The knock on the door came just after midnight.
Eleena had been lying awake, eyes wide open, heart tangled in the memory of Jace's voice. She hadn't expected him to come. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
But when she opened the door, there he was — drenched again, as if the weather knew exactly how to match the storm inside them.
He looked at her like he hadn't breathed since she left the café. "I didn't know where else to go," he said softly.
She stepped aside without a word.
Jace entered her apartment, dripping water on the hardwood floor, looking like a man who had fought a war and lost. He stood there in silence until she finally turned to him.
"You should've told me what was going on," she said, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
"I know," he whispered. "And that's why I'm here."
His eyes searched hers, desperate and tired. "You asked me to let you in. I didn't. I kept thinking I was protecting you by staying quiet. But I see now… I was only protecting myself."
She didn't speak, so he kept going.
"I lost a deal I was counting on. The money… it's tight. I've been trying to keep everything from falling apart. My pride told me you'd think less of me if you saw me fail. I couldn't handle that. I didn't want to be the guy who brought you pain."
"You already did," she said quietly. "Not because of the failure — but because of the silence."
He flinched. "I know."
A heavy pause filled the room.
Then Jace stepped forward, closer now. "But I never stopped choosing you, Eleena. Even when I was stupid. Even when I was scared. I never stopped."
She looked up at him — eyes shining, jaw trembling. "You say that, Jace. But love isn't just something you feel. It's something you show. And lately, all I've felt is alone."
He took her hand gently, holding it like it was glass. "Then let me show you now."
"I don't need flowers or grand gestures," she whispered. "I just need the truth. I need a partner who doesn't run when things get messy."
He nodded. "Then that's who I'll be. Starting now."
For a long moment, the air between them was still. And then — softly, cautiously — Eleena stepped into him, pressing her forehead to his.
"Don't make promises if you're not ready to bleed for them," she said.
"I already have," he whispered. "And I will again. For you."
Their kiss was slow — not rushed, not desperate — but healing. Like the first touch after a long war. It wasn't a solution. But it was a beginning.
And maybe, sometimes, beginnings could be born even after the heart had broken.