The moment the door shut behind Travis, the silence returned like punishment.
Amara stood still for a long time, staring at the place he'd just been, her hand still loosely gripping the edge of the counter.
Not until she understood what she was feeling or what she was even supposed to feel.
Elias.
The name was a wound that hadn't healed right.
He was alive. Breathing. Standing in her kitchen. And worse, he looked at her like she was no one.
It would've been easier if he'd hated her.
But that cold politeness? That distance?
That was worse than hate.
She ran a hand through her hair, pressing her palms to her eyes until the world turned black behind them.
"Get it together," she whispered.
When she lowered her hands, her phone screen had gone dark. She turned it back on, the glow reflecting off her face.
Anything to distract herself.
Anything that wasn't him.
Her mind flicked back to Travis — calm, confident, the perfect gentleman with the quiet steadiness she'd forgotten existed in people.
It hit her then, that she didn't really know who he was.
He'd appeared in her orbit out of nowhere, professional, reliable, effortlessly kind, and she'd never asked questions.
But now, curiosity tugged at her.
So she opened her browser.
Travis Alden.
The search bar filled in the rest before she could finish typing.
Her brows furrowed.
A cascade of articles appeared, polished portraits, headlines, and names. She clicked the first one.
> The Alden Legacy: Inside the Family That Built an Empire of Power and Influence.
Her eyes darted over the words.
Politicians? Judges? Business magnates?
The Alden family had been in the public eye for decades.
And there, among the list of heirs and heirs apparent, was him.
Travis Alden.
Born to one of the country's wealthiest political dynasties. He was known for his discretion, professionalism, and notoriously private life.
Her lips parted slightly.
He'd never mentioned it. Well, they never spoke that much for him to share much with her.
She clicked another article.
> Travis Alden Declines Marriage Proposal from Senator's Daughter… Again.
She frowned, scrolling.
> At thirty-one, Alden remains one of the most eligible bachelors in the political circuit. His persistent refusals to family-arranged engagements have sparked ongoing speculation about his romantic preferences.
> Heir to an old money family choose writing as a career. Shocking!
The word made her blink.
Speculation.
And then, she saw another.
> Rumors continue to circulate regarding Alden's sexuality, as he has been notably absent from any confirmed relationships or public appearances with women.
Amara sat back slowly, processing.
So that's what they thought of him.
She skimmed a few more headlines, each echoing the same tone: quiet intrigue, polite scandal.
She stared at the screen.
Travis Alden. Heir. Enigma. Supposedly unattainable.
And yet, this morning, this morning….
Her pulse stuttered as the memory flashed back. The warmth of his hand against her face, his voice low, and the quiet certainty when he said he cared.
There had been nothing unsure about that moment. There was nothing performative, and nothing confused.
Whatever the world thought of him, he had looked at her with clarity.
Still, she couldn't shake the disbelief.
She whispered to herself, "How did I not know any of this?"
He was everywhere online. Interviews, corporate events, and charity fundraisers. His name was attached to power and legacy.
And she, she had worked beside him online for weeks, never realizing the man signing documents next to her had a last name that could move mountains.
She scrolled down again. A photo caught her eye, him at some gala, surrounded by glittering people in tailored suits and sequined gowns. He wasn't smiling. Just standing there, posture perfect, eyes detached, like he didn't quite belong in his own world.
Amara's throat tightened unexpectedly.
He looked lonely, so calm and laid back.
She set the phone down and leaned back, her gaze drifting to the ceiling.
It made sense now — the way he always carried himself with quiet ease but never too close. The way he avoided questions about family, or dinners, or holidays.
He didn't belong where he came from.
Just like she didn't belong in hers anymore.
The thought startled her.
Maybe that was why he'd noticed her in the first place. People like them recognized ghosts in each other.
She exhaled slowly, dragging her hands down her face.
Somewhere outside, thunder rumbled.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
She reached for it automatically, half hoping it was Celeste. A distraction she desperately needed, when the sound of footsteps stopped her.
Elias.
He stood at the doorway like he'd been there for a while, leaning slightly against the frame.
He wasn't supposed to be there. Not now. Not when her chest still ached from the weight of his existence.
He looked… composed. Effortlessly composed.
Their eyes met for a fleeting second before he looked away.
"I thought you'd gone out," she said finally, her voice quieter than she intended.
"I was," he replied simply, stepping in. "Just came to grab my keys."
The way he spoke, courteous, and careful, made her stomach twist.
He walked past her toward the counter, every movement deliberate, and every breath maddeningly steady. He picked up the keys he'd left beside the coffee maker. His gaze briefly landed on her phone screen before flicking away again, unreadable.
"You should eat," he said after a pause, still not looking at her. "You haven't had breakfast."
Her throat tightened. The gentleness in his tone felt like an echo from another lifetime.
"I wasn't hungry," she murmured.
"Right," he said, a small nod, his eyes fixed on the counter. "Still, you should. It helps."
It helps.
The same thing he used to say when he'd bring her coffee after sleepless nights, back when there was no silence between them.
Amara swallowed hard. "You don't have to—"
"I know." He cut her off softly, turning toward her at last. His expression was polite. So polite it burned. "It's just… courtesy."
Courtesy.
The word hit her so hard.