Unwanted emotions

Unwanted emotions
Didn’t that mean something?
He let out a quiet breath and reached into his pocket, pulling out the keys.
He didn’t want to wake her, but she couldn’t stay here like this. She’d be sore in the morning if he left her curled up on the stiff couch.
With careful movements, he slipped one arm beneath her knees, the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly.
She was warm, soft, far too light in his arms.
She stirred slightly, her face pressing against his chest.
His breath hitched.
For a split second, he let himself feel it.
The way she fit against him. The way his body reacted—his instincts, his wolf, everything in him telling him to keep her close. To never let go.
But she wasn’t his.
Not yet. Maybe not ever.
He carried her toward the bedroom, his footsteps silent in the dimly lit house.
As he laid her gently on the bed, he hesitated. He should leave. Turn away, walk out, shut the door behind him.
Instead, he lingered.
Just for a moment.
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, before pulling the blanket over her. Protecting her. Even if she would never know it.
Then, finally, he turned away—forcing himself to leave before he could do something foolish.
Something he wouldn’t be able to take back.
Seraphina awoke, a hollow emptiness settling over her as she stirred from her slumber. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if he had come—if the warmth of his presence would fill the void that seemed to stretch endlessly within her.
With a sigh, she shook off the lingering feeling and rose to prepare for the day. As she moved toward the bathroom, she passed through the hallway, her thoughts clouded and distant.
But then, as if her world had shifted, she froze.
There, in the kitchen of the house, stood him.
She blinked, uncertain whether she was imagining it or if he had truly been there all along.
##########
Seraphina woke up with a strange, hollow feeling pressing against her chest.
For a moment, she lay still, blinking against the dim light filtering through the window, her thoughts sluggish.
Something felt off. It was a sensation she couldn’t quite place—like she had been waiting for something in her sleep, expecting something.
Her brows furrowed as she slowly sat up, pushing the blanket aside. The room was quiet. Too quiet.
Her gaze darted toward the door.
Did he even come back?
The thought made her chest tighten. No. She shouldn’t care. She didn’t care. It didn’t matter if he came back or if he didn’t. In fact, she would prefer it if he just vanished altogether, left her alone and—
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head, pushing the tangled mess of emotions aside. This wasn’t her home. This wasn’t her life.
She forced herself to move, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
The floor was cool against her bare feet as she stood, stretching out her stiff muscles before heading toward the small adjoining bathroom.
The pipes groaned when she turned on the faucet, the old plumbing reluctant as cold water spilled into the basin.
She splashed some on her face, letting the chill ground her.
Once she had freshened up, she stepped out of the room, smoothing a hand over her slightly damp hair. She needed air. Maybe she’d go outside for a while, figure out what to do with her day—
Then she smelled it.
Food.
Her steps slowed.
That was…unexpected.
Her stomach twisted—not from hunger, but from something deeper, something she didn’t want to acknowledge.
Her feet carried her toward the source before her mind could catch up. And then she saw him.
Adolphus.
Standing in the kitchen, his broad back to her, moving effortlessly as he cooked.
The light from the window stretched across his shoulders, casting him in a golden glow, his dark hair still slightly damp, like he had recently washed up.
She hated how casual he looked. How at ease he was, as if he hadn’t left her alone all night without a word. As if she wasn’t trapped here, her entire life ripped apart by his hands.
A flicker of anger bubbled inside her, but she swallowed it down.
What was she supposed to say?
She wouldn’t ask him where he had been. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking she had noticed his absence, of thinking she cared.
So she said nothing.
Instead, she crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway, watching him.
He must have sensed her, because he paused, then turned his head slightly, his piercing gaze finding hers.
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
The air between them was thick, stretched tight like a wire ready to snap.
Then, as if nothing was wrong, Adolphus turned back to his cooking.
Her jaw clenched.
That’s it? No explanation? No nothing?
She wanted to demand where he had been. Why he hadn’t come inside right away. Why he had left her—not that she cared.
But instead, she just stood there, fists tightening at her sides.
The sound of sizzling filled the silence between them, followed by the soft clatter of utensils.
She inhaled sharply.
Fine. If he didn’t want to talk, neither would she.
But damn it, the smell of whatever he was making was intoxicating.
Her stomach, traitorous as ever, gave the slightest growl, and she nearly groaned in frustration.
If Adolphus heard, he didn’t react.
He simply reached for a plate and began plating the food—steaming eggs, crispy golden potatoes, and what looked like fresh bread, slathered in butter. He moved with practiced ease, his hands sure, his movements efficient.
She had never seen him cook before. Never imagined him doing something so… human.
The sight of it threw her off balance.
Why was he making breakfast? And for whom?
Not for her, obviously.
Right?
Her fingers twitched against her arms.
He finally turned, setting the plate on the counter, glancing at her with an unreadable expression.
“Eat.” His voice was low, almost a command.