Chapter 4: Hot Vanilla & Firewalls

Kian wasn't exactly what Vale expected.

His house was massive, tucked behind steel gates and lined with perfectly trimmed hedges that screamed wealth and reputation. But it didn't feel like home. Not really.

It felt like a place that didn't know how to breathe.

He opened the front door for her with a casual, "Don't mind the chaos. And by chaos, I mean sterile perfection."

Vale smirked as she stepped in. "Wow. This place has absolutely never seen a speck of dust."

He shrugged. "That's what housekeepers and image-obsessed parents are for."

The comment hung in the air for a second too long.

"Anyway," Kian said, motioning her toward the stairs, "the haunted laptop awaits. Upstairs."

Vale followed him to a spacious room filled with guitars, sketchpads, and a surprisingly messy desk—finally, a glimpse of him. Not the polished Bennett boy, but the real one.

She perched on the edge of his desk chair and pulled the laptop toward her.

"You weren't kidding. This thing's barely alive."

"Yeah, well… I tried fixing it. I googled stuff."

"Googled stuff," she repeated, amused. "Bold strategy."

While she worked, Kian disappeared and returned with two mugs.

"I didn't know your exact vibe, but I guessed," he said, handing her a steaming drink. "Hot vanilla. No cinnamon, no drama."

Vale raised her brows. "Impressive. Most people assume I want something super sugary."

"You don't seem like the 'extra whipped cream' type."

"You'd be surprised."

She took a sip. Warm, smooth, just enough sweetness. Her chest unwound just a little.

"I'm surprised you invited me here," she said, not looking at him.

"Why?"

"Because your family kind of hates mine."

"They hate a version of your family. Not you."

Vale glanced up. "You don't know me."

"Not yet," he said.

She tried not to blush, focusing on the code in front of her. "Your drivers are fried, by the way. And your antivirus software is basically a joke."

Kian leaned closer, watching her work. "You talk about tech the way other people talk about music."

"Because it makes sense," she said without thinking. "No lies in code. Just structure. Logic. It either works or it doesn't."

Kian studied her like he wanted to ask more, but didn't push. Instead, he said, "You're kind of brilliant."

Vale gave a half-smile. "Kind of."

They sat in silence, warm mugs in hand, the air between them slowly shifting. Not awkward. Not tense.

Just something new. Something uncertain.

"I'm not good at this," Kian said suddenly.

"Good at what?"

"Letting people in."

Vale didn't say anything. She didn't need to. He looked at her like he was trying to read between the lines—but the truth was, Vale had rewritten her own story so many times that even she wasn't sure where the real version started.

And she sure as hell wasn't ready to hand it to someone like him.

Not yet.

But maybe soon.