CHAPTER 157- GIDEON

I've always been a man of few words. It's not that I don't feel things-I feel them too much, too deeply, and I've learned that silence is my safest armor. Words are dangerous. They can expose too much, make you vulnerable, give people the power to hurt you.

But Emily… she was unraveling me in ways I hadn't expected.

From the moment I saw her at Desire's Den, she'd stirred something in me, something I'd long buried under the weight of control and discipline. At first, I tried to ignore it, convinced it was nothing more than a fleeting attraction. But the more time I spent around her, the harder it became to deny the truth.

I cared about her. Deeply.

The night Matt orchestrated for her was perfect, as always. He had a way of making everything feel effortless, of drawing out her laughter and easing her nerves. Watching them together had been bittersweet-happy for the connection they were building but haunted by the gnawing fear that I couldn't offer her the same.

Because unlike Matt, I didn't know how to make her laugh. And unlike Chris, I didn't have the patience or the words to make her feel at ease. All I had was this quiet, unshakable pull toward her.

The next evening, I found myself standing outside her apartment. I hadn't planned on coming here, but my feet seemed to carry me without permission. The bottle of her favorite scotch in my hand felt like both a peace offering and an excuse.

I hesitated at her door, my hand hovering over the wood. What was I even going to say? That I couldn't get her out of my head? That I'd spent the entire night thinking about how her laughter sounded like music?

Before I could talk myself out of it, the door opened, and there she was, staring at me with those big, curious eyes.

"Gideon?" she asked, her surprise evident.

"Hi," I said, my voice low. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

She smiled, stepping aside to let me in. "You're always welcome."

Her apartment felt warm and lived-in, a stark contrast to the penthouses Chris and I called home. It was small, but it was hers-cozy and filled with personal touches that told me more about her than words ever could.

"I brought this," I said, holding up the scotch as I stepped inside.

Her smile widened. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," I replied simply.

We settled on the couch, the scotch poured into two mismatched glasses she pulled from the cabinet.

"So," she said, turning to me, "what brings you here tonight?"

Her question was straightforward, but her tone was soft, without a trace of judgment.

I looked down at my glass, the amber liquid swirling as I gathered my thoughts.

"I needed to see you," I admitted, my voice rougher than I intended.

Her eyes softened, but she didn't interrupt.

"You make me feel things I haven't felt in a long time," I continued, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "Things I'm not sure I know how to handle."

She set her glass down, leaning in slightly. "Gideon…"

"I'm not like Matt or Chris," I said, my voice dropping. "I don't know how to charm you or put you at ease. But I care about you, Emily. More than I know how to say."

Her gaze locked onto mine, searching for something. Whatever she found there must have been enough because she leaned closer, her hand reaching out to rest on my arm.

"You don't have to be like them," she said softly. "I don't need charm or ease, Gideon. I just need you."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, the raw sincerity of them cutting through every wall I'd ever built.

Before I could think, before I could second-guess myself, I leaned in and kissed her.

The moment our lips met, everything else faded away. Her lips were soft and warm, molding perfectly to mine. It wasn't a gentle kiss, not at first. It was hungry, desperate, a release of everything I'd been holding back.

Her hands slid up to my shoulders, pulling me closer as I deepened the kiss. My fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head to give me better access.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless, our foreheads resting against each other.

"Emily," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes?" she replied, her voice just as unsteady.

"You mean more to me than I know how to explain," I admitted. "But I'm going to spend every day proving it to you."

Her lips curved into a soft smile, and she reached up to brush her fingers against my jaw. "I believe you, Gideon. I really do."

We spent the rest of the evening wrapped up in each other, talking, laughing, and stealing kisses that grew softer, sweeter as the night wore on.

For the first time in years, I felt like I didn't need words to express what I felt. With Emily, silence wasn't a shield-it was a language we both understood.

And for the first time, I didn't feel like I had to hide behind it.