James

Thirty minutes.

That’s all that’s left of this suspended world—this bed, this warmth, this quiet pocket of air where I can still pretend I’m not about to walk out of the room and into something that might take everything from me.

Annelly’s breath fans against my throat, slow and soft. She hasn’t moved, like she, too, is afraid the slightest shift might shatter the fragile bubble holding us together.

I should answer Zeb.

I should get up and finish getting ready.

Instead, I stare at the screen until my eyes burn, my thumb hovering over the words as if pressing them might somehow make them less real.

A frustrated breath slips from me, and I angle the phone away from her—not because she hasn’t already seen the message, but because there’s no sense in letting it continue to torture us both. My chest tightens at the truth I can’t outrun: in half an hour, I’ll be in the car with Zeb, driving toward a trap I can already feel coiling around us. And she’ll be here. Alone. Vulnerable. Outside the circle of my protection.

Something knots in my throat—a strangled sound I refuse to let fully form. I swallow it down hard. I can’t fall apart. Not now. Not with her pressed against me, trusting me to be steady for us both.

I turn my face into her hair, breathing her in—soap, warmth, the familiar comfort that is uniquely her—like I can carry it with me. Like I can keep her in my lungs for the next several hours. Like that might be enough when everything inevitably starts to fall apart.

And then, as if my body is searching for something to hold on to—anything to pull me out of this spiral—my gaze drifts to the dresser across the room.

Top drawer.

Black velvet box.

My fingers flex against her hip as something steadies beneath the dread. The fear is still there, clawing and relentless, but layered beneath it is something quieter. A resolve. A need. Not for control, but for one final act of love I can leave with her before I’m forced to walk away.

I press my mouth to her temple, a promise sealed without words.

Then I ease out from beneath her, slipping free of the blankets. The cold air hits my skin in sharp contrast to her warmth, and a brief shiver moves through me.

Annelly stirs behind me as I rise, pushing herself up, hair falling loose around her shoulders, confusion flickering across her face.

“James?” she murmurs.

“I’ll be right back,” I say quietly. “I just need to grab something.”

She nods without hesitation, and that simple trust lands heavy in my chest as I cross the room.

At the dresser, I pull open the top drawer, fingers moving through the dark until they find it exactly where I left it—small, unassuming, impossibly weighty for something that fits in my palm. I close my hand around the box, then turn back toward the bed.

She’s sitting up now, legs folded beneath her, perched on the edge, watching me with that quiet attentiveness that once unsettled me—and now makes me feel seen.

I stop in front of her and sink onto one knee.

This isn’t how I planned it. Not even close. But it feels right to meet her here. Me—and the monster—exposed and grounded, bowing at her feet in reverence. 

Her hand flies to her mouth, panic flashing across her eyes. “James—”

“It’s okay, snowflake,” I say gently. “It’s not what you think. Just… let me explain.”

I flip the lid open.

The sapphire catches the low light, a deep, luminous blue. A single teardrop pendant, elegant in its simplicity, set in silver and resting against black velvet.

Her breath leaves her in a soft, broken rush.

“I bought this about a month ago,” I tell her quietly. “Not long after you came to stay with Tyler and me. Back when everything still felt fragile. Uncertain. Back when I knew I wanted more with you, but didn’t yet know how to become the man you deserved.”

I lift the pendant from the box, the cool metal warming quickly between my fingers.

“I was so messed up back then, I honestly didn’t know if I’d ever get the chance to give it to you,” I admit. “But I had to buy it anyway. Just in case we made it here.”

Her eyes never leave mine.

“Emilia helped me,” I continue, a faint, self-conscious smile tugging at my mouth. “I went to her because I needed something I couldn’t put into words. Something that could show you how much you mean to me. How much your trust in me matters.” I shake my head. “After listening to me ramble far longer than I should’ve, she suggested a sapphire.”

I swallow.

“Because it stands for honesty. Trust. For purity of intention,” my voice roughens. “Everything you gave me before I’d earned it. When you came back to Ruby Creek, I didn’t deserve another chance—and you gave me one anyway.”

Tears gather in her eyes, but I don’t stop.

“You trusted me with your heart when I was still learning how not to break it. You believed in me when I didn’t even know how to believe in myself.”

I reach for her, cupping her face, my thumb brushing gently beneath her eye as a tear slips free.

“This—” I lift the pendant slightly. “This is a symbol of that. Of us. Of what we’ve built piece by piece, not on fear, but on honesty and trust. It’s a promise. Of my loyalty. My faithfulness. My commitment to you.”

Her tears fall silently now, her head nodding because words won’t come.

I move carefully, fingers trembling just enough to remind me how much this matters as I sweep her hair aside. My knuckles graze her skin, and the simple contact steadies me.

This is right.

Giving her this.

Having her wear it.

Nothing has ever felt more certain.

The clasp clicks softly as I fasten the delicate necklace around her throat. 

When I settle back in front of her, I can’t look away. The sapphire rests against her chest, deep blue against her skin, breathtaking enough to steal the air from my lungs.

“You changed me,” I say quietly, voice breaking. “Loving you made me want to be better—not just for you. For Tyler. For the people I care about. Even for myself.”

I shake my head once, humbled by the truth of it.

“You showed me what it looks like to choose something good and keep choosing it, even when it hurts. Even when the fear of losing it makes it hard to breathe.”

My thumb brushes the pendant again, slow and reverent.

“This necklace is a reminder of my love for you. Of the life I want with you. A life built on trust, not control. On choosing each other every single day, no matter what comes.”

I lift my gaze to hers and let her see all of me—the certainty and the terror, the devotion and the dread.

“This is me leaving my heart with you,” I whisper. “Please keep it close. Keep it safe… until I find my way back to you.”

She reaches for me, hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me close. Her mouth meets mine, full and unguarded, and I take everything she gives—every emotion, every breath, every unspoken plea.

The kiss isn’t hurried. It’s deep and aching and slow, as if we’re both trying to memorize the other by touch alone. My hand cradles her jaw, my thumb brushing the curve of her cheek, while my other arm anchors at her waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us.

Her breath trembles against my lips.

Mine does too.

And I kiss her with everything I don’t trust my voice to carry—gratitude, devotion, terror, and a love so consuming it feels almost unbearable. 

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless, foreheads pressed together, sharing the same unsteady air. Her eyes are wet, shining, impossibly soft, and I hate that I’m about to cloud this moment.

My gaze drops to the pendant resting against her chest. My thumb traces its edge once, reverently, before stilling.

“Snowflake,” I murmur, my voice rough. I swallow and try again. “There’s… something else I need to tell you.”

I draw in an unsteady breath, nerves coiling tight in my chest.

“Lucas and Owen helped me with it—just before we came here.” A shaky breath slips out. “There’s a tracker inside the setting. Tiny. You’d never know it was there unless you were looking for it.”

I lift my eyes to hers, searching her face, suddenly afraid of how she might see me now that she knows.

“I don’t want to be that guy,” I rush on. “The one who watches. Who cages. Who claims instead of protects. That’s not who I’m trying to be with you. And I hate that even saying this feels like I’m failing you.”

My thumb brushes the sapphire again, softer this time.

“But I’m leaving you. And I don’t trust this plan. I don’t trust Victor. And I don’t trust that I’ll be able to get back to you fast enough if something goes wrong.”

My voice drops, stripped bare. “So I’m asking—if you can—please don’t take it off while I’m gone. Not because I want to control you… but because I need to be able to find you. If I have to.”

Silence stretches between us, long enough for my chest to tighten in anticipation of anger. Of disbelief. Of her pulling away.

Instead, her hand comes down over mine, covering it where it rests against the pendant. Warm. Steady. Her eyes are full—not with fear, not with anger, but with understanding.

“James,” she whispers, her voice trembling but sure. “I’ll wear it proudly. Because I know your heart. Because I trust you.”

The thumb of her other hand brushes my cheek, easing tension I didn’t even realize I was holding.

“And because I want you to come back to me,” she continues softly. “No matter where I am, I want you to be able to find me.”

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