Chapter 34

Avery’s POV

That day felt different, weighted with an urgency that pressed against my ribs. I made no room for the trivialities that clutter a college day.

My classes were a series of disconnected images and muffled sounds, the drone of voices around me receding into a faint hum. My concentration was miles away, building the scaffold of my impending conversation, rehearsing every question and word I would speak to her.

The moment the final lecture dissolved—a whisper of dismissal from the professor—I rose. I did not exchange glances, pack, or acknowledge the students moving around me.

I walked. My pace was a straight line of intent leading to the sanctuary of the Faculty of Humanities wing.

The corridor was a study in stillness, the afternoon sun slanting through high windows and illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. It felt reverent, as if the stone and mortar of the building understood the gravity of the confrontation I was about to initiate.

I stopped outside the door marked ‘PROFESSOR ROSE.’ I raised my hand and knocked—not with hesitation, but with finality.

“Come in,” her voice called. It was smooth, collected, and unperturbed.

I took a breath, the cold metal of the doorknob against my palm, and pushed the door open. She stood near the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, her silhouette framed against the window’s filtered light.

Her hands performed the familiar, scholarly ritual of pulling down a leather-bound volume. The window blinds sliced the sunlight into gold-tinged ribbons that striped the air and caught the invisible strands of gold woven through her dark hair.

For a stolen heartbeat, I did nothing but watch her. That graceful line of her shoulder, the focused tilt of her head.

The effortless composure that was her armor. Then, I broke the silence.

“Professor,” I said, my voice a whisper, “I need to talk to you.”

The sound of my voice made her hand pause, the book held mid-air. She turned, her expression shifting from scholarly concentration to calm curiosity.

Her left eyebrow arched, a classic gesture of intellectual challenge.

“You always sound so serious when you say that, Avery,” she replied, her tone light. “What is it this time? Another existential crisis over Kantian ethics?”

I stepped inside, the click of the door closing behind me severing us from the outside world. The air in the office felt dense and charged.

“Everything,” I replied, my gaze locked on hers.

That earned me a small laugh, a sharp exhale of amusement that she suppressed. It was meant to deflect, to lighten the mood, but I did not allow it to work.

I moved closer with an unwavering certainty. I set my bag down on the spare chair with a grounding thud.

“I asked about you,” I stated, the words clipped. “And I found out everything. Everything Reynolds told me. Everything I pieced together myself.”

The laughter vanished. Her body stilled so that the air seemed to halt around her.

The book she held slipped, and she caught it with a snap of her fingers. Her practiced, charming smile slipped a fraction, revealing something guarded and brittle underneath.

“And what exactly do you think you know?” she asked, her voice dropping to a lower register, the initial lightness gone, replaced by a dangerous edge.

I did not hesitate. I delivered the facts like strikes.

“That your full name is Tiffany Rose Kingston. That you are the youngest daughter of Thomas Kingston, the shipping and media magnate. That your two elder brothers run the empire he built. That you choose to live apart, with your mother, Eleanor. That you made the choice to stay away from the empire. To build your own path, here, in academia.”

She exhaled a long, quiet breath that seemed to release a decades-long pretense. Her shoulders relaxed.

“So… you do know.”

“I know,” I confirmed, my voice firm, calibrated to be non-judgmental. This was not an accusation; it was an unveiling.

She studied me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine for any sign of betrayal, opportunism, or disappointment. They found none.

The heavy volume in her hands was deposited on the edge of the shelf. She walked past me, sinking into her large office chair behind the mahogany desk.

Her hands folded neatly in front of her, the picture of composure reasserted.

“You know everything… but you still came to me,” she observed, the simple statement hanging in the air, a complex question in itself.

I pulled out the chair directly opposite her, the one where students sat to plead for extensions or discuss theses. I sat down.

My eyes never left hers, holding her gaze with an intensity that mirrored her own.

“Of course I did,” I replied.

A silence descended upon us, thicker and heavier than any words we could have spoken. It was a silence filled with the weight of her secret, the audacity of my investigation, and the fragile connection that existed between us.

Finally, I broke it, my voice dropping an octave, becoming conspiratorial.

“By the way, Professor… you don’t like that you’re turning thirty-six the day after tomorrow, do you?”

Her head snapped up. It was a purely instinctive reaction, stripped of all her control.

Her eyes narrowed in startled surprise that confirmed my information was correct and personal.

“So you even know when my birthday is?” she demanded, the surprise morphing into a flicker of alarm.

I leaned back in the chair, a slow, sly grin tugging at my lips.

“Of course.”

She tilted her head, suspicion flickering in her gaze. She was trying to read my motive, to preempt my next move.

“And you’re not planning to skip class that day?”

“No,” I answered, shaking my head.

I leaned forward again, resting my elbows on the edge of the desk, invading the last sliver of professional space between us.

“Because I want to take you somewhere. And you’re not going to deny me.”

That pulled a genuine, startled laugh out of her, though she tried to mask it, twisting it into a sarcastic retort.

“And what if I say no, Avery?”

I smirked, letting my voice drop into a low, playful tease, the suggestion serious beneath the levity.

“Then I’ll kidnap you.”

Her laugh this time was not the small, controlled puff of air from before. It burst out, warm and unrestrained, filling the office.

It was a sound that chased away the shadows, softened every sharp line of her face, and made her seem wonderfully human.

“Kidnap me? Really? Isn’t that a little extreme, even for a Von Carter?”

“Don’t tempt me, Professor,” I said with mock seriousness, my eyes twinkling.

She shook her head, still smiling, the last of her defenses lowered by my audacity.

“Alright. I can say yes. Because the last place you took me… it was soul soothing. I needed that.”

Her admission quieted me. The laughter faded.

The playful mask I had put on slipped, and the air between us grew dense. The atmosphere changed entirely, no longer about playful threat, but about the profound honesty of her vulnerability.

Something fragile, something intimate, was acknowledged and lingered there. I cleared my throat, my voice gentler, stripped of its earlier bravado.

“Professor… didn’t you mind? That I looked for details about you?”

Her eyes softened, the dark intelligence in them looking inward for a moment. She sighed, not a sigh of relief, but of acceptance.

“It wasn’t about the details, Avery,” she said, her voice quiet. “It’s about who looked for them. And since it was you…”

She paused, her gaze coming back to mine, steady and open.

“I don’t mind.”

A rush of relief, warm and unexpected, washed over me. But it was countered by the edge of a new challenge.

“But it does upset me a little that you didn’t ask me directly,” she added, her lips forming a reproachful curve.

I leaned forward, closing the small remaining gap across the desk, my words tumbling out in a fervent stream.

“Professor—I still have so many questions to ask. But they’re not about business or empires or names. They’re not about Kingston. They’re not about the past. They’re questions about you. Just you. Just Tiffany.”

Her lips parted, a tiny gasp escaping her. Her breath hitched.

For once, Tiffany Rose—the woman who always had an answer, who could dismantle any argument with precision—looked at a loss for words.

“Say it once more,” she whispered, her voice a tremor of fragility.

It was a plea, a demand, a moment of deep longing. I froze, watching the raw, complex play of emotions flicker across her face: need, disbelief, and a sharp spike of hope tamped down by fear.

This was the opening, the critical moment.

“You still haven’t granted me permission yet,” I said, refusing to give her the full victory so easily. The permission I wanted was not just to speak her name, but to know the woman behind it.

She blinked, surprised by the sudden retreat in the face of her vulnerability.

“But you just called me Tiffany.”

I shook my head, my voice regaining its firmness, its steady purpose.

“No. What I wanted you to know is that I want to know you. The real you. Not Professor Rose. Not Kingston’s daughter. Just Tiffany.”

Her breath hitched again, a sharp sound. For a fleeting second, I saw something raw and unguarded in her eyes—hope, and the fear of having that hope dashed.

She pressed her lips together, battling for her habitual composure, struggling to rebuild the wall I had breached. Finally, she looked away, her gaze sweeping over the books, her voice a shade too light, dismissive.

“Enough of this drama, Avery.”

I chuckled, recognizing the strategic retreat for what it was—a lifeline she had thrown herself. I stood up, knowing I had accomplished what I set out to do.

“As you wish, Professor. See you tomorrow morning.”

I turned, leaving the office door ajar, a gesture that the conversation was paused, not ended. But even as I left, the warmth of victory settled over me.

I had touched something deeper than her professional walls. And for once, Tiffany Rose Kingston had been speechless.

Back at the mansion, I found myself in a state of suspended animation. The image of her expression was on a loop in my mind: the tremble in her voice, the way her eyes softened, then widened when I said “Just Tiffany.”

The way her breath faltered, as though she wanted to believe the sincerity of my words, but was too conditioned by years of caution and fear to trust them. It was strange—how a woman who commanded so much power, who had the weight of one of the world’s most formidable business empires behind her name, could feel so fragile.

And stranger still—how I wanted to protect that fragility. Her birthday was tomorrow.

Robin was still a vicious threat, a shadow that moved at the periphery of my vision, waiting for its chance to strike. But between all of that chaos, a crystalline truth had formed in my mind.

It was not Tiffany Rose Kingston, the untouchable heiress and professor, I wanted to fight for. It was just Tiffany.

The sun had begun its dip below the rooftops, painting the sky in strokes of purple and orange, when Emily burst into my room. She arrived like a whirlwind, her arms laden with shopping bags.

I looked up from my desk, where I had been reviewing some TA notes, and raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing my face.

“Emily… what on earth is all this?”

She did not answer, too busy plopping the mountain of bags onto the center of my bed. The mattress sagged under the load.

Her eyes were shining with irrepressible glee.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” she exclaimed, straightening up. “These are for the children at the orphanage, of course! Toys, chocolates, giant teddy bears, colorful board games—you name it. They deserve a proper feast of joy!”

I tilted my head, smiling.

“Emily… I think you’ve gone overboard. I told you I’d take care of the payments for the orphanage’s general fund this month.”

She swatted her hand through the air in a dismissive gesture, as though the idea of it being a transaction offended her sense of generosity.

“No, not at all, you silly thing. These are gifts from me to them. They’re personal.”

Then, her smile turned mischievous, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Besides, maybe I’ll get to see a whole bunch of tiny Averys running around, and that alone is payment enough.”

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face.

“Emily…”

She laughed, the sound rich and teasing, the kind of laughter that could fill a room and make it feel warmer.

“What? It’s true! You’re their favorite already, you know. I hear the way little Lily talks about you—like you’re some sort of superhero, but with better clothes.”

I shook my head, but the corners of my lips betrayed me, curving into an involuntary smile.

“Let’s just go before you embarrass me any further with your fantastical notions.”

“Deal,” she said, clapping her hands together with the finality of a judge’s gavel.

By the time we reached the orphanage, the orange hues of the sun were deepening into a hazy gold, painting the courtyard in warm tones. The building itself was simple, but its walls carried the patina of years of shared laughter, quiet tears, and countless unfolding stories.

The moment I stepped through the iron gates, a wave of children’s voices rose like an unprompted musical chorus.

“Avery!” they cried in unison, little feet pounding the earth of the courtyard as they rushed toward me.

Small, eager hands tugged at my sleeves, their eyes wide with excitement. But then, Lily—sharp-eyed, swift-moving Lily—slid out in front of the group like a tiny, self-appointed commander.

Her brown eyes were scrutinizing. They flicked up to me, then darted to Emily, who stood behind me, a vision with an armful of stuffed toys.

Lily’s brows furrowed in intense concentration. She crossed her arms, her tiny lips pressing into a defiant pout.

“Who is she?” she demanded, her suspicion radiating outward.

Then, narrowing her eyes at Emily, she blurted out the question that made my blood run cold: “Is she your girlfriend, Avery?”

I froze. My eyes widened in shock, my lips parting in a strangled “W-what?!”

For a moment, the courtyard, the rushing children, the chirping birds, everything went still. And then—like a dam that had broken—Fiona, the supervisor, who stood on the porch, burst into uncontrollable, body-shaking laughter.

She had to clutch the doorframe to keep from doubling over. My cheeks burned a furious red, my dignity crumbling into ash.

I stammered, “Lily—that’s—And who are you telling this girlfriend stuffs.”

And then her eyes moved towards Joe and he stiffened and ran away. Emily intervened with a grace that was entirely her own.

She crouched down, bringing herself to Lily’s level, her expression a blend of warmth and kindness. She reached out and tucked a stray curl behind Lily’s ear.

“No, darling,” Emily said, her voice soft and soothing, “I’m not her girlfriend.”

She paused, then smiled radiantly.

“I’m her caretaker. More like… a mother figure, really.”

Lily blinked, unconvinced by this adult categorization, still frowning at me as if waiting for me to deny the far more exciting suggestion. I knelt down beside them.

“She’s right, Lily. Emily has been like a mother to me since I was a little girl. She raised me. Say hello to her properly, hmm?”

Something shifted in Lily’s determined face. Her suspicion melted away, replaced by curiosity.

Slowly, shyly, she offered a small smile.

“Hello… Emily.”

And then—almost as if a magical spell had been broken—the rest of the children chorused in unison, “Hello, Emily!”

Their voices rang out like a cascade of tiny, joyful bells. Emily’s eyes sparkled, and I could see the sheen of tears she did not let fall.

She pressed her hand to her chest, her voice a whisper.

“Oh, my heart.”

Then, louder, her voice ringing with happiness, she said, “Hello, my darlings.”

The children erupted into giggles, the formality broken. Without further prompting, Emily opened her bags, and the distribution began.

One by one, she handed out the treasures: squeaky toys, chocolates, and soft teddy bears. The courtyard filled with squeals of joy, the excited rustling of wrappers, and the satisfying crinkle of ribbons being torn open.

“Look, Avery, look!” one boy shouted, holding up a sleek toy car as though it were the crown jewels of the Von Carter empire.

Another little girl clutched a massive teddy bear to her chest, spinning in circles.

“It’s mine! It’s mine all mine!”

Even Lily—still trying to maintain a shred of her earlier dignity—could not hide the smile that tugged at her lips as she unwrapped a complex-looking puzzle set.

I watched Emily, absorbed in the moment. The way she knelt down to speak to each child, her laughter mingling effortlessly with theirs, her eyes glowing with joy.

For a fleeting second, a profound ache settled in my chest. She really was like a mother. Not just to me, she had raised, but to all little ones here.

Later, Fiona joined us in the courtyard, still grinning from Lily’s initial, hilarious question.

“Well, well,” she teased, crossing her arms, “seems like our little Lily has quite the imagination about her best friend, Avery.”

“Imagination?” I muttered, the blush lingering on my cheeks. “She nearly gave me a heart attack. And you, Fiona, you were no help at all.”

Emily chuckled beside me, nudging my shoulder.

“Relax, darling. Children see the world in the most innocent, straightforward way. To her, love and closeness are simple. She wasn’t wrong to ask what she saw.”

I glanced at Emily, catching the playful glint in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare start.”

She laughed, the sound a balm. Meanwhile, the children, having sorted through their new treasures, tugged at my sleeves, pulling me toward their games.

“Avery! Come play with us! Come play!”

I allowed myself to be pulled away from the adult world. I ran with them across the courtyard, their laughter chasing me like a spontaneous piece of music.

Lily clung to my arm, refusing to let go. Another boy climbed onto Emily’s lap, showing her with detail how his toy car “zoomed faster than any airplane.”

Hours slipped away, dissolving like sugar in water. The sky turned a velvet blue, and the first stars peeked through.

The children tired, their energy fading into yawns and heavy eyes. Fiona herded them inside, promising a marathon of bedtime stories.

But Lily lingered, her small hand wrapped around mine.

“Avery,” she whispered, her voice soft now. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean to make you yell.”

My heart softened, melting the remnants of my embarrassment. I crouched to her level, cupping her warm cheek.

“Don’t be sorry, Lily. You were curious. And you know what? Asking questions, even difficult ones, makes you brave. You’re a brave girl.”

She blinked, then threw her tiny arms around my neck with strength.

“I missed you so much last time,” she murmured into my shoulder.

My throat tightened, a lump forming there. I hugged her back, holding her close.

“I missed you too, Lily. More than you know.”

Emily stood nearby, watching us with a tender smile that spoke volumes. Finally, Fiona called Lily inside.

With one wave, the girl disappeared into the dormitory. The courtyard fell into a pervasive quiet, broken by the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Emily and I stood side by side, the emotional weight of the evening settling over us.

“You know,” Emily said, her eyes fixed on the door where the children had vanished, “you have a gift with them. They look at you… like you’re their world. Like you’re the one person who will never leave.”

I swallowed, my gaze dropping to the ground, kicking at a loose pebble.

“Sometimes… I wonder if I deserve that kind of unconditional love.”

Emily turned to me, her hand finding mine. Her touch was warm, steady, and infinite comfort.

“Darling,” she whispered, her voice husky with emotion, “you deserve every ounce of it. Don’t ever, ever doubt that. You are the kindest soul I know.”

Under the starlit sky, surrounded by the echoes of children’s receding laughter, I found myself, for the first time in a long time, believing her.

The night air was cool, carrying the scent of dew and cut grass as we left the orphanage. The hum of children’s laughter still vibrated in my ears.

Emily walked beside me, her steps buoyant—like the joy of the children had seeped into her veins.

“You enjoyed yourself back there,” I teased, slipping my hands into my jacket pockets, my voice full of amusement.

Emily turned to me, her eyes glowing in the street light.

“Of course I did, Avery. Did you see their faces? Their eyes lit up like a thousand fireworks when I gave them those toys. I don’t remember the last time I felt so… young. So unburdened.”

I smiled, a warmth spreading through my chest.

“Then let’s not let that feeling end here.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the change in direction.

“What do you mean by that?”

Instead of answering, I pulled my car keys from my pocket, twirling them around my finger, letting the anticipation build.

“I’m taking you out tonight. Proper grown-up date night.”

Emily frowned, a suspicious crease forming between her eyebrows.

“Out? Avery, it’s nearly ten o’clock. Out to where?”

“You’ll see,” I said, my tone final.

The drive was short, the city lights stretching out before us like spilled jewels across a field of black velvet. Emily kept stealing frustrated glances at me, trying to decipher the mystery, but I maintained my smirk, refusing to reveal the destination.

When I pulled the car up in front of a building, her jaw dropped in astonishment. It was a restaurant of elegance—one of the city’s finest, known for its hushed atmosphere and prices.

The façade was bathed in golden uplights, the massive glass doors gleaming under the shimmer of chandeliers visible within.

“Avery…” she breathed, staring at the entrance as though it were a spaceship. “What is this place? The Ritz?”

“A dinner,” I said, cutting the engine and stepping out. “A proper, formal dinner. To cheer you up and celebrate your inherent goodness. You deserve to be spoiled.”

She followed me, still shaking her head.

“This place is too much, darling. Look at me—I didn’t even dress for this. I smell of children’s chocolate and disinfectant.”

I paused by the door, raising a brow at her.

“Emily, you could walk into the Queen’s palace in your pyjama slippers, and you’d still outshine everyone else. Now stop fussing.”

She gave me a look that was a balanced blend of disbelief and abiding fondness.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, young lady. And I am wearing sensible trousers, thank you.”

“Who said I was flattering?” I grinned, opening the glass door for her.

Inside, the atmosphere was warm and graceful. Soft, live piano music drifted through the air, and couples laughed over candlelit tables.

Emily’s expression softened as she took it all in, a hint of wonder in her eyes. I guided her to a prime table by the picture window, where the city skyline glittered beneath us like expensive diamonds.

As we sat, she muttered under her breath, a futile protest: “You didn’t have to do this, Avery.”

I met her gaze, cutting through the self-deprecation.

“I wanted to.”

Dinner passed with an atmosphere of lightness and ease. The food was exquisite, but the conversation was the main course.

Emily relaxed, telling me mischievous stories I had never heard before—tales from her own wild younger days, the time she’d gotten in trouble for sneaking backstage at a rock concert, the outrageous trip she once took across the country with ten dollars and a bag of bruised apples.

I listened, enchanted, finding myself smiling more than I had in weeks. For once, my mind was clear.

It wasn’t about the crushing weight of responsibilities, the complexity of my investigations, or the looming shadows of family names. It was just… life. Simple. Human.

When the elaborate chocolate soufflé arrived, Emily leaned back, sighing with contentment.

“Well, Avery Von Carter… you’ve outdone yourself. I feel wonderfully spoiled.”

“You should,” I said, taking a bite of my own dessert. “You’ve spoiled me my whole life, providing for me, worrying about me, covering for me. Tonight is my turn.”

Her eyes softened, her lips pressing into a tender smile that made her look years younger. But I wasn’t done yet. I had one more stop on the agenda.

When we left the restaurant, instead of turning the car toward the mansion, I took a different, less dignified street. Emily noticed, her posture stiff in the passenger seat.

“Where are we going now? Avery, don’t tell me you forgot something.”

“I did not forget anything,” I said, a smirk playing on my lips. “You’ll see.”

The neon glow came into view before she could push further. It was a lively bar, throbbing with bass-heavy music that pulsed through the glass doors, laughter spilling onto the pavement.

Emily froze. Her eyes went wide.

“Avery. No. Not. Turn this car around.”

I parked the car, turning off the ignition and leaning toward her with an expression of mischief.

“Yes. Yes.”

She turned toward me, her expression a mix of scandal and horror.

“What would a forty-two-year-old lady—a respectable woman who manages a Von Carter household—do in a place like this? I will be humiliated.”

I grinned, leaning closer, my voice low and challenging.

“Enjoy her life a bit. Understood? Stop being a caretaker for five minutes and just be Emily.”

Her lips twitched, torn between irritation at my insistence and amusement at my brazenness. Finally, she huffed, throwing her hands up in surrender.

“You are unbelievable, darling.”

“And you love me for it,” I shot back, already stepping out and moving to open her door.

Inside, the bar was a riot of energy—the music thrumming through the floorboards, the clinking of glasses, people shouting and laughing. I guided Emily to a quieter, darker corner booth, away from the worst of the chaos.

She still looked uncertain, clutching her small purse across her chest like a shield.

“Relax,” I whispered, leaning toward her ear so she could hear me over the speakers. “I promise it won’t kill you. No one is watching us.”

She gave me a side-eye sharp enough to cut glass.

“You are enjoying this too much. You look like a little devil.”

“Guilty,” I admitted, signaling for two drinks from a passing waiter.

I slid one of the colorful concoctions toward her. She stared at it like a foreign, possibly toxic object.

“Avery… I haven’t had a proper cocktail in—”

“Just try it. Don’t think about it.”

With a dramatic sigh that only Emily could pull off, she lifted the glass and took a tiny sip. A second later, her eyes widened in delighted surprise.

“That’s… actually not bad at all. It’s sweet.”

I smirked. “Told you. Now drink the rest before you change your mind.”

As the night wore on, Emily loosened up. The cocktail worked its magic. She laughed more freely, leaning in to share gossip about people she recognized from the social columns.

She even tapped her fingers against the table in time with the beat of the music. At one point, she leaned in, her eyes shining mischievously, and whispered, “Don’t you dare think for one minute that I’ll start clubbing with you now, Avery.”

I chuckled, lowering my voice in response.

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t want to traumatize the city’s nightlife scene with your dancing. I’ve seen it.”

Her jaw dropped in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

I laughed, nearly choking on my drink, delighted by the outrage I had sparked. And then, in a moment of mischief—a calculated provocation I couldn’t resist—I leaned even closer, my voice soft but teasing.

“You know… I wouldn’t mind if you found yourself a partner. A serious one. You deserve someone too, Emily.”

Her eyes widened, the amusement wiped away.

“Avery! Stop it right now!”

I grinned, loving the reaction.

“What? I mean it, and you know it. You’re amazing, smart, beautiful, and unique. Any person—man or woman—would be lucky to—”

“Fuck off,” she cut me off, her cheeks now flushed a magnificent, deep pink that made her look fifteen again.

The formal elegance of the restaurant had melted away. I burst out laughing, clutching my stomach with delight.

“You should have seen your face! You were terrified!”

She narrowed her eyes at me in a glare that held zero malice, but she couldn’t hold back her own laughter anymore. The teasing sound mingled with mine, rising above the booming music.

By the time we left the bar, the city had begun to quiet. The streets were slick with late-night dew.

Emily walked beside me, her arms wrapped around herself, but her smile was soft, profound, and content.

“That was ridiculous,” she declared, shaking her head as if to clear the fog of the evening. “Absolutely, ridiculous, Avery.”

“Admit it—you had fun,” I teased, pushing open the car door for her.

She glanced at me, her eyes overflowing with a quiet, powerful affection.

“Maybe… just a little bit of ridiculous fun.”

I slipped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close for a tight hug as we reached the car.

“That’s all I ever wanted.”

As we drove home, the night fading into a shared silence, I realized something important: for all the chaos in my life—for all the secrets I was chasing, the dark investigations I was conducting, and the shadows that followed me—this moment felt pure. Clean. Just me and Emily. Home.