The Banks' house was steeped in silence as Marcus and Hilary stepped through the door, careful not to make any noise. The stillness of the night was almost disorienting after the chaos of earlier, but it felt like a relief to Marcus—to both of them, probably.

Hilary led the way to the pool house, her steps quick and deliberate, as if she could outrun the memories of what had just happened. Marcus followed without a word, his eyes scanning her for any signs of lingering distress. She was holding herself together well—too well, for it to be the first time—but he wasn't going to push.

Inside the pool house, she flipped on a small lamp, its light washing over the room in a soft glow. Marcus hovered near the door while Hilary moved to the mini-fridge, pulling out a small bag of ice.

"Sit," she said, her voice steady but quiet, gesturing to the couch.

Marcus obeyed, sinking onto the edge of the couch. He flexed his swollen hand, grimacing slightly. Hilary approached and handed him the ice pack without a word.

"You didn't have to do that," she said softly, sitting on the coffee table across from him. Her gaze flicked to his hand, worry etched into her features. "But… thank you. For stepping in."

Marcus smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You think I was going to just stand there and let him treat you like that?" He shook his head, pressing the ice against his knuckles in a wince. "Not a chance. Thank God Toni called me."

Hilary sighed, brushing a hand through her hair. "I hate that you even had to see that, let alone get dragged into it. I should've handled it better, should've—"

"Stop." Marcus cut her off gently, his voice steady but firm. "You don't have to do this—take all the blame, act like you're the only one who has to handle everything on your own. I know you're strong, Hilary. You don't need anybody's help, and you definitely don't need some guy swooping in to save you. You've proven that over and over."

Her gaze softened, and she let out a quiet breath, her shoulders easing slightly.

"But," Marcus continued, his voice softer now, "in situations like this, I need you to know I'm here. Not because I think you need me. But because I'm not going to stand by and let someone hurt you. You shouldn't have to go through this alone."

Hilary's posture relaxed slightly, though her expression remained unreadable. She sighed and sat back, her arms still crossed. "It's not that I don't appreciate it," she admitted. "It's just—I didn't want you to get involved in all this mess and but I guess I'm too weak to deal with this on my own..."

"You're not weak," Marcus said firmly. "Not even close. You stood up to him, even when he was out of control. That takes guts. Don't let what happened tonight make you forget that."

She didn't respond immediately, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the coffee table. After a moment, she glanced at him, her lips pressing into a thin line. "He was already drunk when I tried to break it off. I thought… I thought maybe it would be easier that way. He wouldn't care enough to fight me on it. I was wrong. It was a stupid move."

Marcus leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. "Why didn't you tell me what was going on?"

Hilary hesitated, feeling the shame creeping in, "Tell you what ? That I wasn't able to break up with my boyfriend ?", her gaze dropped for the briefest moment. "It was already too late and I didn't want to drag anyone else into it..."

Marcus let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. "Hilary, if something like this ever happens again—if he ever even tries to come near you—you need to come to me. I don't care if it's the middle of the night, or if you think you've got it under control. Promise me."

Her lips tightened, but after a moment, she nodded. "Okay... I promise."

Marcus relaxed slightly, leaning back on the couch. His eyes flicked to her face, to the faint swelling on her lower lip. Without a word, he reached for the ice pack in his hand, gently holding it against her injury.

She flinched slightly at the cold but didn't pull away, her eyes meeting his.

"This isn't the first time, is it?" Marcus asked quietly.

Her silence was answer enough.

Marcus's jaw clenched, his grip tightening on the ice pack. He felt a pang of guilt—guilt for not noticing, for not understanding it the night they were at the club, for not stepping in sooner. But he forced himself to push it aside.

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened settling between them. Exhaustion taking over. Finally, Hilary stood up and he imitated her, ready to leave, thinking he had overstayed his welcome in the pool house for the night.

But without a word, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around him. The hug was firm but unhurried, a gesture filled with quiet gratitude. It caught Marcus off guard for a moment, but he quickly recovered, and returned the embrace.

"Thank you," Hilary murmured against his shoulder, her voice steady but soft. "For everything. For being here."

Marcus tightened his arms around her slightly, his chin brushing the top of her head. "You don't have to thank me," he said quietly. "Now, you know I'm here."

The hug lingered longer than either of them expected. It wasn't just a gesture of thanks—it was a moment of trust, of reassurance, of something deeper that neither dared to put into words. When they pulled back, Hilary's hands still rested lightly on his arms as she looked up at him. "I trust you, Marcus."

Her words hit him harder than he expected, and he gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod.

"Good," he said simply, his voice carrying a quiet intensity.

He hesitated for only a second before lifting a hand to gently arrange a stranded curl. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

Hilary stood still, her breath hitching ever so slightly at the unexpected gesture. But she didn't pull away. Instead, she gave him a small, faint smile, her eyes soft.

"Good night, Hilary," Marcus said, his voice low and steady.

"Good night, Marcus," she replied, the warmth in her tone unmistakable.

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, as though reluctant to leave. Then, with one last glance, he turned and stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him. Hilary stood there for a long moment,touched her forehead absently, the faint warmth of his kiss still lingering. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at her swollen lip before she shook her head.

Something had shifted between them—something she couldn't quite name but could undeniably feel. Whatever it was, it hung in the air, unspoken. Like a thread quietly tying them closer together.

The next day, the Banks' house was alive with the usual Saturday morning buzz. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the sound of bacon sizzling and the clatter of plates as Geoffrey and Marcus worked in sync to prepare breakfast.

Marcus stood by the stove, expertly flipping pancakes, but his focus was split between the task at hand and the throbbing ache in his bruised knuckles from the punch he threw at Kyle the night before. He kept his injured hand out of view as best as he could, flexing it subtly to gauge the pain. Geoffrey, ever the observant butler, caught the small wince across Marcus's face.

"Pretty sore, I see," Geoffrey remarked quietly, glancing at Marcus as he plated a stack of pancakes.

"I'm fine," Marcus muttered, brushing off the concern.

Geoffrey raised an eyebrow but said nothing, sliding the plate onto the counter. "Perhaps. But if you keep wincing every time you flip a pancake, the family might begin to ask questions."

Before Marcus could respond, Hilary appeared in the doorway. She was dressed impeccably as always, in a sleek cream blazer over a fitted dress, her makeup flawless. The red lipstick she wore hiding the small cut on her lip. She radiated confidence, but Marcus didn't miss the slight stiffness in her posture or the way she avoided meeting his gaze at first.

"Good morning, everyone!" Hilary announced brightly, her tone as cheery and polished as it was on her weather segments.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Aunt Vivian said from her seat at the dining table, sipping her tea.

"Morning, Hilary," Uncle Phil added, lowering his newspaper with a bit of reserve.

Hilary made her rounds, kissing her mother and father on the cheek and ruffling Ashley's hair affectionately.

When she reached Marcus, she gave him a quick, almost imperceptible look—one that conveyed gratitude, concern, and a silent reminder to keep their secret of the night before. Marcus responded with the faintest of nods, his expression neutral as he turned back to the stove.

"Coffee, Miss Hilary?" he asked casually, already reaching for a mug, even tough it felt weird saying "miss" now.

"Yes, please," she replied, her voice softer now.

Marcus brought the coffee to the table, setting it in front of her with a quiet, "Here you go." Hilary murmured her thanks, her fingers brushing his for the briefest moment as she took the mug.

The exchange didn't go unnoticed. Ashley's sharp eyes zeroed in on Marcus's hand as he turned away.

"Whoa, Marcus!" she exclaimed. "What happened to your hand?"

Marcus froze mid-step, his back to the table. Slowly, he turned, tucking his bruised knuckles into his pocket in an attempt to appear casual.

Ashley leaned forward, gesturing. "Your knuckles—they're all swollen and bruised! Did you punch something?"

The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at Marcus. Uncle Phil set down his newspaper, his brow furrowing in concern. Aunt Vivian tilted her head, her expression soft but worried, and even Will paused mid-bite, his pancake hovering in midair as he leaned forward eagerly.

"Marcus," Vivian said concerned, "what happened? Are you okay?"

Hilary stiffened slightly in her seat, her fingers tightening around her coffee mug. Marcus caught the movement and knew he had to think fast.

"It's nothing," Marcus said quickly, forcing a sheepish grin. "I, uh, was trying to fix the garbage disposal last night, and let's just say it didn't go as planned. It closed on my knuckles..." He held up his injured hand, waving it for effect. "Lesson learned: don't mess with appliances in the middle of the night."

"Dude," Will said, smirking, "you're out here losing fights to garbage disposals? Man, I thought you were tougher than that."

"Will," Vivian scolded, though her lips twitched with amusement.

Carlton frowned "You really should get that checked out, Marcus. It could be fractured."

"It's not fractured," Marcus insisted, shaking his head. "Just a big bruise. Trust me, I've had worse."

The family seemed to accept his explanation, though not without a few lingering glances of concern. Hilary kept her gaze firmly fixed on her coffee, her expression carefully neutral.

"Fine," Uncle Phil said finally, "But if it starts to swell more, you're going to the doctor. No arguments."

"Yes, sir," Marcus replied, grateful to steer the conversation away from his hand.

The chatter returned to normal after that, the topic of Marcus's injury fading into the background. Geoffrey served the last of the pancakes, and the room filled with the sounds of forks clinking against plates and laughter as Will cracked another joke at Carlton's expense.

As breakfast wound down, Hilary stood, smoothing her blazer and grabbing her bag from the back of her chair. "I've got to head to the station," she announced. "Early shoot today."

"Hilary," Uncle Phil said, his deep voice cutting through the chatter.

Hilary paused, turning to face him with the angelic gaze she only made for her Dad. "Yes, Daddy?"

Philip set down his mug, fixing her with a serious look. "I need to have a word with you young lady."

The room fell silent again, all eyes on the two of them.

"You've been… distant lately," he began, his tone measured but firm. "You're out most nights, you barely spend time with the family anymore, and frankly, I'm starting to feel like you've forgotten where your priorities should be."

"Daddy, I—"

"I'm grounding you," he said firmly, cutting her off. "Until I say otherwise and until you live in this house, you are to be home by 9 p.m. every night. No exceptions. And that means no parties, no events, no late-night outings, no 'plans'. Is that clear?"

Everyone braced themselves, expecting Hilary's usual dramatic protests —tears or an impassioned speech about personal freedom.

Instead, she nodded calmly. "Yes, Daddy."

She stepped forward, kissed him on the cheek, and slung her bag over her shoulder. "I'll see you all tonight. Have a great day!"

With that, she walked out the door, leaving the family in stunned silence.

"She just…" Will began, blinking in disbelief.

"Agreed?" Ashley finished, her eyes wide.

"That's not normal," Carlton said, looking genuinely alarmed. "Maybe she's sick ?"

Philip's face went from a frown to deep worry in a split second. He stood abruptly, "Maybe I was too harsh. I didn't mean to upset her!"

"Phil, sit down," Vivian said, though even she looked amused.

"I need to talk to her," Phil insisted, already moving toward the door. "She might think I don't love her!"

"Uncle Phil, relax!" Will called after him, barely containing his laughter.

But he was already out the door, shouting, "Hilary! Wait! Daddy didn't mean it like that! Don't be so upset! You're still my little princess, okay? I'll buy you a pony or anything you want !"

The family burst into laughter as the door slammed shut behind him.

"Man, Uncle Phil's out here acting like she's eight years old again," Will said, shaking his head.

"He just can't resist her, it's like that since she's a baby..." Aunt Vivian sighed.

"I guess that's the privilege of the eldest daughter" Will added, "because he never askedmeif I wanted a pony!"

Everyone laughed again.

Geoffrey commented separately to Marcus, "Miss Hilary does love a dramatic exit."

The young man smiled "She does".