Bound To The Shadow

Blossom's POV.

There was only so much silence a person could take before they started craving noise-even if it was the wrong kind. Even if it came dressed in danger and dipped in chaos. Even if that noise had a name, and that name was Vincent Marino.

I stared at the city from my apartment window, the skyline taunting me with a kind of indifference I'd grown used to. My apartment looked untouched-neat, organized, safe. The kind of place someone was supposed to breathe easy in. But I didn't.

Because I couldn't.

Not when every room I walked through whispered reminders of a man who hadn't been here, but whose presence filled all the space anyway. His voice, his touch, the way he'd say Little De like it was a secret between us. Like I was something only he understood. God, I hated that I missed that.

I ran a hand through my hair, pacing. I'd made lists. I'd tried to rationalize. I'd played the strong, detached woman. But all that thinking and breathing and healing had led me back here-to the same damn conclusion:

I wanted him.

Even if it was reckless.
Even if it was stupid.
Even if he shattered me all over again.

Screw logic.

I grabbed my bag, slammed the door behind me, and texted one person:

"Watch my place. I'm going back to him."

---

The city blurred outside the taxi window, and I didn't give a damn that I hadn't called ahead. I wasn't going to be polite about it. If he was going to slam into my life like a hurricane, then he was going to feel the aftershock too.

I stood in front of the Marino estate gates like I'd never left, heart pounding like a traitor. The security detail at the front blinked at me in surprise.

"I want to see Vincent," I said, loud enough to burn the hesitation out of their mouths.

"He's in his study," one finally answered, moving aside with a silent nod.

I walked in like I still belonged there.
Because maybe I did.
Because maybe I never stopped.

The house swallowed me whole. Same sharp edges, same velvet cold. Lily passed me in the hallway, froze, and blinked like she wasn't sure if I was real or another ghost this house had learned to live with.

"You're back?" she asked softly.

"For now."

She smiled, just a little. "He's in the study. And he's been drinking again."

Perfect.

---

I found him exactly where I knew he'd be-slouched in his chair, half-drunk, smoke curling from the corner of his lips like sin was something casual.

He didn't look up immediately. He never did.

But he knew.

"I figured you'd either show up or set something on fire," he said calmly.

I stepped forward. "There's still time for both."

He raised his eyes to mine, slow and heavy like he'd been waiting. I saw it then-the exhaustion, the battle scars in his gaze, the ache tucked between every blink.

"I don't want an apology," I said, voice low. "And I'm not here to be convinced."

"Then why are you here?" he asked.

I walked toward him, letting each step be a decision I didn't want to take back.

"Because I'm tired of pretending I don't want to be."