We didn't talk about the date again. Not directly.
The next day passed quietly. Arden gave me space. He didn't hover. He just stayed nearby, always within reach, like a shadow I didn't mind.
That afternoon, he knocked on my door and didn't come in until I said, "Yeah?"
He peeked his head in. "We don't have to call it a date," he said. "We can just go get food."
I blinked at him, then nodded once. "Okay."
He smiled. "Cool. Give me ten."
We walked. No cameras. No lights. Just the soft noise of city traffic and our shoes against the pavement. He didn't ask questions. Just kept a pace that matched mine.
The diner was quiet. Dim. The kind of place that didn't require effort.
We sat in a corner booth. He ordered coffee and pancakes again. I got tea.
The waitress left us alone, and the silence didn't bother me.
He looked out the window. "You're hard to read, you know."
"I know."
He turned back to me. "I like that, though. Not everything has to be loud."
I didn't answer.
He smiled into his mug.
A moment passed, and then — without pressure — he said, "I used to think people like you didn't need saving."
I looked at him. "People like me?"
"Put-together. Unbothered. The kind that carries everything without letting it show."
I lowered my eyes.
"But now I get it," he said softly. "You carry it because no one else did."
I didn't respond. My fingers wrapped around the cup, warming my skin.
"I'm not trying to fix you," he added after a moment. "I just want to be here. If you'll let me."
There was nothing for me to say. So I didn't.
But I didn't look away, either.
Later that evening, we passed by a small flower shop on the walk back.
He stopped. "Wait here."
I watched as he walked inside. A few minutes later, he came out with one single white lily.
He handed it to me without a word.
I took it. Held it. Didn't smile. Didn't cry.
But I didn't let go of it either.
Back in the hotel, he walked me to my door.
"I had a good time," he said.
I nodded.
"Sleep well, Theia."
"You too."
I closed the door gently behind me. Leaned against it.
The flower was still in my hand.
Not peace. Not yet.
But something like quiet hope.
I woke up early the next day.
No bad dreams. Just stillness.
The lily Arden gave me was still on the bedside table, sitting in a glass of water. It hadn't wilted yet. Somehow, neither had I.
I got up, washed my face, and stood in front of the mirror. I didn't look for bruises anymore. Just signs that I was still here.
The knock on the door was soft.
"It's me," Arden said.
I opened it.
He had two paper cups in his hand. "Coffee. Or tea. I forgot which one you like more."
I took the tea without answering.
We sat on the floor again. It was becoming routine. Not a habit — just something we kept doing because it worked.
He handed me a folded paper.
"What's this?"
"A place," he said. "Law firm. The one I talked to. It's not just legal help. They offer support. Protection. People who deal with trauma like—"
I nodded once, cutting him off. "Okay."
"You don't have to go today. Or tomorrow. But I wanted you to have it."
I set the paper on the table. Didn't look at it again.
But I didn't throw it away either.
Later that day, my phone buzzed.
I almost didn't look. But I did.
Mom:
> You're wasting everyone's time. This isn't how professionals act.
We raised you to be better than this.
Another message came in seconds later.
> Come back.
You're lucky we're still willing to work with you.
No apology. No question if I was okay. Just control.
I turned off the screen. Placed the phone on the floor next to me.
Arden saw it. He didn't ask what it said.
Instead, he spoke quietly. "You ever think about leaving for good?"
I nodded slowly. "I've thought about it since I was fifteen."
He didn't smile this time. Just leaned back against the bed, eyes closed.
"I'll help you," he said simply. "Whatever way you want to go. Quiet or loud."
That night, I sat at the edge of the bed with the lily in my hand. I held it gently, tracing the petals with my thumb.
My phone lit up again.
This time, it was someone from the agency.
Contact name: UNKNOWN
> Your silence is unprofessional.
We can terminate your contract and blacklist you.
The message didn't shake me. Not this time.
I turned the phone off completely.
Let the dark screen reflect back nothing.
Arden stayed on the other side of the room that night.
He didn't try to talk. Just set his laptop down and worked on some photos. I watched him sometimes, out of the corner of my eye. There was something careful about the way he handled the shots — like they were something fragile. Sacred.
Eventually, he looked up.
"You don't have to do what they say."
I nodded. "I know."
"You're not who they made you into."
I didn't respond.
But the words stayed with me longer than I expected.
Near midnight, he stood.
"I'm going to sleep. You okay?"
I nodded.
He took one step toward the door, then paused.
"If you change your mind… if you want to disappear for a while. We can. No one would find you."
That made me look up.
He meant it.
All of it.
I didn't say yes. I didn't say no.
But I didn't forget the offer.
And that was enough.
It was late afternoon when I asked.
"Can we go out?"
Arden looked up from his laptop. "Out where?"
"Anywhere," I said. "Just… not here."
He studied me for a moment. "Somewhere no one knows us?"
I nodded. "I don't want to think today."
That was enough.
We went to a market just beyond the city. It was loud and alive. Street food smoke curling into the air, children running barefoot, couples swaying to a guitar played off-tune.
For once, no one stared. No flashes. No whispers.
We weren't names. Just people.
Arden bought roasted corn and passed one to me. I took a bite, the butter running down my thumb.
"You're smiling," he said.
I blinked. "I'm not."
"You are," he said, a half-grin tugging at his cheek. "It suits you."
I looked away, but didn't deny it.
We stayed there for hours, slipping between shadows and street corners like the world wasn't watching. I laughed — a small, broken sound that surprised even me — when he nearly tripped over a dog while trying to take a picture of sunset light on my face.
That was the last easy moment.
As the evening stretched, Arden left briefly to grab water from a nearby stall.
I sat on a bench beneath a yellow tree, alone, watching a group of kids chasing each other in circles. Their voices echoed far away — like a memory I didn't belong to.
That's when I felt it.
The shift in air.
The sound of approaching heels.
Then: "Antheia."
My body froze.
I turned slowly.
There she was.
My mother.
Hair in a tight bun, sunglasses pushed into her hair, mouth painted red, gaze sharp as always — but worse somehow in the soft light of dusk.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
She didn't answer.
She simply walked over, took my wrist, and squeezed.
"Come. Now."
I pulled slightly, but didn't say anything.
Arden was just a street away. He'd be back in seconds. I just needed to wait.
But she leaned close and hissed, "You don't want to cause a scene, do you?"
I hesitated.
Then she tugged harder.
The car was already there, black and waiting at the curb.
"Where are we going?" I finally asked.
"Home."
"I didn't agree—"
"You don't have to."
My voice was a whisper. "I don't have anything with me."
She smiled like it didn't matter. Because to her, it never did.
Inside the car, everything was leather and silence. I sat like a ghost, pressed into the window, watching the market fade behind me.
Arden never saw me go.
The papers were still on the hotel table. My phone beside them. My name halfway signed to a better life.
And now?
Now it was just me.
Nothing in my hands.
No goodbye.
Just the steady hum of the engine and my mother beside me, already on the phone, already planning the next shoot.
But this time… I was listening.
This time… I was planning too.