I can see you

Chapter 17

(ROSY'S POV)

His skin glistened in a shaft of morning light, golden and soft. Too warm and too inviting. The sight of it sparked a need in me-sharp, urgent. I wanted to touch him, taste him, dissolve into him.

His lips were slightly parted like an invitation. One I'd be a fool to refuse. I leaned closer to the chair, my heart was pounding and my breath coming in short puffs.

Then suddenly I felt his hand move. It shot up and wrapped around the back of my neck, firm but not violent. I froze. His fingers trembled against my skin. Was this it? Was he finally reaching for me?

My pulse surged as his mouth hovered inches from mine. I could feel his heat, the rise and fall of his chest. For a moment, the world narrowed to this-this almost. But then he whispered.

"Ri... please. Roy wouldn't want this. Just come back to me."

His voice was barely audible. It sounded strained and pleading. And just like that, everything inside me shattered.

Ri?He was calling her name like this? Who was this woman? It wasn't an accident. No, he chose to wishper that name not mine. A red-hot wave of fury slammed through me. It should have been my name on his lips. Mine.

He's confused. I reminded myself. He's scared, holding onto his consciousness like a lifeline. He had barely sleeped or ate this whole week. But there was no need to be afraid because I'm here. And soon enough, he'll see that.

I stormed into the bathroom and before even I could think my fingers moved. I grabbed the bucket, filled it to the brim, and hurled the freezing water at him. It hit with a satisfying slap. He gasped, choking on the shock. Water streamed down his face, clinging to his lashes, tracing his jaw, dripping from his mouth like blood in reverse. He blinked hard, dazed.

I stood above him, shaking. "It was you, wasn't it?" I snapped.

His head tilted, slow like he was confused or pretending to be.

"The man who tried to sneak into my house. The one who hacked my security system. You thought I wouldn't find out?"

Still silence.

I hadn't meant to find the footage. Killian had come by two nights ago and said he'd done a sweep of my old system, just in case someone had tampered with it. He handed me a flash drive like it was nothing "Might be useful," he said. I plugged it in expecting static.

What I saw instead were months of grainy clips: Edward pacing outside my apartment, leaning against the door, his breath fogging up the lens. He had watched me. Waited for me. Hacked into my cameras and left no trace. Most people would've called it sick. But me? I felt wanted. I felt seen. He hadn't forgotten me. He'd been keeping me close in his own way, all this time. But why ignore me in the first place?

"The cameras were restored last night," I said, voice sharp. "I have the legal footage now. I saw you. I know what you did."

He didn't deny it. He didn't beg or lie. He just grinned. After whispering another woman's name he had the audacity to grin?

"Well," he said, calm as anything, "looks like I've been caught."

I stared at him, chest tight.

"And you've got evidence? That's a problem," he went on. "But you want to know what's worse? I've got three years' worth of proof you stalked me. So, no, you don't get to play the victim. And don't bother smashing my phone. Everything's backed up. Somewhere safe."

His voice was too easy. Too rehearsed like he'd been waiting to say it. I just... stared at him and then I brusted out laughing because if he hated me, he wouldn't have saved all that.

You don't track someone for three years unless you feel something. Unless they matter. That's not fear. That's obsession. That's love. It just is.

"So we're even, then," I said, my voice softening. I stepped closer, it was about time I make the move. "Edward," I whispered, "I love you."

His face twisted and for a moment I couldn't tell if it was pain or disgust. I hesitated. Just for a second. Then I smiled and leaned in anyway.

"Look at this house," I murmured. "I set it all up just for you. Every wall, every lock. Every inch made for us."

I crouched beside him and touched his wet hair, fingers threading slowly through it.

"Don't even think about running. If you try, I swear I'll get angry. And you don't want that."

I pressed my lips to his cheek, light and lingering. His skin was cold from the water, but I didn't mind. It still belonged to me.

I pulled back and met his eyes. His golden beautiful eyes and that's when it hit me.

"Oh, one more thing," I said, my voice was light but careful. "The sketchbook."

His eyes flicked toward me. Just slightly.

"You know the one I mean. Spiral-bound. Black cover. You left it in the library, but I found it. The drawings inside..." I stepped closer again, lowering my voice like I was sharing a secret. "They're beautiful. Haunted. So full of her. Of me."

He said nothing. His jaw clenched, barely.

"I just wondered," I murmured, "when you drew them... were you thinking of me? Or was it always just a game, even back then?"

That question hung in the air like a dare. I didn't wait for an answer. I didn't need one.
I smiled again slow, certain and stepped back.

"I'll be back at lunch," I said. "Until then... rest. Dream of me. We're finally where we were always meant to be."

I turned to leave. My hand was on the door when I looked back.

"Just so you know, darling," I said gently, "you don't have to say it yet. I can wait."

My smile deepened.

"But I know. I saw it in your eyes."

---

My phone buzzed in my back pocket. I didn't need to check to know who it was. I answered without saying a word. Killian's voice came soft, like always. Warm honey over ice. "How did it go?"

I murmured, "He didn't fight me."

"That's progress." He said.

"I told him about the footage and the sketch book," I added. "Asked if he was thinking about me all along. Told him ... told him I love him. He didn't answer."

"He didn't need to," Killian said. "He's thinking about it now. That's the important part. Let the idea take root."

I leaned my head back against the cold window. "He's still pulling away, though. Like he's waiting to wake up from it."

"Then anchor him."

I frowned. "How?"

Killian's pause was slight, deliberate. "You need to go further, Rosy. You've built the fantasy, but it's still staged and still artificial. It needs weight, memory, familiar ground."

My fingers curled tighter around the phone. "You want me to take him back?"

"To his house. His space. Yes, It's the final step."

I hesitated. "He'll resist or maybe try to run away."

"Of course he will resist," Killian said gently. "But that doesn't mean he won't follow. You've already done the hardest part, he's emotionally engaged. Confused and vulnerable."

"And when we get there?"

"Make him realise he loves you too," Killian said. "Make him choose to stay."

The line went quiet. I stared at my reflection in the car mirror, the heat still lingering on my skin from where Edward had touched me. I imagined us back in his house-our house-walking the same halls, sleeping in his bed, building something real out of all this wreckage.

Maybe that's where the last piece of him was still hiding. Maybe that's where he'd finally remember that I was never just a girl he met. I was the girl who stayed. The girl he loves. And now I was the one who would bring him home.