Back in his own room, Daniel closed the door behind him and rested his forehead briefly against it.
Midnight was approaching.
He could feel it—not physically, but like a pressure beneath his skin.
He walked to his desk and sat down, reaching for the notebook he always kept there.
The habit was older than memory itself.
He opened it and wrote the date at the top of the page.
His hand hesitated.
Then he continued.
She waited for me tonight.
A pause.
She fell asleep on the couch.
He stopped, staring at the words.
Jade's sleeping face returned to his mind.
The way she had called his name.
The apology she hadn't been awake to give.
His jaw tightened.
He turned his gaze toward the clock.
11:58 PM.
Two minutes.
Daniel closed the notebook and leaned back in his chair.
He didn't need to write everything.
Some things were safer observed than recorded.
The clock ticked.
Midnight passed.
Nothing slipped.
Nothing faded.
Silence.
Daniel opened his eyes slowly.
Still there.
Everything was still there.
He exhaled, a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
His gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, toward the wall separating his room from hers.
"She doesn't know," he murmured.
And she couldn't.
Not yet.
He knew there was something bound to his blood.
Not a story told aloud, but a truth carried in habits, in rules never written.
Something that waited for night.
Something that reacted to closeness.
To attachment.
And Jade—without knowing it—disrupted that balance.
Daniel stood and moved toward the window, staring out at the city lights far below.
He had learned not to ask why.
Why led nowhere.
Patterns were enough.
When she was near, the night passed differently.
That alone was dangerouHe turned away from the window.
Tomorrow, he would be distant again.
Controlled.
Unreachable.
Not because he didn't feel—
But because whatever followed his family
noticed feelings.
And being noticed had never ended well.
Down the hall, Jade slept peacefully.
Unaware that her presence was not just comforting—
.
.
.
Morning arrived quietly.
Sunlight slipped through the curtains, warm and innocent, brushing Jade's face.
She stirred, then frowned.
The bed.
She sat up abruptly.
"I fell asleep on the couch…" she murmured.
Someone had moved her.
Of course.
She sighed, rubbing her face.
"Great. Carried like a princess and dropped like a problem."
Jade got ready quickly and walked into the kitchen.
Daniel was already there.
Impeccable as always.
Dark shirt.
Perfect posture.
Emotionless.
He stood by the counter, scrolling on his tablet, coffee forgotten.
"Good morning," she said lightly.
"Or should I say 'official morning'?"
"Morning," he replied without looking up.
Ah. Ice mode activated.
She leaned against the counter.
"So… is this the part where we pretend yesterday didn't exist, or are we saving that for later?"
"You should eat," Daniel said calmly.
"You're leaving soon."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Wow. Nutritional advice and dismissal in one sentence. Efficient."
He finally looked at her.
Briefly.
"Jade."
"Yes?" she smiled sweetly.
"Your emotionally inconvenient futur wife?"
Silence.
She crossed her arms.
"I wanted to apologize," she said, her tone softer for half a second.
"For yesterday."
"It's not necessary."
She laughed quietly.
"Oh good. I was worried for a moment there that my feelings had an appointment."
Now he looked at her properly.
Controlled.
Unreadable.
"You're reading too much into this."
"Of course I am," she replied.
"That's what happens when one of us actually communicates."
Daniel picked up his tablet.
"I'll be late tonight."
She tilted her head.
"Let me guess. Work. The mysterious kind. The kind that comes with silence and dramatic exits."
He stopped for a fraction of a second.
Barely noticeable.
Then continued toward the door.
She watched him leave, calling after him
"Try not to disappear completely. I'd hate to start talking to the furniture."
The door closed softly.
Jade exhaled.
Her sarcasm faded the moment she was alone.
She rested her hands on the counter, staring at nothing.
"Idiot," she muttered.
"Why does it still hurt?"
Something was wrong.
Not just between them.
Something deeper.
Something he was hiding behind calm eyes and measured distance.
.
.
.
The day had been long.
Jade and Riguel had spent hours going over details, budgets, venues, ideas thrown around with too much enthusiasm and not enough structure.
By the time everything was settled, Jade felt drained.
As the car stopped near the penthouse district, she leaned forward.
"You can drop me here," she told the driver.
"I'll walk the rest."
"Are you sure, madam?" he asked.
"Yes. I need air," she replied.
The car drove off, leaving her alone with the quiet hum of the city.
Streetlights flickered on as dusk settled.
Jade walked slowly, her heels echoing softly against the pavement, her thoughts drifting back to the morning—to Daniel's distance, his silence, the way he looked at her without really seeing her.
She sighed.
"Men," she muttered.
"Especially emotionally unavailable husbands."
That was when she saw him.
At first, she thought she was imagining things.
A familiar tall silhouette stood a few meters ahead, near a small gate she had never noticed before.
Daniel.
Jade slowed her steps, frowning.
"What is he doing here?" she whispered.
She was about to call his name when she noticed the child.
A little boy, no more than seven, stood in front of Daniel, his hands clenched around the straps of a worn backpack. His eyes were red, his lower lip trembling.
Daniel was kneeling.
Actually kneeling.
Jade stopped breathing.
She had never seen him like that.
"Hey," Daniel said softly, his voice completely different from the one he used with the world.
"You shouldn't wander this far alone."
"I—I was looking for the park," the boy sniffed.
"But I got lost."
Daniel smiled.
Not his usual restrained smile.
A real one.
Warm.
Gentle.
"It happens," Daniel said.
"But you know what? Getting lost doesn't mean you're in trouble."
The boy looked up at him.
"Really?"
"Really," Daniel nodded.
"It just means someone gets to help you find your way back."
Jade's chest tightened.
She watched, hidden in the shadow of a tree, afraid that if she moved, the moment would disappear.
"Do you know where you came from?" Daniel asked.
The boy hesitated, then pointed behind him.
"The big house… with the blue gate."
Daniel followed the direction and nodded.
"I know that place."
He stood up and offered his hand.
"Come on. I'll walk you back."
The boy stared at his hand, then smiled and took it.
"Thank you, mister."
"You can call me Daniel."
They walked together toward the building.
Jade followed them instinctively, keeping her distance.
The blue gate came into view.
Above it, a discreet sign read:
St. Elara orphanage
Jade froze.
Her eyes widened.
Daniel stopped in front of the gate and pressed the intercom.
A woman's voice answered.
"Yes?"
"It's Daniel," he said calmly.
"I found one of yours outside."
The gate opened immediately.
"Oh! Thank God," the woman exclaimed as she rushed out.
"Eli! We were looking everywhere for you!"
She hugged the boy tightly.
"I'm sorry," the child murmured.
The woman looked up at Daniel, relief washing over her face.
"Thank you, Mr. Ooman. Truly."
Daniel waved it off.
"He was brave. Just curious."
She smiled.
"As always, thank you for everything you do. We wouldn't survive without you."
Daniel nodded once.
"It's nothing. Call me if you need anything."
Nothing.
Jade felt something twist painfully in her chest.
The gate closed behind them.
Daniel turned—and saw her.
Their eyes met.
For the first time that day, his expression shifted.
Surprise.
"Jade?"
She stepped forward slowly.
"So," she said, forcing a light tone,
"this is what you do when you disappear mysteriously?"
He straightened.
"You followed me."
She shrugged.
"Unintentionally. But I'm glad I did."
Silence settled between them.
Then she smiled faintly.
"I didn't know you smiled like that," she said softly.
"It suits you. Makes you look… human."
His jaw tightened.
"You shouldn't be here."
"Relax," she replied.
"I'm not planning to expose your secret identity as a decent man."
Her gaze drifted back to the gate.
"You help an orphanage," she said quietly.
"And you never mentioned it."
"It's not something to mention."
She looked at him, really looked at him.
"Funny," she said gently.
"For someone who hides so much, you're surprisingly good at taking care of people."
Daniel didn't answer.
But for a brief second—
the distance between them felt thinner.
And Jade understood something important.
Daniel Ooman wasn't cold.
He was careful.
And whatever lived behind that careful silence
was far deeper—and more dangerous—
than she had ever imagined