. "I know Aiden and Rowan have their claims on your heart. I know the bond is complicated, that you're navigating feelings for all three of us. I just wanted you to know that I'm here too. That what I feel is real, even if I don't shout it like Aiden or carry it silently like Rowan. It's real. It's... overwhelming, honestly."
I turn to face him fully, our knees touching now, the point of contact sending warmth through my body. "It matters to me. You matter to me, Cian. You're not invisible, not to me."
He exhales shakily, and then he does something that surprises me—he cups my face with both hands, his palms warm against my cheeks, thumbs brushing my cheekbones with infinite tenderness, and leans in slowly.
So slowly. Giving me time to pull away, to say no, to stop this before it starts.
But I don't, my eyes flutters close…