Sleep refused to settle properly, and after a while, I stopped trying to force it.
Lying in bed with my eyes closed only made everything sharper. The memory of the car hadn't faded, and my body hadn't completely forgotten it either. The reaction was no longer overwhelming, but it lingered just enough to make me aware of it, like a reminder sitting under my skin.
That wasn't something I could ignore.
More importantly, it wasn't something I should ignore.
I sat up slowly, resting my forearms against my knees for a moment as I thought it through. Charles had seen everything earlier and chosen not to act. That decision mattered. It meant he wasn't impulsive, and it meant whatever happened next would be on his terms unless I changed that.
And I didn't come this far to let him control the pace.
If distance gave him control, then proximity was the only way to take some of it back.
The thought settled firmly in my mind, and the decision followed without hesitation.
I stood, ran a hand through my hair, and stepped out of the room.
The hallway was dim, quiet, the kind of silence that made every movement feel deliberate. I walked toward the stairs without hesitation this time, no wandering, no second-guessing. I already knew where I was going.
The kitchen.
The lights were on when I entered.
He stood by the counter, a glass in his hand, sleeves rolled slightly, shirt open at the collar. The formal edge from earlier was gone, but nothing about him looked less controlled.
He glanced at me once.
That was enough to confirm he had noticed everything.
"You're awake," he said.
"Yes."
I moved past him toward the counter, poured myself a glass of water, and took a slow sip. My movements were steady, but I could feel the shift starting again, subtle and controlled, not enough to lose hold of it.
Good. That made it easier.
I set the glass down and turned fully toward him, no longer keeping any deliberate distance between us. This time, I closed the space with intention, each step measured instead of casual.
He didn't move.
His gaze followed me, sharp, observant, the kind that didn't miss details even when it looked relaxed.
I stopped directly in front of him.
Close enough that the difference was impossible to ignore.
My pulse reacted first, a quiet spike that I kept contained. I didn't step back. I didn't look away. I held his gaze and let the moment settle exactly where it was.
This wasn't a mistake; it was a choice.
"You're still working," I said.
"Yes."
His voice remained even, but his attention had narrowed. That much was obvious.
I let a second pass, then another and long enough to make the silence intentional.
My body shifted slightly, just enough to close what little space remained between us. Not touching, but close enough that it didn't need to be.
The reaction came again, stronger this time, but I forced it under control, steadying my breathing before it could take hold of me.
His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to my face, sharper than before.
"You should step back," he said.
I didn't move. "Why?"
He paused for a moment before answering, his gaze steady on mine. "Because you won't like the outcome if you don't."
The words were calm, but there was nothing uncertain about them.
I tilted my head slightly, studying him in a way that would have looked careless to anyone else.
"I think I can decide that for myself."
His expression didn't change, but something tightened beneath it, something controlled, something held in place deliberately.
Good.
That meant I was right.
I let my hand rest lightly against the counter beside him, leaning just enough to shift the angle between us. Close. Intentional. Impossible to ignore.
The reaction hit harder this time.
I exhaled slowly, steadying it before it could show.
I remained in control, and that was what mattered.
His hand moved then, not toward me, but to the counter, his fingers settling against the surface as his grip tightened slightly.
He was holding it back, and I could see it clearly now. It wasn't something I imagined or assumed; it was there, controlled but undeniable.
"So this is how you react," I said quietly.
His eyes locked on mine. "You shouldn't be paying attention to that."
"I think I should."
That landed exactly where I intended it to.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It held weight, something sharp beneath it, something that hadn't been there before.
I stayed where I was, holding my ground without stepping back, letting the moment linger just long enough to make my point clear before I finally straightened and moved away at a measured pace.
The distance returned, but it didn't undo what had already happened.
That wasn't something that could be taken back.
I reached for my glass again, took another sip, then set it down like nothing had shifted.
"I should get some sleep," I said.
"You should."
His voice had steadied again, controlled and composed, though not entirely unaffected.
I turned toward the door, then paused just long enough to look back at him.
He hadn't moved and was still standing there, watching me, but now I understood that he wasn't unaffected; he was choosing restraint, and that—
That was something I could work with.
I left the kitchen and headed upstairs without stopping again.
This time, my steps were slower, driven not by hesitation but by certainty.
I stepped back into my room and closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment as my breathing settled completely.
There was no loss of control and no mistake, only pressure and the response it pulled from him.
I pushed away from the door and crossed the room, already adjusting the plan in my head.
If he wanted control, then I would give him something far more difficult to manage, and next time, I wouldn't be the one to step back first.