August POV:
She was right there when he turned the corner.
Not pacing.
Not crying.
Celine was squatting against the door, back pressed to the wood like it was the only thing holding her up. Her heels were planted unevenly on the concrete, knees drawn close, head dropped between her legs. One arm wrapped around herself, the other hand clenched tight around her phone, tight enough that her knuckles had gone pale, like she was afraid it might slip and shatter.
For a second, August didn't move.
The flowers in his hand suddenly felt out of place.
She hadn't heard him yet. Her breathing was shallow, uneven, not sobs, just the aftermath of too much being held in for too long. Hair falling forward, shielding her face from the world. From anyone who might look too closely.
"Celine," he said quietly.
She flinched. Just slightly. Lifted her head enough to look up at him, eyes tired rather than wet.
"I forgot the key," she said.
Then, softer.
"The one you gave me."
No apology. No explanation.
He didn't ask questions. Didn't comment on the phone, or the way she was folded in on herself. He just moved closer, unlocked the door, and held it open.
"Come inside," he said.
When she stood, her legs wobbled for half a second, not enough to fall, but enough that he noticed. He didn't reach for her. Just stayed close. Close enough that she knew she wouldn't have to ask.
As she stepped past him, she paused, fingertips brushing the doorframe like she was grounding herself. Like she needed to feel something solid.
Only then did he follow her in, closing the door gently behind them, Inside, the apartment was dim and calm, like it didn't know what kind of day had followed her home.
Celine sat where she landed, the edge of the couch, hands folded too tightly in her lap, shoulders still drawn inward. She didn't look around. Didn't reach for anything. Just sat there, staring at a point on the floor like if she moved, something might spill out.
August set the flowers down on the counter without a word.
The quiet stretched.
Not the awkward kind. The kind that hums in your ears. The kind where every breath feels loud.
He stayed standing at first, then leaned against the opposite counter, giving her space but not distance. He could see the faint tremor in her fingers now that she wasn't bracing herself against the door. The phone lay facedown beside her, like it had burned her once already.
Minutes passed. Maybe less. Maybe more.
Finally, she spoke, still not looking at him.
"I went to the station."
The words landed softly. Heavy anyway.
August didn't react right away. No sharp inhale. No questions fired too fast. Just a slow shift of his weight, grounding himself before he answered.
"The police station?" he asked gently.
She nodded once.
"They asked questions." Her mouth twitched, something between a laugh and a breath. "Some of them… weren't kind."
That was all she said about it. Enough.
He pushed off the counter and sat across from her, forearms resting on his knees, keeping his voice low.
"I'm glad you went," he said. Not approval. Not judgment. Just truth.
She finally lifted her eyes then. They were tired. Clear, but worn down at the edges.
"I didn't want to," she admitted. "But I couldn't just sit there anymore."
"That makes sense."
Another pause. Shorter this time.
Her shoulders dropped a fraction, like something unclenched.
"I forgot the key," she added quietly, almost like an afterthought. "My head was just… everywhere."
He nodded, like he'd expected that answer all along.
"You don't have to explain," he said. "You're here now."
That did it.
Not tears, not yet, but her breathing finally slowed. She leaned back into the couch, still guarded, still cautious, but no longer folded in on herself.
Safe enough to sit.
Safe enough to stay.
And for now, that was enough.
She stared at the floor for a long moment after that. Long enough that August didn't interrupt. Long enough that the quiet settled again, softer this time.
Then she said it.
"Nolan."
Just his name. Nothing else.
August didn't react outwardly, but something in his posture shifted, attention sharpening without hardening. He waited.
"My ex," she added, unnecessarily. "The last one."
Her fingers twisted together, slow, deliberate. She was choosing her words, trimming them down before they could hurt her.
"He wants me to sign something," she said. "Property transfer. Assets. Things that were never his to begin with."
She exhaled through her nose, a thin sound.
"When I refused… this started happening."
August's jaw tightened, just slightly.
"You think he's behind it."
"I know he is." She finally looked up. "He won't admit it. He never does. He just… circles. Pushes. Makes things unbearable until I give in."
She laughed once, short, humorless.
"He always said if he couldn't have me properly, no one else should."
That landed heavier than anything else she'd said.
August stayed quiet, letting her finish. Letting her decide how much to give.
"I've been married too many times for people to believe me anymore," she continued, voice steady but thin. "So when something like this happens, it's easier for them to assume I deserve it. That I'm reckless. Or stupid. Or—" She stopped herself, shook her head. "Never mind."
"It matters," he said quietly.
She looked at him again.
"What does?"
"That it's not your fault."
Her lips parted slightly, like she hadn't expected that sentence. Like she didn't quite know where to put it.
"He feeds on control," she went on after a beat, softer now. "On seeing me cornered. Shaken. Today…" Her gaze dropped to her hands. "Today probably made him very happy."
August leaned forward then, resting his elbows on his knees.
"He doesn't get to decide how this ends," he said. Not loud. Not dramatic. Certain.
She swallowed.
"I'm tired," she admitted. "Of being strong. Of proving I didn't steal my own life."
That was the closest she came to breaking.
He didn't touch her yet. Just stayed there, solid, present.
"You don't have to carry it all tonight," he said. "Just enough to get through the next hour."
She nodded slowly.
She hesitated before asking it. You could see it in the way her fingers stilled, in the way she drew a careful breath like the question itself might tip something over.
"Why aren't you scared?" she asked quietly.
August looked at her, really looked at her this time, not the headlines, not the chaos circling her name, but the woman sitting in front of him, exhausted and still upright somehow.
"Scared of what?" he asked.
She gave a small, bitter smile. "Of the mess. Of him. Of me."
He thought for a second, not because he didn't know, but because he wanted to say it right.
"Because I don't see you as a mess," he said. "I see someone who survived a lot and kept moving anyway."
She shook her head. "That's the version people say when they want to sound kind."
"I'm not trying to sound kind," he replied. "I'm trying to be honest."
She studied his face, searching for something, calculation, curiosity, pity. She found none of it.
"You don't even know me," she said.
"I know enough," he said simply. "You didn't run. You went to the station. You came back here instead of disappearing. People who are dangerous in the way you're afraid of usually don't do that."
Her throat tightened. She looked away quickly, blinking once.
She searched his face, still trying to understand him.
"And Nolan?" she asked. "Men like him don't stop."
"I know," August said.
That made her look back at him properly.
"How?"
He didn't answer immediately. His gaze dropped for half a second, then returned to hers, steady, unflinching.
"Because I used to be married to one before all this."
The words settled between them.
Her expression shifted, surprise cutting through the exhaustion. "You were?"
"Yes."
He didn't elaborate right away. Didn't dramatize it.
"She liked control dressed up as care," he continued quietly. "Everything was about obedience. About who owed who what. It doesn't start loud. It starts reasonable."
Celine swallowed.
"That's exactly how Nolan was," she said.
August nodded. "That's how they all are."
The room felt smaller now, but safer, like something unspoken had finally been named.
"So no," he said, meeting her eyes again, "I'm not scared of him. And I'm not scared of you. I recognize the pattern."
Her shoulders sagged slightly, as if that recognition alone lifted something off her chest.
"I thought I was bad at choosing," she murmured. "That there was something wrong with me."
"There's nothing wrong with you," he said firmly. "You just met someone who knew how to take advantage of good faith."
She let that sink in.
"And that's why you're not running," she said softly. Not a question.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then she exhaled, slow and shaky, and for the first time that night, she didn't look like she was bracing for impact.
He didn't rush it.
August shifted slightly, like he was adjusting his balance, but his hand moved with intention, slow enough that she could pull away if she wanted to. His fingers brushed hers first, a quiet question.
She didn't move.
So he closed his hand around hers.
It wasn't tight. Just warm. Steady. His thumb rested lightly against her knuckles, grounding rather than claiming.
"You don't have to explain everything tonight," he said. "And you don't have to be brave with me."