CHAPTER FOUR

Clause’s POV

His head rested on my bare chest. His breath was soft, calm. Almost like he’d finally found peace. The rise and fall of his chest matched mine, and for a while, the world felt quiet. Just us. No noise. No grief. No guilt.

I don’t even remember the last time I felt that still.

My fingers moved gently across his back, tracing slow, lazy circles on his warm skin. My body was sore in all the right ways. We had spent ourselves fully, completely. The room still smelled like sex and sweat. But under that, something lingered. Something heavier.

Something dangerous.

We didn’t talk after it happened. No real words. Just the occasional kiss. A touch here. A soft sigh there. Our bodies spoke, but our mouths didn’t. Maybe we were afraid to break the silence. Maybe we knew the moment we spoke, reality would come crashing back in.

Or maybe... we were just scared of what the truth sounded like out loud.

Still, in that dark hotel room, wrapped in each other, it almost felt like we existed in a world that wasn’t ours. A secret world. One where we could stay hidden, where no one knew who we were or what we were doing.

A place where Gary could love me without shame.

I don’t know when it happened, but I must’ve dozed off. My body was too tired, too satisfied. My mind, though, wasn’t ready to sleep. Even in dreams, I could feel his weight on me. The way his arms curled tighter like he didn’t want to let go.

But when I opened my eyes again, everything changed.

The warmth was gone.

The space beside me was cold.

I blinked fast, sitting up slowly. “Gary?” I whispered, my voice still rough from sleep.

Nothing.

I reached over the bed. Sheets wrinkled. Still warm in places. But no sign of him. I looked around quickly. The bathroom door was open. The lights off. His clothes? Gone. His shoes? Gone.

My chest tightened. He was gone. Just like that.

I stared at the spot he’d been lying in, heart pounding. The room suddenly felt colder. Quieter. Emptier. The same feeling from before was back again, this time even worse.

Not again.

I got out of bed slowly, holding the sheet to my waist like it could protect me from the wave of emotion crashing through my chest. My hands shook. My jaw clenched.

He left again.

No note. No text. Not even a goodbye.

Did he think it was a mistake again? Was he ashamed of it?

Was I the only one who remembered every second?

I sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled my knees up to my chest, and buried my face in them. It wasn’t just heartbreak this time, it was shame. A deep, sharp, gut-wrenching shame.

Maybe he was still grieving. Maybe he just needed comfort, and I was stupid enough to think it meant something more.

Or maybe... I was the mistake, a distraction or more like a secret.

A stupid, pathetic little fantasy he kept slipping back into whenever the world became too much.

I hated myself for hoping.

I hated myself for caring.

I got up and dressed quickly, tugging my shirt on over my head even though it felt tight around my throat. Every movement felt slow, like I was trying to move through thick water. My phone was on the nightstand. I grabbed it.

No texts, no missed calls.

Nothing.

I walked to the window, stared out at the city as it started to come back to life. Cars passed, people walked, lights blinked like nothing had happened.

Like the world didn’t care that my heart was breaking again.

But I cared.

I cared too much.

My mind wouldn’t stop replaying last night. The way he touched me. The way he whispered my name with every breath. The way he looked into my eyes like I was the only one who mattered.

That couldn’t have been fake. That wasn’t just sex. That was real. He was sober. He was present. He kissed me first this time. He wanted it just as badly.

Didn’t he?

My chest burned with confusion and longing. A hundred questions swirled in my head, none with clear answers.

I sat on the couch with my phone in hand, willing it to ring. I didn’t even know if I wanted to yell at him or beg him to come back.

And then, It lit up.

Gary.

My thumb hovered over the screen for a second. I couldn’t breathe. Then I answered.

“Gary?” My voice cracked a little.

There was silence on the other end.

Then I heard it, his voice. Low, breathless, soft.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know how to face you after that.”

I swallowed hard. “You ran.”

“I know.” His voice trembled. “I panicked. It felt too real and too good at the same time, too dangerous.”

“Were you drunk again?” I asked quietly.

“No,” he said quickly. “I was completely sober.”

I closed my eyes, my heart thudding in my chest. I felt it. Relief, pain and hope. All at once.

“I left because I was scared,” he said. “Because I didn’t regret it. And that terrified me.”

My throat tightened.

“I thought maybe you’d wake up and hate me for it,” he added.

“I thought you would,” I whispered.

“I don’t. I couldn’t,” he said. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Not after the bar. Not after the sex house. Not after last night. It’s you, Clause. It’s always been you.”

The words hit me like a wave. I staggered back, sitting down again, pressing my fingers to my forehead like I was trying to stop the spin inside my head.

He said it.

He finally said it.

So much time I spent wondering if I was imagining it. If it was all just in my head. If maybe I was just obsessed, chasing after someone who would never see me.

But now, now he saw me.

My heart felt full and broken at the same time.

“So… what now?” I asked, voice low. I could barely believe we were finally here, finally speaking the truth.

There was a pause.

Then he said, “We talk. We stop pretending this isn’t happening. We figure out what this is. But this time… I don’t want to run.”

A breath left me, shaky but real. I looked out the window, the world still moving below.

But for the first time, I wasn’t watching it alone.

“You better not,” I said with a small, broken smile.

He let out a soft laugh. “Can I see you tonight?”

“You better.”

There was silence again, but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t painful.

It was peaceful.

Like maybe… just maybe… this was the start of something real.

Something that didn’t have to hide anymore. Something we weren’t going to run from again. Not this time.