Bella's POV:
I watched as he stood up and walked around the table toward me. His movements were deliberate and calm, but there was something in the way he reached for my hand that made my chest flutter.
Maybe this was his way of apologizing, taking me out, giving me a day to forget the tension from earlier. What had happened before had hurt, sure, but maybe… maybe he hadn't meant it the way I thought.
My gaze dropped to his gloved hand. I couldn't help it; his gloves always made me curious. There was something about the way they covered him yet revealed him at the same time. I wondered what it would feel like to touch his bare skin, and the thought made my fingers twitch in quiet anticipation.
His fingers brushed lightly against mine, gloved but warm, and I felt a strange mix of comfort and tension coil in my chest. I hesitated, unsure if I should let him pull me closer or retreat back into my own caution.
"Shall we go?"
He asked softly, his voice low but steady, like he was waiting for permission more than giving an order.
"Wait!"
The word slipped out before I could stop it, surprising even me. He paused instantly and turned back, confusion flickering across his face as if he hadn't expected me to speak at all.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice gentle, edged with concern, like he was afraid I might be pulling away.
I reached for his gloved hand before I could lose my nerve, my fingers closing around it softly. I gave a small, hesitant tug at the fabric.
"Why do you always wear gloves?" I asked quietly.
The moment the question left my mouth, doubt rushed in. I worried I'd crossed a line, that I'd asked for something I wasn't allowed to know. My fingers loosened, ready to pull back, an apology already forming
But instead of pulling away, he tightened his grip around my hand, steady and deliberate, as if anchoring me there.
For a heartbeat, he didn't answer. His gaze dropped to where our hands were joined, then lifted back to my face, searching, weighing something I couldn't see.
"It's… complicated," he said finally, his voice low, careful. Not distant, just guarded.
"I got used to wearing them a long time ago."
I nodded quickly, already ready to let it go, embarrassed for pressing. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"You didn't cross a line," he interrupted softly.
That made me look up.
His thumb brushed slowly over my knuckles through the glove, a grounding, almost reassuring gesture.
"If I didn't want you to ask," he continued, "I wouldn't have let you this close."
Something about that settled in my chest, warm and heavy all at once. He wasn't shutting me out, just asking for time.
"Maybe someday," he added, quieter now, "I'll tell you the real reason."
I swallowed, my fingers curling back around his.
"I'd like that," I said, just as softly.
A faint smile touched his lips, subtle but real. Then, gently, he squeezed my hand once more.
"Come on," he murmured. "Let's go."
And this time, when he turned toward the door, I followed without hesitation.
"Yes… let's go,"
I whispered, finally letting him lead me out of the room.
As we walked side by side, I couldn't help but steal glances at him. Each step felt like crossing invisible lines I hadn't dared touch before, and yet, with him, it somehow felt safe.
Even with the weight of yesterday lingering between us, I let myself hope that maybe today could be different. Maybe today, I could see him not as the panther who unsettled every nerve in my body, but as the man who seemed… determined to be here with me.
His hand pressed against mine, warm even through the gloves. A shiver ran through me, I liked the way he made me feel, like the world had narrowed down to just this moment. We stepped out of the mansion, and he held the door open for me, his presence close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him.
We slid into his sleek car, still holding hands. My fingers tightened around his, and the soft glow of the interior lights cast a warm halo across his face. The car smelled faintly of leather and something uniquely his, making it impossible to think of anything else but this quiet closeness.
He started the engine, the low hum vibrating gently through the seats. His hand didn't leave mine right away; instead, his thumb brushed a slow, warm line across my skin before he finally let go to shift into gear.
For a second, the world felt small, just the two of us in the quiet glow of the car, his presence filling the space even when he wasn't touching me.
He glanced over, a soft look in his eyes.
"Ready?" he asked, voice low but warm.
I nod. He pulled onto the road, the city lights sliding across his face in slow, golden streaks. One hand rested on the wheel, steady and controlled, but his other drifted back to mine the moment he had the chance, like he couldn't help it, like he needed that connection as much as I did.
His fingers brushed over my knuckles, gentle at first, then firmer when I didn't pull away. It felt deliberate, like he was reassuring himself that I was really there, that this wasn't something fragile that would disappear if he loosened his grip. I leaned back against the seat, watching the road stretch ahead of us, the city slowly waking around us, and let the quiet settle between us without fear.
The mark pulsed softly, not painful, just present, like a reminder I no longer wanted to ignore. I breathed in, steadying myself, and allowed my hand to relax fully in his. He noticed instantly. His thumb traced one slow circle, almost absentminded, but the gesture carried intent, care.
Neither of us spoke, and somehow that felt right. Words would have made it heavier, more complicated. This, this quiet drive, the warmth of his hand, the certainty of his attention, was enough for now.
As the mall came into view ahead, bright and ordinary against everything that lived between us, I realised something small but important: whatever today became, whatever questions waited for later, I wasn't walking into it alone.
And for the first time, that thought didn't scare me.