Chapter 11 — Breathing Room
Elián didn't sleep that night.
Not because he was angry.
Not because he was hurt.
But because his body didn't know how to react to Kairo sitting beside him and finally being human. It wasn't an apology with flowers or grand gestures. It was quieter than that. More fragile. Something unspoken passed between them—and that, more than anything, left Elián sleepless.
By morning, the air between them still held that unfamiliar softness.
He stepped into the kitchen in silence, still in his robe, expecting the usual emptiness. But Kairo was there. Awake. Dressed. And making coffee.
Making coffee.
Elián blinked.
"You don't have to pretend," he murmured, moving slowly toward the counter.
Kairo glanced over. "I'm not pretending. I just… thought you might want a cup."
That was it. No demands. No harsh tone. No orders.
Just a cup of coffee.
Elián accepted it, the ceramic warm in his hands, and took a sip. Bitterness and strength. Just like Kairo. But for once, it didn't taste like punishment.
They stood in quiet for a while, the soft hum of the city bleeding through the windows.
"I'll be out late again," Kairo said after a moment, his voice low. "But this time it's not Ayden. It's business."
Elián nodded, not needing more.
But then Kairo added something he never had before.
"I'll call, though. If you want me to."
Elián's eyes flicked up. "Why?"
"Because I want you to know I'm thinking of you."
That shouldn't have meant anything.
But it did.
It cracked open something buried deep inside.
"I don't know how to believe you," Elián admitted, his voice just above a whisper.
Kairo's eyes softened. "Then let me prove it, slowly."
He left shortly after, briefcase in hand, coat sharp over his frame. But the moment he walked through the door, something had changed.
Because Elián didn't feel like a prisoner in that penthouse anymore.
He felt… watched over.
Not in the controlling way.
But in the way someone might leave a light on for you in the hallway.
---
The day passed quietly.
Elián wandered into the library, fingers grazing book spines he'd never dared touch. He curled on the window seat with one of them—something old, romantic, French. He didn't read much of it, just let the pages turn and the sunlight move slowly across the room.
When night fell, he didn't wait for Kairo.
He went to bed.
But at 10:34 p.m., the bedroom door creaked softly.
He didn't open his eyes.
Kairo's footsteps were careful. There was the sound of him removing his shoes, his jacket, a soft sigh escaping his chest as he sat on the edge of the bed.
"I'm not good at this," he whispered into the dark. "Not relationships. Not love. Not kindness. I've been cruel because I didn't know how to be soft without being afraid. But you… you stay. Even when I don't deserve it."
Elián kept his breathing even. Listening. Not ready to respond. But his heart stirred.
"I don't expect forgiveness," Kairo said. "But if there's still a space beside you… I'd like to learn how to deserve it."
A long silence followed. Then the rustle of sheets. Kairo lay down on the far side of the bed, leaving a careful space between them. No touching. No demands.
Just presence.
And Elián, without thinking, let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
Because for the first time since their forced wedding, he didn't feel alone.
---
The next morning, Kairo was gone before Elián woke.
But something new lay on the bedside table—a note in clean, straight handwriting.
> Thank you for not walking away. I'll try not to give you another reason to.
— K.
Elián held the note for a long time, running his thumb over the ink. It was small. Maybe meaningless to anyone else.
But to him?
It was everything.
Not a love story.
Not yet.
But a beginning.
---
End of Chapter 11