The moment Leah opens the door wider, Edward steps inside with a slow, deliberate determination like a man crossing the threshold of his fate, not just her apartment.
His clothes are still damp from the rain, hair messy, chest rising and falling like he ran here like she mattered enough to run.
Leah backs up instinctively, heart slamming against her ribs.
"Edward… what are you doing?"
He closes the door behind him with one hand, eyes locked on hers.
"I told you," he says quietly, voice rough, breath uneven.
"I'm not leaving without you."
Her throat tightens. His presence fills the room too easily. Too powerfully. Her defenses crumble with every soaked breath he takes.
"Edward, I can't" she begins.
"You can," he interrupts gently, stepping closer. "You just don't want to get hurt. And I get that."
Another step.
"But you shutting me out? That's hurting both of us."
Leah squeezes her eyes shut. "This is wrong. Frank is your fa"
"Stop." His tone sharpens, not angry pained. "Don't say it like it's some stain on us. On what we had."
"What we had was a mistake," she whispers.
He doesn't move for a moment.
Just breathes.
Just hurts.
Then he inhales slowly and walks toward her like he's approaching something fragile something sacred.
"Look at me."
She doesn't. She can't.
Her body is already reacting to him like it remembers every touch every night every moment she melted under him.
He reaches her and lifts her chin gently between his fingers.
"Leah."
Her eyes slowly meet his.
His brow tightens. "You're shaking."
"I'm fine."
"You're lying."
She lets out a shuddering breath. "Edward… everything is too complicated."
"Then let me make it simple."
With those words, he cups her face in both hands.
His thumbs brush her cheeks, slow and warm.
Her lips part on instinct her body remembering him before her mind can protest.
"I didn't know he was your ex-husband," Edward says, voice low, steady. "I didn't know any of it. But even if I had… I swear to God, Leah, I never would've touched you unless you wanted me."
She laughs weakly. "Wanting you is the problem."
His jaw tightens. "Then let me fix that."
She blinks. "Fix… wanting you? How?"
He leans in, forehead brushing hers, voice dropping into that deep, dangerous tone that always ruins her.
"By showing you you're not the only one suffering."
Her breath stutters.
"I haven't slept," he confesses. "I haven't eaten. I can't work. I can't think."
He presses his forehead harder against hers.
"I want you. More than I should. More than is convenient. More than is sane."
Her knees buckle slightly at his honesty.
"Edward…" she whispers.
His hands slide down to her waist, fingers gripping like she's the only thing grounding him.
"When you left that restaurant," he murmurs, "it felt like someone gutted me."
Her chest squeezes. Her eyes burn.
"I don't know how this happened," she admits quietly. "I didn't plan to feel anything."
He lifts her chin again. "Neither did I."
Silence.
Heavy, trembling, electric.
She steps back, shaking her head. "This can't happen again."
He follows her step for step, refusing distance.
"Then why are you crying?" he asks softly.
She freezes.
A tear she didn't even notice escapes down her cheek.
Edward catches it with his thumb.
"Leah," he whispers, "tell me to leave if you really want me gone. Tell me you feel nothing. Tell me you don't miss me."
She opens her mouth.
Nothing comes out.
He nods slowly, as if that silence is the answer he hoped for.
"Then I'm not leaving," he says again firmer, deeper.
"No matter how long it takes. No matter how many times you run."
She exhales shakily, heart pounding so loudly she can barely hear anything else.
"Edward…"
He steps closer.
Their bodies almost touching.
Heat rolling off him in waves.
The tension between them snaps tighter and tighter until the air itself feels thick.
"Say something," he breathes.
She can't.
Because his hand has slid up her arm…
His fingers tracing her skin…
His touch familiar in a way that terrifies her.
"And if you're not ready to talk…" His voice drops to a slow, sinful murmur. "…then I'll wait. Right here. With you."
Her breath catches. "Edward"
"No more hiding," he whispers. "No more running. I'm here. I'm staying. And I'm not letting you push me out again."
She swallows hard.
"Please…" her voice breaks. "Don't make this harder."
He leans in, lips brushing the corner of her mouth not a kiss, but a promise.
"Sweetheart," he murmurs, "it was already hard the moment I touched you the first time."
Her body trembles.
He pulls back just enough to look into her eyes.
"I want you," he says simply. "And I'm not leaving until you say out loud that you don't want me too."
She can feel her heartbeat everywhere in her ribs, her throat, her fingertips.
"You're not playing fair," she whispers.
"I'm not playing at all."
Her resolve fractures.
She steps closer without realizing.
He notices.
His eyes drop to her lips.
Heat pulses between them.
"Edward…"
Her voice is barely air.
"…what do we do now?"
He smiles a small, broken, devastating smile.
"We stop pretending," he says softly.
"And we tell each other the truth."
He cups her face again, gentle but desperate.
"Do you want me to leave?"
The answer slips out before she can stop it.
"No."
His breath catches.
His eyes darken.
And the space between them becomes nothing.