Chapter 92 Caught
Timothy
I watched Hannah run away from me.
The terrace doors were still swaying slightly from the force with which she had pushed through them, the soft evening air drifting in and carrying the faint scent of rain.
But Hannah was already gone. My heart dropped somewhere deep in my chest.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t think. I just stood there.
The place where she had been standing only seconds ago felt strangely empty, like something had been ripped out of the space and taken with it.
My hand slowly dropped to my side.
I stared at the doorway she had disappeared through.
What the hell just happened?
My mind replayed the last few moments whether I wanted it to or not.
The kiss.
Her lips against mine.
The way she had held onto my shirt like she didn’t want to let go.
And the way everything between us had suddenly felt… real. Too real.
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly.
Rowan’s voice echoed annoyingly in my head. You like her.
I had refuted him every single time. Dismissed it. Denied it. Mocked him for even suggesting it.
But standing there now, alone on the terrace with the taste of Hannah still lingering on my lips, I couldn’t exactly lie to myself.
Something had been there. Something had sparked.
And judging by the way she had kissed me back, she had felt it too.
I leaned against the terrace railing and stared out into the dark garden.
I didn’t know what the hell it meant. This wasn’t something I had planned.
Hannah wasn’t someone I was supposed to feel anything for.
This marriage was supposed to be an arrangement. Temporary. Convenient. Simple.
But whatever had just happened between us had been anything but simple.
It felt unfamiliar. Unstable.
Like stepping onto ground that might collapse under your feet at any second.
I rubbed the back of my neck.
Dinner was definitely ruined.
The candles on the table behind me were still burning quietly, the plates untouched.
The whole evening had gone to hell in less than five minutes.
I could just go to my room.
Call it a night.
Give Hannah space to calm down.
That was probably the sensible thing to do.
But I knew Hannah.
If I gave her even an inch of distance right now, she would take a mile.
She would retreat.
Hide behind polite smiles and careful distance.
Avoid me for days.
Maybe weeks.
And strangely enough, the thought irritated me.
No.
More than irritated.
It frustrated me.
I pushed away from the railing.
I was getting fed up with the constant back and forth.
The avoiding.
The pretending nothing was happening.
Because clearly something was happening.
I walked inside the house, my footsteps echoing faintly through the hallway.
When I reached Hannah’s door, I raised my hand and knocked.
Once. Twice.
“Hannah.”
Silence. I waited. Nothing.
I knocked again, a little louder.
“Hannah, open the door.”
Still nothing. A muscle in my jaw tightened.
I reached for the handle and turned it.
Locked. Of course it was.
I stood there for a moment staring at the door.
I should leave. Let her have the night.
Whatever had just happened had clearly shaken her.
Maybe she needed space to think.
But the look on her face before she ran…
It hadn’t just been embarrassment.
There had been fear. Panic.
Too much emotion packed into one expression.
And something about that look refused to let me walk away.
I exhaled slowly and turned down the hallway.
The faint clatter of dishes led me to the kitchen.
Lisa was standing by the sink, drying plates with a towel.
She glanced up when I walked in.
“Mr. Blackwood,” she said. “I thought dinner was…”
“I need the spare key to Hannah’s room.”
The words came out before she could finish.
Lisa blinked.
Her hands paused mid-wipe.
Her eyes studied my face carefully.
Questioning. Curious. Concerned.
But my mind felt strangely distant from the moment, like I was watching everything from a few steps away.
I didn’t offer an explanation.
Didn’t elaborate.
Just stood there.
Lisa seemed to realize I wasn’t going to say anything more.
She nodded slowly.
“Of course.”
She set the towel aside and moved to a small drawer near the counter.
After a moment she returned with a small key.
She placed it in my palm.
“Here.”
“Thank you.”
She didn’t ask any questions.
For that, I was oddly grateful.
I turned and left the kitchen, my footsteps heavy against the floor as I made my way back upstairs.
The hallway outside Hannah’s room was quiet. Too quiet.
I slid the key into the lock and turned it.
The door opened with a soft click.
For a second, everything was silent.
Then I heard it. A strange sound.Soft. Uneven.
Like someone struggling to breathe.
My brows furrowed.
“Hannah?”
No answer.
The sound came again.
A gasping, choking noise that made my chest tighten instantly.
I stepped into the room. And froze.
Hannah was curled up on the floor near the bed.
Her arms were wrapped around herself as she rocked slightly back and forth.
Her breathing was frantic. Gasping. Hiccupping. Little strangled sounds escaped her throat like she couldn’t get enough air.
For a moment, I just stared.
My brain took a second too long to process what I was seeing.
Then everything snapped into place at once.
“Hannah!”
I crossed the room in three quick strides and dropped down beside her.
Her face was pale, streaked with tears.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
“Hannah, hey…”
She didn’t seem to hear me.
Panic twisted in my chest.Without thinking, I pulled her against me.
Her body was shaking.
She let out a small hiccup and tried weakly to push away.
“No…”
“Shh,” I murmured quickly, tightening my arms around her.
“It’s okay.”
She struggled again, but she didn’t have much strength behind it.
I held her closer, one arm around her shoulders, the other cradling the back of her head.
“Easy,” I said quietly.
My hand slid into her hair. Slowly. Gently.
I began running my fingers through it, over and over in steady strokes.
Her breathing was still uneven.
Sharp gasps breaking through soft cries.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured.
My voice sounded calmer than I actually felt.
I shifted slightly, pulling her fully against my chest as I sat on the floor with my back against the side of the bed.
Her head rested against my shoulder.
Her hands clutched the front of my shirt.
For a few seconds she tried to pull away again.
Then something in her seemed to give up.
A broken sob escaped her.
And she buried her face in my chest.
Hot tears soaked into my shirt.
My chest squeezed painfully.
I continued running my hand through her hair.
Slow.
Repetitive.
A quiet rhythm.
“It’s okay,” I whispered again.
Gradually, her breathing began to slow.
The frantic gasping eased into shaky inhales.
Her body stopped trembling quite as violently.
But she didn’t move away.
She stayed pressed against me, crying silently.
I didn’t say anything else.
Didn’t ask questions.
Didn’t push.
I just sat there holding her.
If she needed time to calm down, she would have it.
Even if it took hours.
The room had gone quiet except for the occasional hitch in her breathing.
I leaned my head lightly against the wall behind me.
My hand still moved gently through her hair.
And I stayed exactly where I was.
I would sit here all night if I had to.