Chapter Eight – One Bed, Too Close

The silence is heavy.

Kairo and I are sitting at the dining table. He's reading something on his tablet. His face is calm, but cold.

He hasn't spoken to me since yesterday, since the third bouquet from Noah arrived.

I threw them away. But I know Kairo saw them.

I sip my coffee slowly, trying to think of something to say. Anything.

"I'll go to the office early today," I say.

He doesn't answer.

I feel like I'm invisible. Like I'm just a shadow in his perfect, silent world.

I stand up and leave the table. I go to my room, well, the guest room. Even though we're married, I still sleep in there.

I don't know why we've never talked about it. We live together like strangers.

I put on a black dress and did my makeup. When I step out again, Kairo is waiting by the elevator. He looks at his watch but doesn't say anything to me.

We get into the elevator together. I stare at the silver doors.

The silence follows us like a ghost.

I can't take it anymore.

"You're not going to say anything?" I ask.

He doesn't look at me. "What do you want me to say?"

"Something. I didn't ask Noah to send those flowers."

Kairo laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You didn't stop smiling when he showed up either."

"That's not fair."

"Don't lie to me," he says, voice flat.

The rest of the elevator ride is quiet again.

When we get in the car, I sit beside him. Still no words.

But by evening, everything changes.

We're out of town for a quick business meeting. The hotel is classy and quiet.

Kairo checks us in while I scroll through my phone, pretending I'm not nervous. This is our first trip since the marriage. First time away from the penthouse.

The receptionist frowns. "Apologies, sir. There's a water pipe issue on the 11th floor. We only have one available room."

"One?" Kairo asks.

"Yes, sir. A suite. But only one bed."

I look up at him quickly. "We can find another hotel."

Kairo shakes his head. "It's late. We're staying."

I want to protest. But his tone says it's final.

He signs the form. I grab my small bag and follow him to the elevator, heart pounding.

The suite is beautiful. Too beautiful. The bed is huge and white, like a cloud in the middle of the room. And of course—it's the only one.

"I'll take the couch," I say quickly.

Kairo raises a brow. "That's not necessary."

"I think it is."

He shrugs. "Suit yourself."

But when I curl up on the couch later, wrapped in a blanket, I can't sleep. The cushions are stiff. The AC is cold. My body aches.

I twist and turn. Finally, I give up.

I tiptoe to the bed.

Kairo is asleep on one side, his face turned away. His breathing is deep and slow.

I climb in carefully, keeping to the edge.

I tell myself it's just one night. Nothing's going to happen.

But I can feel him. The heat of his body. The weight of his presence.

I lie still, eyes wide open.

The room is quiet, except for the soft hum of the air conditioning.

After a while, sleep pulls me under.

And then—I dream.

It's hazy at first. The edges are soft. The kind of dream you don't realize you're in until it's too late.

We're under that old tree again. The one by the lake, where promises were made and broken. Noah is there, young and full of fire, eyes bright like they used to be.

"Wait for me," he says again, like he never left.

But then the wind changes. The dream shifts. I hear footsteps behind me, someone watching from the shadows.

I turn to look—and wake up with a jolt.

At first, I think it's just the dream messing with my head.

But then I feel it.

The bed shifts beside me.

Warmth.

A body.

Reality crashes in like ice water. I'm not alone. I'm not in my room. I'm in his.

Kairo.

His voice is soft, too soft for how sharp the air feels between us.

"Who's Noah?"

My eyes fly open.

The room is dim. Only the city lights filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling windows cast a faint gold on the walls. The clock on the nightstand glows 3:07 AM.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. My heart pounds so loudly I can hear it in my ears.

"I… I was dreaming," I whisper.

There's a long pause.

Then the mattress dips slightly as he shifts, turning toward me. I can't see much of his face, but I can feel his stare.

"You said his name," he says, voice low. "Twice."

I sit up slowly, pulling the blanket tighter around my body, like it can protect me from this moment.

"It didn't mean anything," I say, too quickly.

Silence stretches.

Thick.

Heavy.

Unforgiving.

Then his voice cuts through, rougher this time. "You say it like it still does."

The words hit me like a slap.

I turn to him, my heart clawing against my chest. "It doesn't."

My voice shakes, and I hate that it does. I hate that I'm caught off guard. That he heard what wasn't meant for him.

His jaw tightens, eyes unreadable in the dark. But he nods once.

"Good."

That's all he says before lying back down, his back now to me.

Like a wall.

Cold.

Solid.

Untouchable.

I stare at him for a moment. At the lines of his shoulders, the tension still coiled in his muscles. He's pretending to sleep now, but I know he's awake. Probably just as wide-eyed as I am.

I lie back down slowly, staring up at the ceiling.

But sleep doesn't come back.

It doesn't even try.

Because even though we didn't touch…

Even though no words of love were spoken, no secrets traded, no lips met…

The space between us felt like it disappeared for a second.

And that second was enough to burn me.

Sharing this bed wasn't supposed to mean anything.

But it does.

It's too close.

Too real.

Too much.

And in the quiet, in the dark, I realize something terrifying.

It's not Noah haunting my dreams anymore.

It's Kairo.

And he's lying just inches away.