Chapter. 15

{Third person's pov}

Everett’s expression changed instantly. Something far more dangerous to a man like him.

His eyes searched hers for a brief second, like he was making sure she truly meant it.

Then, without a word, he opened his arms slightly.

The invitation was enough.

The moment she stepped closer, Everett’s arms wrapped around her carefully, but completely.

One hand settled at the back of her head, the other around her waist, pulling her against his chest with a steadiness that felt protective rather than possessive.

He was warm.

Safe in a way she probably hadn’t experienced before.

And Everett… held her like she was something fragile he had no intention of letting break again.

His hand moved slowly through her hair once, calming, while his chin rested lightly against the top of her head.

“You don’t have to earn comfort here,” he murmured.

The words were low enough to vibrate against her skin.

“And you don’t have to ask permission for it either.”

For a long moment, he simply stood there with her in his arms, staring out at the dark night beyond the window.

The kind that heals more than words sometimes could.

Then his hold tightened just slightly.

"Thankyou for being a home to someone who was just searching for a roof, Thankyou so much." She whispered in his hold.

Her face was hidden in his chest, soaking his shirt with tears.

Everett closed his eyes for a brief moment. Her words hit somewhere deeper than he was prepared for.

As if safety had always been temporary for her. His arm around her tightened instinctively, pulling her a little closer against him while the other hand continued moving slowly through her hair.

“You should stop thanking me for things you deserved long before I existed,” he said quietly.

His voice had lost that sharp corporate edge completely now. A man standing in the dark with his wife crying into his chest, and realizing how little kindness she had received before this.

He lowered his head slightly, his lips brushing against her hairline for the briefest second.

“You know what I think?” he murmured after a moment. “I think people failed you so badly… that basic care feels extraordinary.”

There was no pity in his tone. Only anger on her behalf.

His fingers tilted her face up gently, not forcing, just enough so she wouldn’t hide completely while crying.

“Look at me.”

When she did, Everett’s thumb brushed beneath her eye, wiping away tears with surprising tenderness.

“You are not a burden in this house,” he said steadily. “Not to me.”

“And no one touches you, threatens you, or humiliates you without dealing with me afterward.”

“So cry if you need to.” His forehead rested lightly against hers. “But stop carrying everything alone.”

She bit her lips and nodded, "I thought I was unlucky until I met you, it's been just a few days but life already feels way better with you, here."

For the first time in a very long time, Everett didn’t have an immediate response.

Because no boardroom, no negotiation, no business rival had ever unsettled him the way simple honesty from her did.

His gaze stayed fixed on her face, tearful, sincere, trusting.

Dangerous things to hand to a man like him. His thumb rested lightly against her cheek, catching another tear before it could fall.

“You shouldn’t say things like that so easily,” he murmured.

A faint crease appeared between his brows as he looked at her, like part of him didn’t quite know what to do with being needed this way.

Then he exhaled softly. “But…” His hand slid gently to the side of her neck, warm, grounding. “I’m glad you feel safe here.”

The confession came quieter than expected.

Honest. He studied her for another second before speaking again.

“And Arizona?” His forehead still rested lightly against hers. “You are not unlucky.”

“Unlucky people don’t survive what you survived and still remain kind.”

Then the corner of Everett’s mouth lifted faintly, the smallest, rarest trace of softness.