Chapter 41 And I'm Not Running Anymore
KARA’S POV
I don’t speak to him the moment I started walking, all set to my destination. Instead, I stand up, grab my bag, and walk toward the door with as much dignity as I can gather.
“Are we leaving?” he asks lightly.
“Yes,” I reply without looking at him. “And you’re driving separately.”
He hums. “Ah. I see. Punishment phase.”
I ignore him and by the time we reach the car, he gently takes the bag from my hand.
“I can carry that,” he says.
“I’m perfectly capable—”
“I know,” he cuts in softly. “Let me.”
There’s something about the way he says it that makes me let go.
So I do.
He carries my bag like it weighs nothing, like he’s done this a hundred times before. I walk ahead of him, arms crossed, and determined not to speak.
Behind me, I hear it.
A stifled laugh so I stop mid-step and turn slowly. He immediately straightens his face and lips pressing into a firm line.
“What?” I narrow my eyes.
“Nothing,” he says too quickly.
“You’re laughing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
His mouth twitches again.
“Finnian.”
He exhales, trying and failing to look serious. “You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“And you look very cute when you’re angry.”
My jaw drops slightly. “That’s not funny.”
“It is. A little.”
I glare at him harder.
"Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll stop.” He lifts a hand in surrender.
Another small laugh escapes him.
“Finnian.”
He immediately clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head like a child caught misbehaving.
“I didn’t hear anything,” he says innocently.
I roll my eyes and turn back around, but I can feel it, the warmth creeping into my chest despite myself.
He follows me to my car, opens the trunk, and carefully places my bag inside.
“Where to?” he asks once we’re both seated.
I hesitate for only a second.
“The beach.”
His brows lift. “Running to the ocean now?”
“Don’t analyze it.”
He smirks but starts the engine without another comment. Before we leave I faced him with a big question mark above my head.
"Wait!" I said.
"What?" he asked while hands are placed on the steering wheel.
"I told you that we'll drive separately, so why are you here in my car?" I raised a brow at him.
He just smiled and didn't mind what I just said. After a few second he speaks.
"I'm not using my car, ma'am. We'll use yours instead," he said in a casual tone.
Before I can protest, he drives the car swiftly without giving me a single chance to speak for myself.
We arrive at one of the most famous beaches in town just before noon. The sea stretches endlessly under the sun, blue melting into silver where the light hits it just right. The air smells like salt and warmth and something free.
For the first time all week, my shoulders loosen. I then walk straight to the reception area to confirm my booking.
“Reservation under Karaella Viancé” I say.
The receptionist types quickly, then gives me an apologetic smile.
“Yes, ma’am. You’re lucky 'cause we only have one room left.”
“One?” I echo.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s peak season.”
I freeze. Behind me, Finnian clears his throat lightly, clearly enjoying this.
I turn slowly. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he replies, hands up.
I face the receptionist again. “Fine. We’ll take it.”
We.
The word feels dangerous.
Moments later, we’re standing inside the room. It’s spacious, bright, and with wide windows overlooking the ocean. White curtains flutter gently in the breeze.
And wait, with one bed!
Large, very large, but still one.
I cross my arms. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”
He glances at the small loveseat near the window. “That thing?”
“Yes.”
He walks over, presses a hand against it, testing it.
“I’m tall,” he points out.
“Not my problem.”
He turns to me slowly, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“You don’t trust me?”
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s exactly the point.”
I glare. “You are not allowed to lie next to me.”
He laughs, low and warm, but doesn’t argue.
“Okay,” he says simply.
That throws me off.
“You’re not going to fight me?”
“No,” he replies, shrugging off his blazer. “I told your father I’d take care of you, not traumatize you.”
My cheeks burn.
He walks past me, stopping just close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from him.
“I can behave,” he murmurs softly.
And somehow that sounds more dangerous than anything else.
Exactly at twelve, we head downstairs to eat lunch near the shore. The resort is open-air and wooden tables is facing the sea. The waves crash rhythmically against the sand, soft but powerful. The sunlight dances over the water like shattered glass.
It’s breathtaking and peaceful...
The kind of place where your thoughts slow down whether you want them to or not.
We sit across from each other, the ocean stretching behind him.
“This,” I whisper unconsciously, “is what I needed.”
He watches me carefully. “Quiet?”
“Yes.”
“No office drama?”
“Especially that.”
The breeze lifts my hair slightly and the salt air fills my lungs. For a moment, it feels like nothing else exists and no expectations, just the sound of waves and the warmth of the sun.
Finnian leans back in his chair, studying me.
“You look different here,” he says.
“How?”
“Softer.”
I roll my eyes lightly, but I can’t deny it. I feel softer.
The food arrives, but I barely pay attention. I tilt my face slightly upward, closing my eyes just to feel the moment, the warmth, the wind, and the sound of the sea.
My eyes open after I heard a click.
Finnian is holding his phone. He’s staring at me like he just captured something sacred.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer, instead he executed another click. I turn my head away quickly just as the flash goes off.
“Finnian!”
He lowers his phone slowly, but his gaze doesn’t leave me. It’s intense, unfiltered, and like he’s memorizing me.
“I said don’t—”
“Damn…” he breathes.
My protest dies in my throat and his voice drops, husky and honest.
“You’re so beautiful, baby.”
My heart stumbles.
“I can’t wait to call you mine.”
The world narrows, the waves grow distant, and the sunlight feels heavier on my skin. I swallow, suddenly aware of how close he feels even from across the table.
“Finnian…” I whisper, but it comes out weaker than I intended.
He stands slowly, walking around the table toward me.
Every step is deliberate and every second is stretching thin. He stops in front of me, close enough that I can see the ink curling along his neck and the way his jaw tightens like he’s holding himself back.
“I’m not rushing you,” he says quietly. “I just want you to know.”
My pulse pounds.
Know what?
“That I’m serious,” he continues. “About you and about this.”
The ocean crashes behind him like an applause or warning. And for the first time since this whole thing began, I don’t feel like running.