Chapter Four: The Things You Don’t Say

Marcus Cole had built his life on discipline.

It was the reason he was successful. The reason his name carried weight. The reason people trusted him to make the hard calls without letting emotion cloud his judgment.

Discipline was supposed to keep everything in order.

It was failing him now.

He stood in his office long after the building had emptied, city lights flickering beyond the window, paperwork untouched on his desk. His attention kept drifting—to a thought he didn’t want, to a name he refused to say out loud.

Aire.

He exhaled slowly and straightened his tie, like that might bring him back under control.

She had come back to his house tonight.

Not because she had to.

Because she wanted to.

That distinction mattered more than it should have.

Marcus shut off the light and grabbed his coat, locking up with mechanical precision. He told himself the drive home would clear his head.

It didn’t.

---

When he walked through the door, the sound of laughter hit him first.

Nia’s.

Aire’s.

His steps slowed.

The two of them sat on the couch, knees drawn up, sharing something on a phone screen. Aire’s head tipped back as she laughed, unguarded in a way Marcus rarely saw anymore.

His chest tightened.

For a moment, he let himself watch from the hallway.

This was the picture he was supposed to protect. The friendship. The trust. The simple normalcy of it all.

He cleared his throat.

Both women looked up.

“Hey, Dad,” Nia said. “You’re home early.”

“Long day,” Marcus replied evenly.

Aire stood. “I was just about to head out.”

Nia frowned. “Already? You just got here.”

Marcus’s gaze flicked to Aire. She hesitated—just a beat too long.

“I… yeah. I’ve got stuff to do,” she said.

Nia tilted her head. “You’ve been busy a lot lately.”

The words were light.

The look wasn’t.

Aire smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Life happens.”

Nia shrugged it off, but Marcus didn’t miss the way she kept watching Aire even as she hugged her goodbye.

“Text me,” Nia said.

“I will.”

Marcus walked Aire to the door, keeping a careful distance. The air between them felt charged anyway.

“Drive safe,” he said.

She looked up at him. “You always say that.”

“Because it matters.”

Her lips curved slightly. “Good night, Marcus.”

She left before he could stop himself from saying something reckless.

Marcus shut the door and leaned his forehead against it for a brief, unguarded second.

Then he straightened.

---

Later that night, he found Nia in the kitchen, picking at leftovers.

“You okay?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

That was never a good sign.

“About what?”

Nia hesitated, then sighed. “Aire.”

Marcus kept his face neutral. “What about her?”

“She’s… different,” Nia said slowly. “Don’t you think?”

His pulse spiked. “Different how?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “She’s been distant. Like she’s carrying something she doesn’t want to tell me.”

Marcus chose his words carefully. “People change.”

Nia studied him. “Do you think she’s hiding something?”

The question landed heavier than it should have.

“No,” Marcus said firmly. Too firmly.

Nia raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t even think about it.”

“I trust her.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Nia said quietly.

Marcus exhaled. “If something’s wrong, she’ll say something when she’s ready.”

Nia nodded, but her expression remained unconvinced. “I hope so.”

Marcus watched her leave the kitchen, unease settling in his chest.

This was how it started.

Not accusations. Not confrontations.

Instinct.

---

The next afternoon, Aire showed up unannounced.

Marcus was in the middle of reviewing contracts when the doorbell rang. He frowned—rarely did anyone come by without warning.

When he opened the door, Aire stood there, sunlight catching in her hair, nervous energy rolling off her in waves.

“I hope this isn’t a bad time,” she said.

“It’s fine,” he replied automatically, stepping aside. “Come in.”

She followed him into the living room, glancing around like she was seeing the place for the first time.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” she admitted.

Marcus’s chest tightened. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated, fingers twisting together. “Nia’s been asking questions.”

There it was.

“About what?”

“Me,” she said. “About where I’ve been. Who I’ve been seeing.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “And what did you tell her?”

“That I’m just tired,” Aire said. “That I’m figuring things out.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s not a lie.”

She laughed softly. “It feels like one.”

Silence settled between them, thick and dangerous.

Marcus moved toward the kitchen, needing space, needing control. “You can’t let her suspect anything.”

Aire followed him. “There isn’t anything to suspect.”

He turned, eyes sharp. “Aire.”

Her breath hitched.

“This—whatever this is,” he said quietly, “can’t exist outside of here.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “But it exists.”

The words hit him like a blow.

Marcus stepped closer, stopping himself just in time. “You’re getting too close.”

Her eyes searched his face. “So are you.”

He looked away first.

“I should tell her,” Aire said suddenly.

His head snapped back. “No.”

“I hate lying to her.”

“You would destroy her,” he said, the truth raw and ugly. “And you would destroy us.”

Her eyes filled—not with tears, but with resolve. “Then what are we doing, Marcus?”

He didn’t have an answer.

Instead, he did the one thing he hated most.

He reached out—not to touch her, but to gently guide her toward the door.

“This has to slow down,” he said. “Before it costs more than we can afford.”

Aire nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay.”

But the look she gave him before she left told him everything he needed to know.

She wasn’t pulling away.

She was already choosing.

---

That evening, Nia sat alone in her room, scrolling through her phone, a frown etched between her brows.

She opened a photo—one she hadn’t meant to take.

Aire, standing in her father’s doorway earlier that day.

Close.

Too close.

Nia’s stomach twisted.

Across town, Marcus poured himself a drink and didn’t touch it.

Because discipline was cracking.

And love—wrong, forbidden love—was demanding to be seen.