Chapter 38 Bracelet
KARA’S POV
The next morning, I barely sleep.
Everything aches in that quiet, post-storm way, like my heart ran a marathon without asking permission. I keep replaying the rain, his arms, the flowers on the pavement, the way he said sorry like it was something he had practiced for months and still didn’t feel enough. By the time I reach the office, I’m running on coffee and denial.
Then I see him.
Finnian stands across the street, leaning against his car like he belongs there. Black suit, no tie, sleeves rolled up just enough to look unfairly familiar. His tattooes all over his neck and arms are visible enough to make him extra hot. Like last night wasn’t a fever dream and like he didn’t leave and come back and wreck me all over again.
My steps slow.
Allyn nudges me from behind. “Uh… Kara?”
“I see him,” I whisper.
Finnian lifts his head and our eyes meet. He straightens immediately and lifts a hand, palm open, fingers curling in a small, silent gesture for me to come closer. No pressure and no command, just… hope.
My heart pounds so loud I swear people can hear it.
“I should go,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.
“Do you want backup?” Allyn asks softly.
I shake my head. “No. I think… I think this is something I have to do alone.”
My feet move before my fear can argue. When I stop in front of him, neither of us speaks for a second. Up close, I notice the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his jaw tightens like he’s bracing for rejection.
“Good morning,” he says carefully.
“Morning,” I reply, just as cautious.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he admits.
“I wasn’t sure either.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Can I steal you for lunch?”
I cross my arms. “Finnian, I have work.”
“I know,” he says quickly. “Just… an hour. If you want. If not, I’ll drive away and pretend I didn’t almost have a heart attack waiting here.”
Despite myself, I huff out a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Only when I’m nervous.”
I hesitate then nod.
His relief is instant and visible and drove his car away.
Lunch time came. He opens the passenger door for me like it’s instinct, and I don’t even protest when I climb in. The car pulls away smoothly as the city blurring past the windows. Silence settles between us, not awkward, but heavy with everything unsaid.
“Last night,” I start.
“I know,” he says gently. “We don’t have to unpack everything today.”
I glance at him. “You’re really good at postponing conversations.”
He winces. “Fair.”
We stop in front of a restaurant I recognize immediately. It's somehow elegant and discreet, the kind executives choose when they want privacy without losing prestige.
“Finnian—”
“Please,” he says quietly. “Just… trust me for lunch.”
Inside, heads turn and whispers ripple. I feel it, the recognition and the weight of his name. A waitress visibly freezes when she sees him.
“Mr. Stewheinz,” she breathes. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you,” he replies smoothly. “Table for two.”
Her eyes flick to me, curious and assessing.
“This way, sir.”
We sit and the moment I reach for the menu, she returns carrying something that makes my breath catch.
Flowers, not a small arrangement. A full bouquet, lush and breathtaking, placed carefully in front of me like an offering.
I stare at it. “Finnian…”
He then stands slowly, deliberately, and steps around the table and then he kneels followed by gasps ripple through the room. My heart slams against my ribs as he pulls out a small red box, velvet catching the light, and looks up at me with eyes that are equal parts terrified and sincere.
“Karaella,” he says, voice steady despite everything. “I know I’ve done this wrong before. I know I disappeared when I should’ve stayed and stayed when I should’ve let go.”
My throat tightens.
“I don’t know how to love quietly,” he continues. “And I didn’t know how to ask without making a mess of it. But I want to try properly if you’ll let me.”
He opens the box and inside is a bracelet. It's gold, delicate, and elegant. Expensive in the way that whispers instead of shouts.
“I’m asking,” he says softly, “if I can court you.”
The room holds its breath and I don’t answer. My hands tremble as I reach forward, not to close the box and not to push it away. I hold out my wrist and his eyes widen, just a little.
“Is this…?” he asks carefully.
“Just do it,” I whisper.
His fingers are gentle as he slips the bracelet around my wrist, fastening it like it means something sacred. The metal is warm against my skin, heavy with intention. When he looks up at me again, his smile is small but real.
“Thank you,” he says.
I swallow hard. “This doesn’t erase anything.”
“I know,” he says immediately. “It’s just a beginning. Or… an attempt.”
I nod slowly. “That’s all I’m agreeing to.”
He stands and returns to his seat, the restaurant slowly exhaling around us as conversations resume. I glance at the bracelet once more as sunlight catching the gold dangerously and beautifully.
And somehow, against all my better judgment, I don’t take it off.
Not yet.
That night, after everything settles and the city finally quiets down, I lie awake staring at the ceiling, counting cracks like they might give me answers.
I keep replaying the way his hands trembled when he fastened the bracelet around my wrist. Not the confident, untouchable Finnian the world sees, but a man stripped bare of his certainty, kneeling in front of me with rain still clinging to his lashes and hope written all over his face.
It scares me more than his absence ever did.
Because absence is clean. It hurts, yes, but it’s honest. It leaves room for grief, for healing, and for moving on. Presence is messier, presence asks things of you, and it asks you to decide.
I lift my wrist, the gold catching the faint glow of the streetlight outside my window. It’s heavy, not just in weight, but in meaning. Every petal he sent, every silent day, and every unspoken apology feels compressed into this single circle around my skin.
What am I supposed to do with that?
I’ve always been good at surviving, at choosing the sensible path, and at walking away before things could hurt too deeply. Loving Finnian was never sensible, it was instinctive, reckless, and the kind of feeling you don’t think through because thinking might stop you.
And yet, he did hurt me, he left, and he chose distance, silence, and another woman while I stood still, collecting flowers like unanswered questions. Wanting him doesn’t erase that and letting him court me doesn’t magically rewrite the past.
I press my palm over my chest, feeling my heart beat steadily and stubbornly.
Am I strong enough to risk this again?
Or am I just tired of pretending I don’t still care?
I think about the way he looked at me tonight, like I was something fragile and precious and terrifying all at once. Like losing me once was enough to haunt him across oceans and years and like messing with me loudly was the only way he knew how to stay alive.
That doesn’t excuse him.
But it explains him.
And maybe that’s what scares me most, how easily my anger softens into understanding and how quickly my walls start to crack when he stands in front of me, unapologetically himself, finally asking instead of assuming.
I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive him and I don’t know if I’m brave enough to let him try. All I know is this, when he asked to court me, I didn’t say no.
And in that silence, I might have already answered everything.