He moves his hand behind my neck, fingertips tangling in my hairline, warmth radiating from his palm. Not clinging, but unwavering.
His eyes bore into mine as if he’s searching behind my gaze. “I see you exactly,” he says.
Something inside me unclenches. The part that always recoils stays still. The tension I’ve carried unspools.
Without thinking, I lean into him. His other arm wraps around my waist, drawing me close. My body molds against his, fitting exactly where it belongs. The smooth fabric of his shirt brushes my cheek. His heartbeat is steady against my ear.
He understands me.
And beneath that, deeper and quieter, a new certainty settles in my chest—he knows what to do with all of me. And he doesn’t hesitate.
Nobody else has come close to that before.
“Come with me,” he says, motioning for me to stand up. He takes my hand, leading me down the hall. “I have something to show you.”
CHAPTER 36
IVY
The heat settles over me the moment I step inside. It wraps around me like a thick blanket. It isn’t sharp or suffocating, but there’s a hint it could get that way.
The sauna is darker than the rest of the apartment, the wood-paneled walls absorbing the low light until everything feels muted, softened at the edges. The air feels thicker and quieter. Like sound doesn’t carry the same way, and anything spoken will stay close instead of drifting.
Like the room holds onto things.
“You’ll like this,” Soren says. His voice lands lower in here, closer, shaped by the space.
I nod and step further inside, the warmth settling deeper into my skin with every movement. The door closes behind us with a soft, final click that echoes just enough to register.
And with it, something shifts. There’s no outside in here. No distance. No easy exit.
I sit first, adjusting slightly against the heated wood, the warmth pressing through the backs of my legs, my spine, sinking in gradually rather than all at once.
I can tell straight away that this is a top-of-the line sauna. Soren holds a remote control so minimalist it could be anything at all. But I have no doubt this room has a million settings that can be adjusted at the touch of a discreet, well-designed button.
He sits beside me. Close enough that I’m aware of him. Not touching. Not yet.
The heat builds slowly, seeping inward, loosening muscle by muscle, unwinding something beneath the surface I didn’t realize was tight.
My shoulders drop. My breathing deepens. The constant background noise in my head—the low hum that never quite switches off—fades without me noticing when it happens.
Everything narrows. Softens. Stills.
We sit in silence for a while. It doesn’t feel empty. It feels full in a way I can’t quite explain, like the quiet itself is doing something rejuvenating.
For a second, I think of everything I’ve shared with him, and I feel a prickle of unease. Maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut. He probably thinks I’m beyond repair.
They say not to unload all your baggage on a new flame, and here I am baring my soul. Telling him things I’ve never spoken out loud.
Giving him ammunition to destroy my psyche if he so wishes.
But then the thought is gone, replaced by warm sensations.“This is nice,” I murmur, my voice quieter than usual, shaped by the heat.
“It is.” His voice lands close again. Closer than before.
The silence stretches, but it doesn’t feel like waiting. It feels like space being held open.
I shift slightly, my gaze fixed on the grain of the wood in front of me, tracing the lines with my eyes as if that might keep me anchored.