MasukPOV: Claire Desmond
We stood there in a silence that wasn't empty. It was heavy. Pregnant with everything we hadn't said since I moved into this house to play teacher. It was a world away from the suffocating, performative silence I used to endure with Jake Floyd.
I tasted the chocolate. It was rich, bitter, and perfectly warm.
"Alana is currently catatonic in front of the television," Gareth said, breaking the qu
POV: Claire DesmondMy throat tightened. Gareth rarely let the mask slip to show the scars underneath.He was always the untouchable stoick man, but in these moments, he let me see the cracks. And it made me want to fall even harder."You're not losing me, Gareth," I whispered.He smiled—a real one—and reached for a paper bag on the floor. "Almost forgot. Martha made this."I opened it. Inside was a glass container of roasted chicken, rosemary potatoes, and a side of greens—the savory aroma filled the cabin instantly."Martha said you've been looking thin since you moved into Shannon’s place. She practically held me hostage until I promised to deliver this," Gareth teased.I breathed in the scent of home. This was Gareth’s language. He didn't drown me in diamonds—though God knows he cou
POV: Claire DesmondThe sharp, citrus sting of a peeled orange cut through the stale scent of Manhattan exhaust lingering in my lungs. Gareth peeled it with a practiced, one-handed efficiency, his other hand draped casually over the steering wheel of the white VW Golf. His thumb dug into the rind, a soft snapechoing in the cabin before the mist of essential oils filled the air."Want some?"He offered a wedge, meticulously stripped of its white pith. His long fingers brushed against my lower lip, a touch so fleeting it felt like a phantom limb. I took it. The sweet-tart juice exploded across my tongue, cold and bracing."It’s perfect," I murmured.In the back, Alana was pressed against the glass, her gaze lost in the blur of trees racing past along the Palisades Interstate Parkway. She was humming a soft, tuneless melody—something about
POV: Claire DesmondThe black marker in my hand moved with a rhythm of its own across the whiteboard. Usually, basic arithmetic felt like a chore, but today, the numbers looked like notes on a staff, dancing to a melody only I could hear.I hummed under my breath, the sound swallowed by the typical Monday morning chaos of shuffling chairs and whispered secrets among my kindergarteners."Alright, everyone. If I have ten apples and Toby takes four, how many do I have left?"I turned around, flashing a smile that Shannon—with her usual bluntness—would have called 'disgustingly radiant' for a Monday."Six, Miss Claire!" Toby shouted, practically vibrating with pride.I glanced toward the middle row. Alana was giggling, nudging the girl next to her. She looked so vibrant, so full of life.Every time those pale grey
POV: Claire DesmondFifteen minutes later.Alana had drifted back to sleep after her milk, exhausted from the excitement of the day.That left Gareth and me on the charcoal-gray sofa. The space between us wasn't huge, but the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife."So..." Gareth started, swirling the remains of his coffee in his mug. He turned to me, his gaze intense."Are we... official now?"I let out a soft laugh at the sheer vulnerability in his voice. "Official what, Gareth? Official business partners?"He scoffed, a crooked, handsome smile tugging at his lips. "Official as in us."He shifted closer, his hand finding mine on my knee. He laced our fingers together."But we need ground rules, Claire. For Alana’s sake. And for your job."I nodded. He
POV: Claire DesmondThe SoHo night air still carried a faint hum of the city below, tugging at the stray strands of my hair. The chill had vanished.It was impossible to feel the bite of a New York autumn when a pair of warm, calloused hands cupped my face, holding me as if I were something priceless—something he was terrified of shattering.My heart hammered against my ribs, struggling to keep pace with the rhythm of Gareth’s breath against my forehead."Listen. The rhythm matches mine," he had whispered moments ago.It was a simple observation, stripped of any poetic fluff, yet it paralyzed my logic. I looked up into Gareth’s obsidian eyes. There was no hesitation.No ghosts of the ex-wife who had walked out on him, no lingering anxiety over the canyon that separated our social standings.There was onl
POV: Claire DesmondWe stood there in a silence that wasn't empty. It was heavy. Pregnant with everything we hadn't said since I moved into this house to play teacher. It was a world away from the suffocating, performative silence I used to endure with Jake Floyd.I tasted the chocolate. It was rich, bitter, and perfectly warm."Alana is currently catatonic in front of the television," Gareth said, breaking the quiet. He was looking out at the skyline, his jaw set in that stoic line I had come to study like a map."She’s been different lately, Claire. Happier. Before you... this place was just a very expensive box for the two of us."I shifted, looking at his profile. The moonlight caught the silver at his temples, highlighting the exhaustion he usually kept buried under that impenetrable wall of calm."She’s a brilliant girl, Gar







