Chapter 22 The Unsafe Answer
Adrian's POV
The penthouse settles into a rhythm again, but it is not the same one we had before.
Everything feels more deliberate now.
Measured.
As though every movement, every decision, carries a quiet awareness of how easily things can shift.
Hazel sleeps longer, though not as deeply as I would like. Each time she stirs, I notice. Each sound, no matter how small, pulls my attention without effort. I have stopped pretending otherwise.
And Darcy
She moves through the space like she belongs here, though I know she would never claim that herself.
She doesn’t take up space loudly. She doesn’t try to assert anything that isn’t hers. But somehow, everything feels more… complete when she’s in the room.
It’s subtle.
The way the kitchen is always just slightly warmer in the mornings.
The way Hazel settles faster when she hears her voice.
The way I find myself noticing things I didn’t before like how she hums under her breath when she thinks no one is paying attention.
I hear it now.
Faint.
Barely there.
Coming from the living room.
I step out of my office without thinking about it, drawn more by instinct than intention.
She’s sitting on the couch, Hazel resting against her chest, a soft blanket wrapped loosely around them both. The late afternoon light filters through the glass behind her, catching in her hair, softening the edges of everything.
She doesn’t notice me at first.
Her attention is entirely on Hazel, her hand moving gently along her back in a slow, soothing rhythm as she hums something low and unfamiliar.
Hazel is half-asleep, her small fingers curled into the fabric of Darcy’s shirt, her breathing even.
I stop in the doorway.
And for a moment, I don’t move.
There is something about the scene that feels… still.
Not empty.
Not quiet in the usual sense.
Just… settled.
Like something has fallen into place without asking permission.
Darcy shifts slightly, adjusting Hazel more comfortably against her shoulder, and that’s when she notices me.
Her humming stops.
Not abruptly.
Just… fades.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say.
“You didn’t,” she replies softly.
Her voice carries easily in the space between us, unforced, natural.
I step further into the room, slower this time, as though I’m aware of disturbing something I don’t fully understand yet.
“She fell asleep quickly,” I observe.
“She was already tired,” Darcy says. “She just needed to settle.”
I nod once, my gaze lingering on Hazel before shifting back to her.
“You do that easily,” I say.
“Do what?”
“Settle her.”
She hesitates briefly, like she’s considering the answer.
“I think she just likes consistency,” she says. “Knowing someone’s there.”
I lean slightly against the edge of the table nearby, my arms folding loosely.
“And you’ve become that someone.”
The words come out quieter than I expect.
She looks up at me then.
There’s something in her expression, something careful, something aware.
“I’m just doing my job,” she says.
The response is immediate.
Practiced.
But it doesn’t quite land the way it’s meant to.
“Is that all this is?” I ask.
I don’t know why I ask it.
I don’t know what answer I expect.
But the question is already there.
Darcy’s fingers still slightly against Hazel’s back, her movement slowing without stopping.
“It has to be,” she replies after a moment.
There’s no hesitation in the words.
But there’s something else.
Something quieter beneath them.
I push off the table, taking a step closer without fully closing the distance.
“Why?” I ask.
The question feels heavier now.
More intentional.
Her gaze drops briefly to Hazel before returning to me.
“Because that’s what makes sense,” she says.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
“It’s a safe answer.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
There’s no accusation in them.
Just observation.
Her expression shifts slightly not defensive, but… aware.
“And what would an unsafe answer be?” she asks.
The question hangs there.
Simple.
Direct.
Dangerous.
I hold her gaze for a moment longer than I should.
Long enough to realize that whatever I say next matters more than it should.
So I don’t say it.
Instead, I exhale slowly, stepping back just enough to put space between us again.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say.
But it does.
We both know it.
The silence that follows is different now.
Not comfortable.
Not tense.
Just… full.
Hazel shifts slightly in Darcy’s arms, making a soft sound as she resettles.
Darcy’s attention shifts back to her immediately, her hand moving gently again, grounding herself in something real, something safe.
“You should rest,” she says after a moment, her voice softer now.
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve said that a lot.”
“And you don’t believe it.”
“No,” she admits quietly.
I almost smile at that.
Almost.
“I have work to catch up on,” I say instead, gesturing vaguely toward my office.
“You can do that later.”
“I can’t.”
The response is automatic.
Familiar.
She watches me for a moment, as though weighing whether to argue.
Then she doesn’t.
“Okay,” she says simply.
The lack of resistance catches me off guard more than if she had pushed.
I nod once, turning slightly toward the hallway.
But I don’t leave immediately.
Something holds me there.
I glance back.
She’s still sitting on the couch, Hazel tucked securely against her, her expression softer now that she’s no longer looking directly at me.
And I realize
I don’t want to leave.
Not because of Hazel.
Not entirely.
The thought settles before I can stop it.
I push it down just as quickly.
Because it doesn’t fit.
None of this does.
“You’ll call me if she needs anything,” I say.
“I always do.”
I nod again.
Then I walk away.
Back to my office.
Back to something familiar.
Something controlled.
But even as I sit behind my desk, my phone lighting up with messages I’ve ignored for hours, my attention doesn’t fully settle.
It lingers.
Out there.
With her.
With them.
And I know, without needing to check
that the space I just left behind doesn’t feel the same anymore.
Because something in it has changed.
Something I haven’t figured out how to name yet.