Eliana's POV
Click.
The soft snap of the pen echoed through the quiet office.
Done.
Paperwork—signed, sealed, complete.
I stepped outside into the golden twilight, clutching the folder to my chest like it held something sacred. In a way, it did. It wasn't just documents—it was proof.
I did it.
My house.
The one I chose.
The one I didn't have to decorate with crystal vases or pastel perfection.
A place where chipped mugs and messy bookshelves wouldn't be judged.
I walked toward my car, my steps lighter than they'd felt in years. The keys jingled in my hand like tiny bells celebrating my freedom. I opened the door, slid into the driver's seat, and let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
No more rules.
No more pretending.
This is mine.
My home. My mess. My peace.
As I started the engine, my phone buzzed in the cup holder.
Mia.
I smiled and answered. "Hey, I was just thinking about you."
"I must be psychic," she grinned through the speaker. "So? Did you do it? Is the paperwork done?"
"Every last page," I said, beaming. "It's officially mine. I'm moving in tomorrow."
Mia screamed—literally. "Eliana Benjamin, you did it! I am so, so proud of you. And you sound... I don't know—lighter. Like you're finally breathing your own air."
"I am," I said softly, eyes drifting toward the soft curve of the horizon. "For the first time in years."
"Then tonight," she declared, "we celebrate. My place. I'll order food, we'll steal my dad's soda stash, and rewatch our favorite trashy drama."
I laughed. "You're bribing me with junk food and bad TV?"
"You love it and you know it. Come over. I'm waiting."
"Okay, okay. I'll be there soon."
We hung up.
The road stretched ahead like a promise. A new beginning. Tomorrow, I'd walk into that house—not as someone's daughter or someone's disappointment—but as myself.
And then... the sky changed.
It started slowly.
The sun dipped lower, swallowed by a sudden curtain of gray. Wind swept across the road like a warning. Clouds gathered—thick, black, heavy.
And then...
Thunder. ⚡
Low. Distant. But rumbling like a beast waking up.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Another flash.
Lightning.
White-hot and violent, slicing the sky apart like it hated the stars.
The wind howled, pushing against the car like invisible hands. Rain poured in sheets, cold and relentless. My wipers fought back—but it wasn't enough.
My heart started racing.
This wasn't just a storm.
This was a memory.
A nightmare pretending to be weather.
My fingers trembled on the wheel. My breath caught in my throat.
Something had happened—before.
A storm.
A night like this.
A scream.
Glass.
Thunder.
My name.
No, no, no—
Another crack of lightning. I flinched so hard, I swerved.
Tires screeched. My hands lost control.
The car spun.
I slammed the brakes, heart in my mouth, lungs screaming.
And then—
A man.
Right in front of me.
I yanked the wheel. The car jerked to a halt, inches away from him.
I couldn't breathe.
I flung the door open and stumbled into the rain, drenched in seconds. The storm slammed into me, furious and wild.
"I'm so sorry!" I cried. "I didn't see—are you okay?"
The man had thrown his hands up, startled. His brows were furrowed, jaw tight.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed?!" he barked.
"I'm sorry," I repeated, voice shaking. "I—I lost control. The rain—"
His expression softened just a little. He exhaled, exasperated. "Be careful. The roads are slick."
Then he turned and disappeared into the downpour like a ghost.
I stood there, frozen.
Rain soaked through my clothes, past my skin, into my very bones. The car behind me hummed, oblivious to the storm unraveling inside me.
My hands shook.
My vision blurred.
My breath—
Gone.
Then—
BOOM.
A bolt of lightning tore the sky apart. The world turned white.
And that sound—it wasn't just thunder.
It was personal.
It ripped through the clouds, through the wind, through me.
I gasped—but no sound came.
Something inside me broke.
My knees buckled.
And I fell.
But I never hit the ground.
Because just before I collapsed, a pair of arms swept me up—firm, steady, impossibly warm. 💥
A chest.
A heartbeat.
A scent—clean, crisp, like cedar and rain.
One arm around my waist. The other around my shoulders.
Protecting me.
I trembled in his hold—but he didn't let go.
He didn't flinch.
He just tightened his grip, as if afraid I'd disappear.
"Hey," his voice rumbled low beside my ear. Gentle. Steady. Warm.
"I've got you."
I didn't look up.
Couldn't.
So I buried my face in his chest, into the soaked fabric of his shirt, breathing in that scent, that calm—the anchor in my storm.
He was taller than me. Broader. Solid like the earth. The kind of presence the world could fall apart around… and he'd still stand.
The thunder kept roaring.
But in his arms—it felt distant.
His palm moved in slow circles along my back, grounding me.
"You're safe," he whispered. "I promise." 🫶
I didn't know who he was.
I didn't see his face.
But somehow… it didn't matter.
Because in that moment, I wasn't standing in the middle of a storm.
I was being held.
Like I was something precious.
Like I was finally allowed to break.
And some part of me remembered him—even if my mind didn't.
His jaw rested lightly on the crown of my head.
His body curved around mine like he was built for this—
To catch me.
To hold me.
To stay.