Page 23 of When the Storm Breaks
The hours pass. My hands stay busy—wiping, scrubbing, anything to keep the thoughts away. Then, a knock.
Three taps. Barely a sound, but it pierces the quiet all the same. Chase’s head jerks up, a grin spreading. I don’t need to look up. I already know.
She’s here.
When the door opens, the air shifts. Cold light spills in from the street, and everything else blurs around her.
It’s her.
Calla.
She’s different this time. Smaller, pulled inward. Wrapped up in some quiet storm she’s trying to weather alone. Her hair falls loose around her face, her hands full—bags, coffee cups, all clenched tootight.
There’s something fragile about her, like she doesn’t quite belong here.
Like she’s still trying to figure out where she fits.
When her eyes meet mine, time stretches. A beat too long. Her chin lifts subtly, like she’s challenging me to make the next move.
I lean against the counter, eyes still locked on hers, trying to make sense of the shift that just happened.
“Calla.”
Her name tastes raw on my tongue, and I see her flinch as it leaves my lips.
“Hi,” she replies—soft, almost tentative, like she’s testing the waters.
Chase, completely unaware, glances between us, brow furrowing.
“Wait—Haiyden. You two know each other?”
She glances at me again, and I catch something in her expression. Something secret. I keep my face steady, masking the thoughts and memories rolling through me.
“Haiyden,” she whispers.
My name slips from her lips like she’s weighing it. Tasting it. Holding it there.
I push off the counter, irritation bubbling in my chest.
“Office. Now.”
Chase looks confused but follows without a word. He throws Calla a quick, apologetic glance before the door slams shut behind us, the sound ringing through the quiet space.
I’m already on him, my voice low and dangerous as I close the distance.
“No.”
Chase’s smirk is fucking infuriating.
He leans back against the desk, arms crossed, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like none of this matters.
“No what?”
“Whatever this is.” I flick a hand toward the door, my voice clipped. “It stops now.”
His smirk deepens, all easy arrogance.
“Jealous?”
