The weight of the dumbbells in her hands felt reassuring. The sharp strain in her muscles, the burn of exertion—these were things Adele could control. As she finished her last set, she let the weights drop with a dull thud onto the rubber flooring of her basement gym. Her breath came in steady, measured inhales, the kind she had trained herself to maintain even when fatigue clawed at her limbs.

It had been a month. A month since she had told Julian the truth. A month since he had started pulling away.

She had told herself that she wouldn't let it get to her. That she was fine with it. That Julian would come around in his own time. But as the days stretched into weeks, as his messages became curt and his absence more pronounced, patience had begun to wear thin.

Adele moved to the underground shooting range she had built for herself, loading her pistol with smooth efficiency. The moment she took her stance, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger, she felt a sense of relief. The controlled violence of the gunshot, the precision required to hit her target—it was grounding. It reminded her that she was still herself, that she still had command over something in her life.

But no amount of training, no number of perfectly placed shots, could silence the growing frustration gnawing at her insides.

She had expected hesitation. Julian was methodical, calculated. He never made a move without thinking it through a dozen times over. But this wasn't hesitation—this was avoidance. He was shutting her out, and worse, he wasn't even telling her why.

The thought ignited a fresh wave of irritation, making her next shot go slightly off-center. Adele clicked her tongue and lowered her weapon. The distance between them, both physical and emotional, was becoming unbearable.

She had given him time. She had given him space. And now she was done waiting.

Julian had never been one to act on impulse.

Every decision he made was precise, calculated. He had built his life on control, on understanding every possible outcome before making a move. And yet, for the past month, he had felt like he was teetering on the edge of something he couldn't quite define.

Avoiding Adele had not been an easy choice. He told himself it wasn't avoidance—it was distance. Necessary distance. A chance to process, to decide whether he could afford to let her any closer.

He wasn't a fool. He had seen the expectation in her eyes that day, the way she had watched him after telling him the truth. She had been waiting to see what he would do. And that alone was dangerous.

Because the moment she had told him, the moment she had laid herself bare, a single undeniable truth had settled in his mind:

If he let her in, if he let himself get any closer, there would be no turning back.

Julian exhaled, fingers resting against the book he wasn't really reading. He had spent the past month trying to convince himself that distance was the right call, that maintaining control over the situation was more important than whatever undefined thing had started to form between them.

And yet, despite everything, Adele still lingered in his thoughts.

The way she carried herself, the way she fought against every limitation placed upon her, the way she had looked at him that day—like she wanted him to prove her wrong, to prove that he was different.

He had spent his life making logical choices, choosing paths that offered the least resistance. But Adele was not logical. She was chaos. And for the first time, Julian wasn't sure if he wanted to resist.

The kitchen was empty.

Adele stood at the doorway, arms folded, staring at the neatly arranged countertops. Everything was in its place—knives sharpened, ingredients untouched. The space felt sterile without movement, without the quiet presence of someone else.

She wasn't sure why she expected him to be here.

He had canceled their lesson that morning. A simple, curt message delivered through the usual channels. No explanation. No attempt at rescheduling. Just an impersonal dismissal.

And Adele had told herself it didn't matter. That it was nothing. That she didn't care.

Yet, here she was. And when she finally pushed open the door to the library, her voice carried a sharp edge she hadn't planned on.

"You canceled our lesson."

Julian barely looked up from his book. Seated in his usual chair, posture meticulous, he turned a page as if she hadn't spoken at all.

After a moment, he finally said, "I did."

No explanation. No apology. Nothing.

Adele narrowed her eyes. "So that's it? No more cooking lessons?"

"I've simply decided to reprioritize my time." His voice was calm, measured. He didn't even glance at her.

A spark of irritation flared in her chest.

"Right. Because you're suddenly too busy."

Julian exhaled through his nose, amused but distant. "You sound upset."

"I sound pissed, Julian."

At that, he finally met her gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—watched her with a quiet intensity that made her want to either punch him or kiss him just to shut him up.

"Why?" he asked simply.

"Why—?" Adele scoffed. "Maybe because I thought you were different. Maybe because I let myself believe, for one goddamn second, that you wouldn't be like everyone else. But no, I tell you the truth, and suddenly you're—" She gestured vaguely at him. "This."

Julian closed his book. Slowly. Deliberately.

"And what is 'this,' exactly?"

"Distant. Cold. Like you've already decided what you think of me."

His silence stretched long enough that her pulse started to thrum. She hated that. Hated that he had this effect on her.

"You misunderstand," Julian said at last. "I haven't decided anything."

Adele frowned. "Then what is this? Some sort of test?"

He tilted his head. "No. I am simply... considering."

"Considering what?"

"You."

The way he said it made her stomach tighten. There was no judgment in his voice, no disgust, no fear—only calm assessment, like she was a puzzle he was still piecing together.

Adele's breath hitched before she could stop it. "I don't need you to analyze me, Julian."

"Don't you?" His voice was soft, but sharp. "You confessed something to me, something that would drive most people away, and yet you were watching me, waiting, as if you wanted to see if I'd still be standing here."

Adele clenched her fists. He was right, and that only pissed her off more.

"I don't need you to stay."

"No," Julian agreed. "But you don't want me to leave, either."

Her throat tightened. She had no response to that.

Julian exhaled, glancing at the book in his lap before looking back up at her.

"Tell me, Adele—what would you rather I do?"

The way he said her name made it feel like a blade against her skin—sharp, precise, and far too intimate.

For the first time in a long time, she had no idea what she wanted.