Chapter 42 Fearless
KARA’S POV
My throat tightens after what he said. I search his face for a hint of teasing, for that familiar smirk he uses when he wants to get under my skin, but it’s not there.
No arrogance, no playful billionaire charm, just Finnian.
And that scares me more.
“You say things so easily,” I whisper, fingers curling around the edge of the table. “Like they don’t weigh anything.”
“They weigh,” he says immediately. “Every word does.”
The wind moves between us, lifting the hem of my dress, brushing against his shirt. The sunlight catches the gold in his eyes, turning them warmer and softer.
“I don’t fall easily, Kara,” he continues. “I don’t chase. I don’t beg.”
A pause.
“But with you?” His jaw tightens. “I’m doing all three.”
My breath hitches when he takes a step closer, not touching.
“But I won’t trap you,” he adds quietly. “If you need space, I’ll give it. If you need time, I’ll wait.”
The confidence in his tone doesn’t disappear it just shifts. It’s no longer the confidence of a man who gets everything he wants because it’s the confidence of a man who’s willing to fight for something.
For me.
I swallow hard and look away, pretending to focus on the waves crashing against the shore.
Why does he have to say things like that?
Why does he have to look at me like I’m something rare?
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit before I can stop myself.
His expression softens instantly.
“Do what?”
“This.” I gesture between us. “You and me. It’s messy and it’s complicated.
“It’s not just that,” I whisper. “You’re… you. And I’m—”
“Exactly who you’re supposed to be,” he finishes firmly.
I finally look at him again.
He’s closer now. Close enough that if I lean forward just a little, my forehead would brush against his chest.
“Why me?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer.
He smiles, but it’s not his usual teasing one. It’s softer and almost vulnerable.
“Because you don’t look at me like I’m my last name,” he says. “You don’t care about my money, and half the time you don’t even care that I’m talking.”
“I care,” I mutter.
He chuckles lightly. “You argue with me, you challenge me, and you walk away when you’re mad instead of trying to impress me.”
A small pause.
“You’re real, Kara. And I’m tired of everything else being fake.”
Something inside my chest cracks. The wind grows stronger, tangling my hair across my face. Without thinking, he reaches up and gently tucks it behind my ear.
His fingers barely brush my skin, but the contact feels like fire.
I freeze, and he notices.
“I said I can behave,” he murmurs, his voice dropping.
“You’re not behaving,” I breathe.
“I’m not touching you.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re behaving.”
A slow, dangerous smile curves his lips.
“You’re shaking.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
His hand hovers near my waist, not quite resting there.
“Finnian…” I warn softly.
“Yes?”
“Don’t make this harder.”
“Harder for who?” he asks quietly.
For me, because the truth is, I want him closer. I want to see what would happen if I stop overthinking, if I stop running, and if I let myself fall just a little. I know the thought terrifies me, but it also makes my heart race in a way nothing else does. He must see the conflict in my eyes because his expression shifts again. It turns gentler and more patient.
He steps back, just one step, giving me space.
“I’ll wait,” he says simply.
The waves crash louder, like they’re filling the silence he leaves behind, and that’s when I realize something dangerous. If he had pushed me, I would have resisted, and if he had cornered me, I would have fought. But this? This patience and this quiet certainty it makes me want to walk toward him on my own.
I inhale slowly, the salt air filling my lungs, steadying my thoughts.
Maybe I don’t need all the answers today. Maybe I don’t need to know how this ends, and maybe I just need to know how it feels right now.
I take a small step forward, and his eyes darken instantly.
“I’m still mad at you,” I say softly.
“I know.”
“And you’re still sleeping on the couch.”
“Tragic,” he sighs dramatically.
Despite everything, I laugh. A real one, and the sound seems to do something to him. Then his gaze warms and deepens.
“Come on,” he says, offering his hand, not demanding, and just offering. “Walk with me.”
I stare at his hand for a second, then I place mine in it. His fingers close gently around mine, firm but careful, like I’m something precious he doesn’t want to break. We step off the wooden platform and onto the sand as the grains are warm beneath my feet and the waves rush forward to kiss the shore before retreating again.
He doesn’t let go, but doesn’t pull me closer either. We just walk side by side, and for the first time since all of this began, I let myself imagine something reckless.
What if this isn’t a mistake?
What if he isn’t just a complication?
What if he’s the calm I’ve been pretending I don’t need?
I glance at him. But to my surprise, he’s already looking at me. Of course he is.
“Stop staring,” I mumble.
“Never.”
And somehow, beneath the endless sky and the relentless sea, I don’t feel afraid anymore.