chapter 46

THEA

The elevator dings, but I don’t lift my eyes.

Lyra’s message glows on my screen.

Lyra: Hey. Maybe you’ve got a million things going on, but disappearing isn’t the best thing. 

Lyra: A missed call.

Lyra: Return my call when you see this. Don't let me fly over. 

Lyra: How can you even manage not to HMU for twenty four hours straight? This is the second time. (man pulling his hair GIF). 

Lyra: Is it your grumpy ass of a boss?

Lyra: A missed call.

I stare at it, thumb hovering over the keyboard, unsure of what to say. She’s right. I’ve been MIA. Again. It’s a habit now—vanishing whenever things get messy, like retreating makes the storm quieter. It doesn’t.

I hate this part of me. The part that disappears when people start knocking too hard or when the voices in my head get too loud. The part that thinks silence is strength, that is used to doing everything alone and refuses to let people in when going through shit. The part that forgets love isn’t supposed to feel like a burden.

My heels echo as I step into the hallway, screen still in hand, heart still lodged somewhere between guilt and exhaustion. I stayed up late last night due to watching a late night movie with Finn.

Me: I’m sorry, Lyra. I just— I’ll call you later.

I hit send.

And then I look up.

And freeze.

Ezra is leaning against my front door like it belongs to him. One hand holding a thick brown envelope. The other wrapped around a matte black coffee cup, casually sipping like he hasn’t wrecked me, body and mind, less than twenty-four hours ago.

He looks too damn good for someone who bites.

And fucks.

His dark brown hair which were really just as soft as they appear are slicked back, his stubble framing his cheek and chin, pale blue eyes taking me in.

And suddenly, I can feel him inside me again.

My cheeks burn in embarrassment as I turn my gaze back to my feet. I puff in harsh breaths, letting the embarrassment turn into anger as I walk towards him, a teeny bitty close to outrightly running just to stomp on his face or…

Away?

Towards him?

I don't know.

I stop a breath away from him and adjust my bag. “Didn’t realize you were the type to stalk women to their front doors. Very on-brand for a brooding bloodsucker.”

He arches a brow, sipping like I didn’t just call him a walking red flag with fangs. “Good morning to you too, sugarplum.” He says with a smile as he stands upright. “You weren’t answering your phone.”

I didn't even see the call. I have everyone except Mrs Patel and Lyra on mute.

“Neither were the Mormons, but you don’t see them leaning against my door like… a Calvin Klein ad.”

I step forward and place my thumb against the knob, not even looking at him as I push the door open and step inside. He follows me in, casual as ever, like this is normal. Like he belongs here.

I don't know why he decided to wait, why he didn't just maybe break down the door or something, or even hack it. Afterall, there must be a way he always gets in, right?

“What do you want, Ezra?”

He drops the envelope on my desk with a soft thud. “A signature.”

My head snaps back and I blink at him. “You’re kidding.”

“I never do,” he says, like this is a normal Tuesday. “It’s a non-disclosure. About yesterday. And… everything else.”

I snort bitterly as I turn to him fully. “Wow. So romantic.” I croon, and round my table before dropping my bag on the desk with a thud, standing just beside my seat.

Nothing says he values our connection like a legal muzzle.

He doesn’t flinch. “It’s for your protection as much as mine.”

I lean forward and slide the document closer. I flip it open with two fingers and skim. Tight clauses. No room for storytelling. My chest tightens.

Lyra is going to kill me. Or worse, she’ll fly down, corner me, and get it out of me with tequila and probing questions.

I don't want our first meeting to be because of this. 

Just minutes ago, I told her I’d call. That I’d explain everything after work. But now? There’s nothing to explain. No words I can use. No loophole in the binding silence I’m being handed.

I’m officially dying with this secret.

Shit.

I pick a pen and scribble my name anyway, because deep down, I know I would’ve done it regardless. Some part of me needs the lie to stay buried.

After Finn fell asleep last night, bundled up next to me after the movie, I did the one thing any rational adult woman would do after possibly banging a vampire—I googled it.

“Are vampires real?”

“Man allergic to sunlight?”

“Guy with ice dick, help.”

“Bloodsucking boss.”

Nothing useful. Just glittery Edward Cullen, fan theories, and a questionable Reddit thread I refuse to admit I read through.

I sit down, filling every required box. Then, I slid it back to him. 

So now I look at Ezra—tall, too calm, too much—and I cross my arms.

“Explain it to me,” I say.

“What?” He asks, sipping from his cup.

I inhale deeply, trying to keep myself from snapping.

“This.” I motion at everything. “You.” I say.

He studies me for a beat as he sets the cup down and sits. “Are you sure?”

No. Yes.

Maybe.

I don’t know. It feels like asking is the first step to… everything. To handing over my curiosity, my logic, and whatever’s left of my sense.

“It’s only right that I know,” I mutter, voice lower now. “If I’m going to be… involved. Even if it’s just—whatever the hell this is.”

He leans closer, not touching, just there. His eyes search mine. “Sometimes knowing pulls you in deeper.”

“Not my goal and will never be.” I say.

Even though, deep inside, I know curiosity kills the cat. I don’t want to get attached. 

Because attachment means vulnerability. And vulnerability means risk. 

I don't want to know him. Knowing would be going all the way in. It would mean yesterday wasn't just a day of insanity. It wouldn't just be secrets inked in silence. 

It would be real. Tangible.

Once you know someone, you can't unknow them.

And, he… he said he owns me. What if?

Just what if I'm a walking blood bag now? A hole with emotional baggage. 

Yeah. I did learn something. And that's the fact that Edward Cullen is cunning. Ezra must be too. What if…

Oh God.

I'm overthinking it again. Overanalyzing it.

I shut my eyes tightly for a few seconds before snapping them open.

Ezra watches me for a second, like he sees straight through my thoughts. My fears. Then, gently, like he’s suggesting lunch plans, he says, “If you’re feeling weird about it, maybe we should take this more seriously.”

I blink. “What?”

He tilts his head, expression unreadable except for the little smirk on his lips. “Us.”

I laugh, too sharp. “Us? You mean the emotionally unavailable vampire and the emotionally unstable woman with a custody battle?”

He shrugs. “Sounds like a hit N*****x original.”

I stare at him. At his stupidly symmetrical face. At the quiet surety in his voice.

I hate how it makes something flutter in my chest.

I hate how it doesn’t sound like a joke.

Because that’s the problem with monsters—

Sometimes they’re the only ones who see you clearly.

And they use it to their advantage.

I don't even know why I'm not screaming and crashing tf out right now.