Chapter 20 Twenty

Chapter 20 Twenty
“You agreed to try.”

The whisper slipped out of my mouth before I realized I was speaking aloud.

I stood in the dim light of my apartment, the door locked behind me, my back pressed against it as if I needed support to stay upright. The quiet felt louder than usual, as though the walls themselves were listening to the storm inside me.

A soft creak came from the hallway. Lily shifted in her sleep. I held my breath, waiting. When silence returned, I exhaled slowly and walked farther into the living room.

I sat on the couch and covered my face with my hands.

“What did I just do,” I whispered.

The decision pulsed inside me, a mixture of fear, hope, and something warmer I refused to name. I had not agreed to be with him. I had not agreed to forgive everything. I had not agreed to let him into Lily’s world yet.

I had only agreed to try.

But even that small word felt big now.

My phone buzzed beside me. I flinched. I stared at the screen for a long moment before picking it up.

Are you all right.

A simple message. A dangerous one. Gentle. A little too gentle.

My fingers hovered over the screen.

Yes. I am all right, I typed finally.

I did not add anything else. I did not explain. I did not invite further conversation.

But his reply came seconds later.

Thank you for trusting me enough to try.

I swallowed hard.

This was the first time in years that someone cared about whether I trusted them. It felt unsettling. It felt risky. It felt strangely comforting in a way I did not trust yet.

My reply was short.

Good night.

Good night, he wrote back.

I placed my phone face down, pressed both palms into the couch cushion, and steadied my breathing. There was no going back now. I had opened a door that had been locked for years. It might lead somewhere painful. It might lead somewhere promising. I did not know.

But I knew I needed to move carefully.

I checked on Lily, kissed her forehead lightly, and returned to the couch instead of going to bed. My thoughts would not slow down enough to sleep.

Trying.

The word circled my mind again.

Trying meant letting him in.

Trying meant risking disappointment.

Trying meant facing emotions I had buried.

I was terrified of all three.

A soft knock at my door startled me. I sat up quickly, pulse racing. It was late enough that no one should be visiting. I hesitated, listening. The knock came again, light and hesitant.

“Amelia,” a familiar voice said quietly. “It is Evelyn.”

Relief flooded through me, mixed with worry. I hurried to the door and opened it slowly.

She stood in the hallway with a concerned expression, her hands clasped in front of her. “I am sorry for coming at this hour. I did not want to call and wake your daughter.”

“What is it,” I asked, stepping aside so she could enter.

She shook her head. “No, I will not come in. I only wanted to tell you something privately. Something you should know before tomorrow.”

My stomach tightened. “What happened.”

She took a careful breath. “Mr. Knight asked to change your seating arrangement for the administrative meeting tomorrow. He did it very quietly. No one else noticed. But I did.” She paused. “He requested that you sit next to him.”

My chest tightened. “Why are you telling me this.”

“Because it did not look like a professional choice,” she said softly. “It looked personal.”

Heat pricked at the back of my neck. “Evelyn, I did not ask for that.”

“I know,” she said immediately. “That is why I came. Not to judge. To warn you. People in this company talk. They always do. And if he continues to place you close to him, others will notice.”

I swallowed. “He said he would take things at my pace.”

“Then you should tell him what pace that is,” she said. “Before the wrong people draw conclusions.”

Her words were steady, not dramatic, but they struck deep.

She gave me a polite nod. “I will not keep you. I only wanted to give you a chance to address it before morning.”

“Thank you,” I said, meaning it.

When she left, I shut the door quietly and leaned against it.

He wanted me next to him tomorrow.

He had not asked.

He had simply arranged it.

I did not know whether the gesture warmed me or worried me.

I picked up my phone and typed before I could talk myself out of it.

We need to talk before work tomorrow.

His reply came instantly.

Tell me where and when.

I hesitated, then typed:

Outside the building. Eight thirty.

I waited for his response.

I will be there.

There was no push, no extra message, no pressure. But there was certainty. He would show up. He always did.

I turned off the phone and sat down again, my heart beating quickly.

Trying meant boundaries.

Trying meant control.

Trying meant I could not let him set every pace or every shift.

If we were going to attempt anything, it would have to be balanced.

And tomorrow morning would be the first test.

I arrived outside the building earlier than expected. The air felt cool, the sky muted, and the noise of the city was distant enough that I could gather my thoughts. I paced once, then twice, then forced myself to stand still.

His footsteps approached behind me.

“Amelia.”

I turned.

Adrian moved toward me with a pace that was calm but deliberate. His expression was steady, though there was a faint tension around his eyes.

“You asked to talk,” he said.

“Yes.” I held his gaze. “Evelyn stopped by last night.”

His shoulders tensed.

“She told me about the seating change for tomorrow,” I continued. “You asked them to place me next to you.”

He exhaled slowly. “I did.”

“Why.”

“Because I wanted you near me,” he said simply. “It felt like a natural step for us.”

“At whose pace,” I asked quietly.

The question hit him. I saw it in his eyes.

He nodded once. “You are right. I should have asked you first.”

I studied him carefully. “If we are going to try, I need you to understand something. You cannot make decisions that involve me without asking. You cannot assume I will accept everything.”

“I understand,” he said. “And I apologize.”

He sounded sincere, steady, not defensive. It made my chest tighten.

“I do not want anything to look inappropriate,” I said. “Not at work. Not now.”

“I will change it,” he said immediately. “You will sit wherever you want.”

His quick response caught me off guard. “Just like that.”

“Yes. Just like that.” He stepped closer, but still kept space between us. “Trying does not mean taking control. It means mutual effort. And I am willing to do my part.”

A pull formed in my chest. Stronger than before. Harder to ignore.

“I meant it last night,” he said quietly. “I am choosing you. But I will wait for you to choose me too.”

My breath hitched slightly.

He was careful. Respectful. Intentional. And that combination made everything inside me shift dangerously fast.

“We go slow,” I said.

“As slow as you want.”

“And no assumptions.”

“None.”

“And no decisions without asking.”

“Agreed.”

Silence settled between us. Not cold. Not heavy. Just full.

I finally said, “Then tomorrow, I will sit where I always sit.”

He gave a small nod. “I will make sure of it.”

I stepped back slightly, needing space to breathe. “I should go in now.”

“I will walk with you,” he offered.

“No,” I said gently. “Not today.”

He accepted it with a simple nod. “Then I will see you inside.”

As I turned toward the entrance, he spoke again, his voice steady.

“Amelia.”

I looked back.

“We are going to do this right,” he said. “I will make sure of it.”

I held his gaze for a long moment.

“Then do not rush me,” I said.

“I will not.”

I walked into the building, my pulse still racing, my emotions unsteady.

Trying meant boundaries.

Trying meant balance.

But it also meant something I had not expected.

Hope.