Chapter 113: The Quiet Before the Storm”

The night felt softer than it had in years.

Maybe it was the way the porch light glowed like a halo over our little world, or the way the girls snuggled against us as though peace was something they could finally, finally trust.

Or maybe it was simply the realization that—for the first time since the Mercer nightmare began—I wasn’t bracing for something to go wrong.

After the ceremony in the Memory Garden, everyone drifted to bed one by one. The house hummed with that familiar warmth only families create. Lucian carried a yawning Aria upstairs while Arian insisted she wasn’t tired… but fell asleep halfway up the steps. Cassian had gone to “supervise bedtime operations,” which mostly meant causing enough mischief for Aria to complain and Arian to roll her eyes.

And Adrian—he did what he always did.

He lingered alone in the backyard.

I watched him through the screen door as he stood between the shadows of the trees, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the sky as though reading messages in the constellations.

Adrian was the calm after a war, the quiet that follows a storm—but also the storm itself when he chose to be.

Precise. Controlled. Resolute.

But tonight… something was off.

There was tension in the way he held himself, a stiffness in his jaw, a restless shifting of weight I rarely saw in him. Like something inside him was unraveling—slowly, silently, stubbornly.

I stepped outside. The cool night air wrapped around me, carrying the lavender scent from our new Memory Garden.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” I said softly.

Adrian didn’t turn. “You always say that.”

“Because you always do it.”

A humorless breath escaped him—a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Which, of course, meant he absolutely wasn’t.

I walked closer until we were standing shoulder to shoulder beneath the stars. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. There was no need to. Adrian had never been good with words, not when it came to feelings—his or anyone else’s.

But tonight, silence wasn’t enough.

“Adrian,” I said gently, “you don’t have to hold everything alone anymore.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “Old habits.”

“Break them.”

His voice dropped low. “Some habits are… difficult.”

There was something raw there. Vulnerable. And startling.

I studied him—the rigid posture, the clenched jaw, the restless fingers tapping once against his arm before he stilled them.

“What’s wrong?” I asked quietly.

A long pause.

Then, barely audible:

“Nothing I’m willing to talk about.”

I lifted a brow. “Yet.”

Adrian shot me a sidelong look—a warning disguised as patience. “Don’t push.”

“That’s unfortunate,” I said, “because I will.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Something sharp. And scared.

He turned back to the sky.

“I don’t want… complications,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Complications?” I repeated. “Adrian, what complication—”

The back door creaked open.

Lucian stepped out onto the porch, arms sliding around my waist from behind. He kissed my temple, warm and grounding.

“Everything alright?” he asked, gaze moving from me to Adrian.

Adrian straightened instantly. Mask on. Walls up. Soldier restored.

“Yes,” he said calmly. “Just getting some air.”

Lucian didn’t push him. He knew better. Adrian only revealed pieces of himself when he was ready—if he ever was.

Lucian guided me back toward the door.

“You coming inside?” he asked Adrian.

Adrian hesitated.

Then he said the second lie of the night:

“In a minute.”

His eyes slipped back to the darkness, to the quiet, to whatever storm he was choking down.

I wanted to go to him again—but I knew that look.

Adrian wasn’t shutting me out.

He was shutting himself in.

Adrian didn’t come inside that night.

Or at least, I didn’t hear him.

Lucian and I curled into bed while the moon slipped across the sky, and even though my body finally relaxed, my mind kept drifting back to the backyard—to the lone figure standing quietly in the dark, pretending he didn’t need anyone.

It troubled me.

Not because Adrian was broken. He wasn’t.

He was disciplined. Controlled. Loyal.

The kind of man who locked pain in a box and buried it under perfectly stacked responsibilities.

But the tightness in his voice tonight…

That hadn’t sounded like responsibility.

That had sounded like someone fighting himself.

And losing.

—

When I woke the next morning, the house was already alive.

Aria’s laughter bounced through the hallway.

Cassian’s voice followed—loud, dramatic, probably teasing someone with absolutely no shame.

Arian was arguing with him about something scientific and probably correct.

And Lucian—my calm, wicked, breathtaking husband—slid a steaming mug of tea into my hands before I even opened my eyes.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his lips brushing my cheek.

I smiled. “You’re spoiling me.”

“It’s my full-time job,” he said without blinking.

I laughed softly and set the tea aside as he joined me on the bed. I curled into him, his warmth instantly grounding me.

“Everyone’s awake?” I asked.

“With questionable degrees of energy,” he answered. “Cassian seems determined to cause three minor disasters before noon.”

“So… a normal day.”

Lucian smirked. “Yes. Except…”

“Except what?”

“Adrian,” he said simply.

I sat up a little. “What about him?”

“He was gone before dawn.”

My chest tightened. “Gone?”

“For a run,” Lucian assured. “He does that when he’s thinking. But today felt… different.”

Yes. I had felt it too.

Lucian brushed a strand of hair away from my face. “Something is on his mind.”

“Something he doesn’t want to share,” I murmured.

“Not yet,” Lucian corrected softly.

Not yet.

And maybe that was enough—for now.

—

When I descended the stairs, the kitchen was a battlefield.

Aria sat on the counter drawing flowers in her notebook.

Arian had three textbooks open at once, lecturing absolutely nobody.

Cassian was flipping pancakes—badly—and dramatically insisting he meant for half of them to land on the floor.

“Ah,” I sighed. “Breakfast disaster. How nostalgic.”

“Mother!” Cassian said, gasping theatrically. “You wound me.”

“You wound the kitchen,” Arian shot back.

Aria giggled. “He burned the first four!”

“I caramelized them,” Cassian corrected, flipping another pancake onto the floor.

I pressed a hand to my forehead. “Cassian—”

“Don’t worry,” Adrian’s voice cut in, calm, flat, and annoyingly steady. “I’ve already cleaned the floor twice.”

I turned.

He stood in the doorway, sweat dampening his shirt, breathing controlled despite the obvious intensity of whatever run he’d taken. His eyes found mine for the briefest second before sliding away.

That flicker—quick, sharp, almost guilty—told me everything.

He wasn’t done fighting himself.

Not even close.

“Morning,” I said.

He nodded. “Morning.”

Lucian brought him a bottle of water. Adrian accepted it with a quiet “thank you,” but his mind was far away.

Somewhere else.

Someone else?

A thought sparked in my chest.

Someone unexpected.

But who?

Adrian? Falling for someone? That didn’t even seem possible.

He barely tolerated most humans.

He trusted only us.

Loved only us.

So whoever had slipped past those iron defenses…

It had to be someone extraordinary.

Or someone dangerous.

Or someone he absolutely, desperately did NOT want to care about.

My curiosity sharpened.

I watched him from across the kitchen as he took a long drink of water, throat working, jaw clenched. A shadow moved behind his eyes. Something heavy.

Cassian, oblivious as always, clapped Adrian on the back so hard the poor man nearly dropped the bottle.

“So, big guy,” Cassian said brightly, “life crisis or midlife crisis? Which one woke you up at 4 a.m.?”

Arian gasped. “Cassian!”

Aria whispered loudly, “He’s going to die.”

Adrian froze. Closed his eyes. Breathed once—slow, murderous, and dangerously calm.

“Cassian,” he said, voice low, “you have exactly three seconds to remove your hand.”

Cassian squeaked and teleported five feet back.

Good. Self-preservation still existed.

Adrian stepped past all of us and reached for a towel on the counter—but his fingers trembled. Just once.

Barely noticeable.

But I noticed.

Because this wasn’t exhaustion.

This was emotional.

Something had pierced him.

Something big.

Lucian caught my eyes from across the room.

He saw it too.

Later, after the chaos settled and the kitchen no longer looked like a pancake war zone, I slipped onto the back porch. Adrian was there again, leaning against the railing, staring at the trees like they owed him answers.

“Want company?” I asked.

“No,” he said automatically.

I walked to his side anyway.

“You’re not fine,” I said softly.

“This isn’t your concern.”

“It is,” I said. “You’re my family.”

He exhaled slowly, jaw tight.

“My emotions,” he muttered, “are irrelevant.”

“They’re not,” I whispered.

Adrian turned his head slightly.

Something flickered in his eyes.

Something like fear.

“I don’t want this,” he said, voice rough. “I don’t want… complication.”

There it was again.

Complication.

The word tasted like confession.

“Who is she?” I asked softly.

Adrian’s entire body froze.

He didn’t breathe.

He didn’t blink.

His pulse jumped—just once—at his throat.

And then he whispered, barely audible, as if admitting it might destroy him:

“No one.”

Which meant…

Someone.

Someone he shouldn’t feel anything for.

Someone who shook the walls he’d spent a lifetime building.

Someone he was desperate to avoid.

Someone dangerous.

Someone unexpected.

And someone he cared about so much, he couldn’t even say her name.

My heart thudded.

This was only the beginning.

And Adrian—rigid, disciplined, impossible Adrian—was falling.

Whether he wanted to or not.

Adrian didn’t speak after that.

He didn’t have to. His silence said more than any confession ever could.

He turned away from me, bracing both hands on the porch railing, head bowed slightly. The morning breeze lifted the damp ends of his hair, but he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe properly. Didn’t let whatever was clawing at him break free.

I studied him—the rigid line of his back, the barely perceptible tremor in his fingers, the way his shoulders seemed tense enough to snap.

“Adrian,” I said gently, “you don’t have to tell me who she is.”

He didn’t look at me.

But his jaw tightened.

“But I want you to tell me something,” I continued. “Just one thing.”

Finally, he spoke, voice low and warning. “What?”

“Does she know?”

His inhale was sharp.

“No,” he said immediately. Too quickly.

“No,” he repeated, quieter now. “She can’t know.”

I tilted my head.

“Can’t… or shouldn’t?”

He flinched.

There it was.

The truth hiding in the cracks.

“Both,” he muttered. “I’m not—” He stopped. Pressed his lips together. “I’m not supposed to feel anything. Not like this.”

The words hit me harder than I expected.

Not supposed to.

Which meant…

She was off-limits.

But why?

An enemy?

An ally he shouldn’t touch?

Someone tied to the legacy?

Someone tied to the past?

Someone dangerous?

Or worse—

Someone who made him feel safe.

People like Adrian ran from safety more than danger.

Danger he understood.

Safety… that was foreign territory.

I stepped closer, softening my voice. “Adrian. Feeling something doesn’t make you weak.”

“It makes me reckless,” he snapped.

Ah.

There it was.

“That’s what this is really about,” I murmured. “Control.”

His eyes flashed. “I have control.”

“Right now?” I asked.

He looked away.

That was my answer.

We stayed on the porch like that for a long moment—me watching him unravel in silence, him trying desperately to stitch himself back together.

He clenched the railing so tightly his knuckles whitened.

“Adrian,” I whispered, “you don’t have to do this alone.”

He shut his eyes. “I always do.”

“But not anymore.”

His voice was hoarse when he said, “It’s easier.”

I exhaled softly. “No. It’s familiar. That’s not the same thing.”

For a brief, fragile second, I thought he might finally open up.

His shoulders dropped.

His guard wavered.

His breath trembled.

And then—

Cassian burst through the back door.

“BREAKING NEWS!” he announced dramatically, waving a piece of paper. “Adrian is secretly in love!”

I froze.

Adrian froze harder.

Cassian beamed, utterly unaware of the nuclear danger he was walking into.

“I found this crumpled in the trash,” he continued, flourishing the paper like a treasure map. “A RECEIPT from three days ago. For—wait for it—a bouquet of white gardenias.” His eyes sparkled. “Romantic. Delicate. Symbolic of hidden feelings. Who did you buy them for, brother?”

I slapped a hand over my mouth.

Oh no.

Adrian’s aura darkened like a storm front rolling in.

“Cassian,” I whispered, “run.”

“Nonsense,” Cassian said proudly. “This is an intervention of love.”

“Cassian,” I tried again, “RUN.”

Adrian moved.

Fast.

So fast.

Cassian yelped and vanished back into the house, screaming, “HE’S GOING TO MURDER ME—TELL MY STORIES—KEEP MY ARTWORK—BURN MY SECRET JOURNAL—NOT THE ONE UNDER THE BED, THE OTHER ONE—”

Adrian stepped forward, expression cold enough to freeze the sun.

“This,” he muttered, “is why I should never feel anything. Ever.”

But I saw it.

The flush at the tips of his ears.

The way he avoided looking at me.

The guilt, the panic, and—beneath it all—the helpless affection he didn’t know how to process.

Gardenias.

He had bought someone gardenias.

Adrian.

The man who avoided emotional gestures like they were explosives.

I walked in front of him and placed a hand gently on his arm. “Hey,” I said softly. “It’s okay.”

He swallowed hard. “It’s not.”

“Why not?”

He hesitated.

Then, under his breath, he whispered the most vulnerable words I had ever heard from him:

“Because she deserves better than me.”

My chest tightened.

Oh, Adrian.

This wasn’t denial anymore.

This was fear.

Real, raw fear.

Fear of hurting her.

Fear of being hurt.

Fear of feeling something he couldn’t control.

And the moment he said it, he looked away—as if ashamed of the truth.

I touched his hand lightly.

He didn’t pull away.

“Adrian,” I whispered, “whoever she is… she’d be lucky to have you.”

His eyes flickered—sad, aching, stubborn.

“You don’t understand,” he murmured. “She can’t know. Not now.”

“Because she’s dangerous?” I asked quietly.

Adrian froze.

Not denial.

Not surprise.

Just stillness.

As if danger wasn’t the right word…

…but it wasn’t the wrong one either.

And that realization made a chill run down my spine.

Whoever she was, she wasn’t simple.

She wasn’t safe.

She wasn’t convenient.

She was the kind of woman who could break Adrian Vale open from the inside.

And he was already cracking.

Adrian didn’t answer my question.

Not with words.

But the way his jaw tightened…

the way his shoulders went rigid…

the way his breath left him too slowly, too carefully…

It told me everything.

Danger wasn’t a person to him.

It was a boundary.

A line he refused to cross.

A life he refused to endanger.

And whoever this woman was…

She lived on the wrong side of that line.

“Adrian,” I whispered, “if she’s a threat—”

“She isn’t.”

He cut me off instantly, sharply, almost defensively.

That alone spoke volumes.

Adrian didn’t defend people.

He observed them.

Analyzed them.

Categorized them.

He had never defended someone with that kind of instinctive certainty.

Which meant—

He knew her.

He trusted her.

Or he wanted to.

And that scared him more than any enemy we had ever faced.

I stepped a little closer. He tensed but didn’t move away.

“Tell me what you’re afraid of.”

He exhaled slowly. “Everything.”

I waited.

He shook his head, frustration tightening his features. “I don’t want this. I don’t want to feel anything. It’s—”

“Human?” I offered.

“Complicated,” he corrected immediately. “And dangerous.”

His eyes flicked to the forest at the edge of our property. For a moment, something raw and unguarded passed through his gaze.

A memory.

A moment.

A person.

I followed his stare—but the woods remained still.

“You met her recently?” I asked.

His throat worked once. “Yes.”

“Before the Mercer incident ended?”

A pause.

“During,” he said quietly.

Ah.

So she wasn’t just unexpected.

She was tied to everything we had survived.

A piece of the past he hadn’t let go.

Maybe a shadow.

Maybe an ally.

Maybe something in between.

“Was she on our side?” I asked.

Another long pause.

“She wasn’t an enemy,” he said finally.

Which was not an answer.

Not even close.

I opened my mouth to press him again when the back door slid open just an inch. Aria peeked out, her messy curls wild around her face.

“Mommy?” she whispered. “Breakfast is done. And Cassian is banned from cooking for the rest of the year.”

“I’m sure he accepts that with grace,” I said dryly.

“He does NOT,” Aria said proudly. “He says he is a misunderstood chef.”

Behind her, Cassian’s voice shrieked, “I AM AN ARTIST—THE WORLD JUST ISN’T READY FOR ME!”

Arian responded, “YOUR PANCAKES NEED A WARNING LABEL.”

Lucian’s sigh echoed through the hallway.

Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Please. Take me now,” he muttered to the heavens.

Aria blinked at him. “Where do you want to go?”

“A quiet place,” Adrian said solemnly. “Far from sound. And people. And Cassian.”

Aria giggled and disappeared inside.

I turned back to Adrian.

“You know,” I said softly, “love doesn’t have to be chaos.”

“For me,” he murmured, “it would be.”

I laid a hand lightly on his arm. “Someday… you’re going to have to let someone in.”

He didn’t answer.

But his silence didn’t push me away this time.

It trembled.

Almost broke.

Then—

A voice drifted from the driveway.

“Hello? Is this the Vale residence?”

Adrian’s head snapped up.

All the color drained from his face.

My heart jolted.

Oh.

Oh, God.

The shift in him was instant.

A reaction so visceral, so uncontrolled, so deeply emotional that it told me more than words ever could.

He knew that voice.

Very well.

Too well.

And the way he froze—

That was not fear.

That was recognition.

Slowly, painfully, he turned toward the front of the house.

I followed his gaze.

A figure stood just beyond the gate, sunlight catching on her dark hair, her posture graceful but tense, like she’d debated leaving a thousand times on her way here.

She wore a simple jacket, hands clasped tightly in front of her, eyes scanning the house with caution—as though stepping too close might change something she wasn’t ready to face.

She looked strong.

She looked self-contained.

She looked like she had secrets.

She looked like trouble.

But more than anything—

She looked like the kind of woman Adrian would fall for against his will.

Unexpected.

Quietly dangerous.

Beautiful in a way she probably didn’t realize.

And carrying something heavy behind her eyes.

Adrian sucked in a breath, sharp and unsteady.

Lucian appeared behind us at the doorway, expression sharpening.

“Is that—?” he started.

“Yes,” Adrian said abruptly.

“Do we know her?” Lucian asked.

Adrian swallowed. “No. But… I do.”

My heart pounded.

She lifted her eyes—

and they locked with Adrian’s across the yard.

A flicker.

A reaction.

A jolt of something that traveled straight through him.

He stepped back as though hit. His hand tightened on the railing—not in anger.

In fear.

Real fear.

The fear of someone whose heart had just walked back into his life.

And the woman at the gate whispered, barely audible even from that distance:

“Adrian.”

He stiffened.

Completely.

Irrevocably.

And for the first time since I had known him…

Adrian Vale looked genuinely, utterly undone.