Chapter Fifteen: Where the Hurt Sleeps
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That night, Elián didn't dream of running.
He dreamt of cold hands brushing his cheek with something like reverence. He dreamt of warmth rising like steam in the silence. And when he woke up, his chest hurt in a way it hadn't in weeks—not from fear, but from hope.
The kind of hope that could kill him.
He stared at the ceiling for a long time, letting the ache spread. Kairo had kissed him like a man trying to turn back time. But time didn't bow to regret. It only watched and judged.
So did Elián.
But still... he found himself walking out of his room, barefoot, hoodie sleeves past his knuckles, heart thumping like a secret. The apartment was quiet, sun pouring through the windows like honey. And Kairo? He was in the study, where his walls were down and his guard was off.
Elián watched him from the doorway for a long time.
The CEO who once barked orders now sat cross-legged on the couch, reading something handwritten. His hair was slightly messy, dark strands falling over his temple, his sleeves rolled up.
"Is that mine?" Elián asked softly.
Kairo looked up. "Hmm?"
He held up the page.
It was Elián's poetry.
The one he wrote three days before their forced wedding. The one no one ever read. The one that started with:
> "To the man I'll marry but never know—
I hope you look at me once like the sky you forgot to chase."
Elián froze. "Where did you find that?"
"You left it in the book I threw at the wall."
Of course. That night.
He remembered the shattered spine, the torn pages, and Kairo's rage—so big, so sudden, it swallowed the room. He hadn't realized the paper was still inside.
"I didn't mean for you to read that," Elián said, stepping in slowly.
"It meant something to me," Kairo said. "Even if it wasn't meant for me."
Elián sat on the arm of the couch. Quiet. Distant. But not leaving.
"Do you write about everyone you love?" Kairo asked.
"I didn't love you," Elián replied.
Kairo smiled faintly. "But you thought about it."
"...I thought about what it would've felt like to be wanted."
That silenced him.
Kairo folded the page, delicately, like it might dissolve in his hands. "You are wanted now."
"Now doesn't fix then," Elián whispered.
"I know."
Elián stared at his own words in Kairo's hand. Words he'd written with trembling fingers and tear-stained cheeks.
"Can I have it back?" he asked.
"Of course."
But when Kairo handed it over, their fingers brushed, and something in Elián's breath caught.
He looked down at his lap.
"I want to hate you," he whispered. "It's easier."
Kairo's voice cracked. "Then hate me. But let me stay."
"What if I ask you to go?"
"I won't."
"That's not fair."
"No," Kairo said gently. "But neither was what I did to you."
Elián curled into himself.
"I hated sleeping near you," he admitted. "Your cologne made me sick. Every time you opened a door, I thought you'd throw something again."
"I never deserved your silence," Kairo said.
"You didn't," Elián agreed. "But I gave it to you. Because I thought if I was quiet enough... I'd vanish."
Kairo stood slowly. Walked toward him. Stopped just short.
"You never vanished," he said. "You haunted me."
Elián looked up, eyes suddenly burning.
"Don't say things like that."
"Why?"
"Because I want to believe you," Elián confessed. "And I don't want to be a fool."
Kairo bent slightly, placing a hand on the back of the couch beside Elián's shoulder. "You're the bravest person I know."
"That's not true."
"You stayed."
"That's not bravery. That's obligation."
Kairo leaned closer, voice low. "Then let me give you a choice now."
Elián turned to him, startled.
"You want to go? I'll open the door," Kairo said. "No lawyers. No guards. No drama. If you want to stay… I won't ask for anything. Not your love. Not your forgiveness. Just your presence. That's enough."
Elián's throat tightened.
It wasn't a threat.
It wasn't a plea.
It was freedom—wrapped in the honesty of a man trying to undo what could never be undone.
"I'll stay," Elián said.
Kairo blinked. "You—"
"But I want separate rooms," Elián said. "I want space. I want to write again. I want to leave the house when I want. And I want you to keep your promises."
Kairo nodded. "Done."
Elián rose to his feet. "And no more kissing unless I ask."
Kairo blinked again. "I… understand."
"Good," Elián said, brushing past him. "Because if you kiss me before I'm ready…"
He stopped in the doorway.
"I might kiss you back."
And with that, he left Kairo standing in the study—still, quiet, stunned—with poetry in his hand and hope clawing at his chest.
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End of Chapter 15