Chapter 23

Amelia

I woke up disoriented. For a split second, I thought I was back in my dorm bed, the way I used to feel after a late night study session—heavy, groggy, limbs tangled in too many layers. But then I blinked, and it all came rushing back. Richard.

The bed wasn’t mine, the room wasn’t mine, and the pillow under my cheek still smelled like him.

Heat surged to my face before I’d even fully sat up. I shoved the blanket back and slipped quietly out of the room, trying not to wake him—though something told me he was already awake. My heart thudded as I crossed into the lounge, moving fast toward the workspace. I needed to be useful, invisible, out of his space.

By the time the sun was fully up, I’d buried myself in emails and updates. Speaker profiles, credential confirmations, schedule adjustments—mundane, repetitive, exactly what I needed.

Emma appeared around mid-morning, clipboard in hand, her energy a sharp contrast to my sleep-deprived haze.

"VIP security needs support on the schedule rework," she said. "You’ve got the clearest head out of the group, and we need someone who doesn’t scare easily."

I didn’t argue. I followed her down two levels to the logistics center, where we began dissecting the tangled mess of the new wing’s access codes. It was a disaster—overlapping permissions, unclear sign-ins, staff bottlenecks. I volunteered to create a map for guests and took a walk down to the loading docks to get clarity from the teams on the ground.

By the time I returned, Emma had set up a temporary workstation in the logistics center. She waved me over.

"The guest check-in software’s glitching again. Come help me beat it into submission."

We sat shoulder to shoulder for hours, combing through lines of code and login protocols. My back ached and my eyes stung, but it was easier to focus on broken code than broken boundaries.

Emma elbowed me gently. “So, what’s the story with you and Mr. Cold and Brooding? You keep disappearing into that wing.”

I didn’t look at her. “There’s nothing to tell.”

She snorted. “That’s not a denial. That’s a press release.”

I smothered a smile behind the rim of my coffee cup, then sighed. “Okay, fine. It’s... more than complicated.”

Emma perked up instantly, eyes gleaming. “I knew it. Spill.”

I stared at the monitor for a second, debating. But it had been building up inside me, and if I didn’t tell someone soon, I might actually explode.

“He and Jason got into a fight,” I said finally. “Like, a real one. Not verbal. Fists. Claws. The whole thing. It was over me. Jason was pushing, and Richard—he lost control. Not in a scary way. In a protective way.”

Emma blinked. “Shit. Okay. That’s... a lot.”

“And then Richard got injured,” I continued, my voice quieter. “But he started stabilizing faster once I was staying near him. The healer said he shouldn’t be too far from me. Like proximity literally helps him heal.”

She stared at me, one eyebrow slowly arching. “So... are you telling me you two have some kind of—?”

“No,” I said quickly. “No. Absolutely not. That’s ridiculous. I’m not—there’s no mate bond or whatever. That’s not what this is.”

Emma gave me a look like she wasn’t buying a single word, but to her credit, she didn’t press it. Just smirked a little and nudged the laptop back toward me.

But I couldn’t leave it there.

“Also,” I said slowly, “I’ve been... sleeping in his suite. For a while now.”

She arched a brow. “Like actually sleeping sleeping?”

“Yes,” I said. “That’s all it is. Just sleep. Sometimes the couch, sometimes his bed. Nothing ever happens. There’s barely even talking.”

Emma didn’t say anything, just blinked at me like I’d confirmed all her suspicions and then some.

“It was Simon’s idea,” I added quickly. “The healer. He said Richard needed me close overnight—his system was dropping too hard when he was alone. Richard didn’t even want to agree. He said it was inappropriate. I’m the one who pushed for it. It was either that or watch him burn out in front of the whole council.”

Emma’s expression softened.

“But you can’t tell anyone,” I said, sharper now. “Seriously. I know what it looks like. All it would take is one photo of me walking out of his suite at the wrong hour and suddenly I’m some girl who slept her way into a promotion, and he’s—”

I didn’t finish that thought. I didn’t need to.

“I’m not judging,” Emma said gently. “And I won’t say a word. You’ve got my silence.”

I nodded, throat tight.

I hadn’t meant to tell her. But I needed someone to know—someone I trusted. And even though we hadn’t known each other long, Emma had proved over and over that she saw through things without making a show of it. She knew how to hold a secret without making it feel like a burden.

After a pause, she leaned over and tapped the laptop screen. “Alright then. Back to the broken database.”

I tried to focus. But my thoughts kept circling. I’d heard all the stories—the ones about bonds and fate and magnetic pull.

But this wasn’t that. It couldn’t be.

I wasn’t someone destined for a fairytale ending. I was practical. Grounded. Whatever was happening with Richard—whatever weird, biology-driven proximity healing nonsense this was—it didn’t mean anything. Not like that.

Still, it was getting harder to pretend I didn’t feel something whenever he walked into a room. Something sharp. Something impossible to ignore.

I finished updating the broken database entries, but my hands moved on autopilot. The room felt smaller, tighter somehow. I could still hear his voice in my head.

That afternoon, he stopped by my desk. I was still staring at the same screen, pretending to be productive, when I sensed him before I saw him—like the air shifted. He placed a folder in front of me without a word, and I glanced up.

"You didn’t eat lunch," he said.

I blinked. "You’re watching me again?"

He didn’t flinch. "Only when you forget to take care of yourself."

Something in his tone tugged at my chest, but I didn’t let it show. I just nodded and murmured a thank you, eyes dropping back to my work even though I hadn’t absorbed a single word on the page.

That evening, we had a logistics walkthrough—another round of emergency route verification for the summit, this time in the west corridor. The others slowly filtered out as the tour ended, and somehow, it was just the two of us, walking in quiet sync through the long hallway.

We paused near the portrait gallery, where the faded, dusty eyes of past leaders stared down at us like they knew too much. I turned to a painting just as Richard spoke.

"During a past summit, someone accidentally locked a foreign dignitary in the catering freezer for two hours. Caused a minor international incident."

I snorted, then laughed. It burst out of me unexpectedly, light and real.

He watched me closely. Not just amused. Like he was memorizing the sound.

"You’re good at this," he said.

I raised an eyebrow. "At not locking diplomats in freezers?"

"At everything," he said. "You belong here."

The words settled somewhere deep inside me.

We walked back toward our wing together, the halls quiet in that early-evening lull. Neither of us said much. We didn’t have to.

At the door to the suite, he paused like he was waiting for me to decide. And I didn’t know what I was deciding—not really. My room? The couch? His bed?

I stepped inside and walked toward the couch. Sat down slowly. No words. He said nothing either. Just watched me like he always did—silent, steady, unreadable.

The air between us was thick with everything we hadn’t said.

I curled up with the blanket. Told myself I’d fall asleep fast.

But I didn’t. I lay awake for hours, feeling him across the room. Not seeing him. Just knowing he was there.

He didn’t sleep either. I could tell. I could feel it in the stillness. Like both of us were suspended in something unspeakable. And every breath I took, I could still taste the scent of him in the air.