Chapter 54 Chapter 54
Emily's POV
I couldn’t breathe properly. Not because I couldn’t get air in, but because my body hadn’t caught up to what had just happened. My lips still felt warm like the imprint of him hadn’t faded yet like if I moved too fast, it would disappear, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted that or not. My fingers were still curled into his shirt. I noticed it slowly, like everything else, piece by piece, sensation by sensation, and awareness creeping in instead of hitting all at once.
I should let go. That was the first logical thought that surfaced. I should step back and create distance. Regain control. That was what I always did. What I was supposed to do. But I didn’t. I remained exactly where I was. Close enough that I could still feel his breath against my skin, uneven in a way that matched mine. Close enough that if I moved even slightly forward, we would be back there again. That thought alone made something tighten low in my chest and it was dangerous.
My eyes lifted to his. And whatever I expected to see, it wasn’t that. There were no teasing or arrogance. No hint of the version of him I had convinced myself I understood when this started.
“This changes things.” The words came out before I could filter them. Before I could soften them into something more controlled, more measured, more like me. But maybe that was the point, because nothing about this felt controlled anymore. Nothing about this felt like something I could categorize neatly and move on from.
His gaze didn’t shift. “It already did.”
My grip loosened slightly against his shirt, but I still didn’t step back. I didn’t create the space I knew I should. Because something in me didn’t want to. And that scared me more than anything else.
“You can’t just-” I stopped. My voice caught. “You can’t just do that,” I tried again, quieter this time.
His expression didn’t change much. “Yeah,” he said. “I can.”
My breath stuttered. Frustration flickered through me. Something made it harder to separate what I was feeling from what I was supposed to feel.
“That’s not-” I shook my head slightly. “That’s not how this works.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you stop me?” That hit harder than I had expected, because it wasn’t said like a challenge. It wasn’t said to corner me. And I didn’t have an immediate answer, because I could have stopped him at any point. I could have stepped back and turned away. Rebuilt that distance I relied on, but I didn’t and we both knew it.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I said, but my voice wasn’t as steady as I wanted it to be.
“It means something.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“It does.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I’m not deciding it,” he said quietly. “I’m acknowledging it.”
My chest tightened, because that was the difference between us. He acknowledged things. I tried to control them and manage them but there was nothing contained about this.
My thoughts were scattered in fragments instead of structure. My career, my reputation, the meeting, the headlines, everything was still unresolved. And now this. It was complicating everything, making it harder to think clearly. Harder to separate what mattered from what I felt.
“You don’t understand what this does,” I said.
“Then tell me.”
“I just did.”
“No,” he said. “You told me what it complicates. Not what it means.”
I exhaled sharply. Frustration rising again. “You’re making this harder.”
“I’m making it real.”
“I don’t need it to be real right now.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“There you go again.”
“Because you keep trying to treat it like something you can schedule.”
I looked away for a second, because that was correct. “You don’t get it,” I said quietly.
“Then help me understand.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“For me, it does.”
“Why?”
“So I don’t lose control of it.”
His gaze softened slightly. Not in a way that made it easier. In a way that made it harder, because it meant he saw exactly what I was doing.
“You already did,” he said.
My eyes snapped back to his. “What?”
“You lost control of it.”
The words settled slowly. The moment I didn’t step back. The moment I leaned in instead of away. The moment I stopped trying to manage the situation and just felt it. I lost control. And part of me didn’t fully understand yet, I didn’t regret it. That realization hit almost as hard as the kiss itself. Because it meant this wasn’t just a mistake. It wasn’t just something that happened. It was something I allowed and participated in. Something I wanted even if I didn’t want to admit that yet.
“I can’t afford this,” I said. The words came out quieter now.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why-”
“Because I can’t pretend it’s not there.”
My breath caught again. He had said it before. And it landed the same way every time. He was always right. I was still trying to pretend that it didn't matter or that it didn't change anything. I was pretending that I could go back to the version of myself that existed before this moment. But I couldn’t.
“I don’t regret it,” I admitted. The words slipped out before I could stop them. It was the truth and it shifted everything. I didn’t regret it. Even with everything it complicated, even with everything it risked even with everything it made harder. I didn’t regret it. His expression changed slightly.
“I didn’t think you would,” he said.
“That doesn’t make it easier.”
“I didn’t say it would.”
We were in something that we were standing in together and that was new, because this didn’t feel like opposition anymore. It didn’t feel like two sides pushing against each other. It felt like something shared. It was something we both had to figure out together. That terrified me, because it meant letting go of the idea that I could handle this alone. That I could control the outcome by controlling myself. That I didn’t need anyone else involved. But right now, standing here...I wasn’t alone. And I didn’t step away.
My hand finally loosened completely from his shirt. But it didn’t drop. It hovered for a second before resting lightly against his arm. I lifted my eyes back to his. Breathing still uneven. My thoughts were still scattered. I wasn’t choosing safety. I was choosing this. And that choice? It said more than anything I could’ve put into words.