After many cloudy days, the sun has finally returned.

It spills across the garden like liquid gold, generous and warm, chasing away the last traces of last night’s rain. The dew that clung to every blade of grass, every petal of the white roses, has vanished—dried by a morning that feels almost tender, warm.

I sit on the garden couch, a book resting open in my lap. The sunlight pours over my neck, my face, and the exposed skin visible beneath the loose collar of my shirt, soaking into me with quiet warmth.

I look up at the sky, raise my hand, and let the light slip through the gaps between my fingers. It looks like liquid gold. Like something you could catch if you were fast enough.

It looks beautiful.

A full sunny day. But the air is still cool—the kind of cool that warns the first snowfall isn’t far away. I can feel it in my lungs when I breathe, crisp and clean beneath the warmth.

I close my eyes for a moment. Just feeling. The warmth on my face. The quiet. The stillness.

Then—

A shadow falls over me.

Not the shadow of a cloud. Something softer. Closer.

I open my eyes slowly.

Silas is standing between me and the sun.

His hair catches the light—brown turning to amber, turning to gold. His eyes shine the same way: bright, warm, touched with gold, like the sun itself has taken up residence behind them.

A soft smile rests on his lips. Patient. Quiet. Like he’s been standing there for a while, simply waiting for me to notice him.

I stare at him for a moment. Longer than I mean to.

He blinks. Then leans closer, tilting his head slightly as he peers through the gap between my raised fingers.

I blink back. Push my hand down quickly. Look away.

"What are you doing?"

He moves, setting a small tray on the table beside me—calm and deliberate. He pours the orange juice carefully, the liquid catching the sunlight as it rises in the glass, then offers it to me.

Still smiling. Still patient.

I don’t look at him.

I take the glass and sip lightly. The juice is cold and sweet. My voice comes out quiet. Almost reluctant.

"Weren’t you working? Did you finish?"

He nods softly.

I still don’t look at him.

He tilts his head again, trying to catch my gaze. Trying to find the eye contact I’m deliberately denying him.

I take another sip of juice and shift my attention back to the book resting in my lap, opening it to a page I’m not really reading.

He blinks.

Confused. I can see it—the small ripple of uncertainty that passes across his face. Then he takes out his notebook and pencil. Writes something. Tears out the page and hands it to me.

Without looking up, I take it.

Did I make you wait long? I’m sorry. The work was important. It took a little time.

My eyes remain on the book.

I set the note aside.

"Why are you explaining yourself to me?" My voice is flat, unhurried. "Who cares whether you’re here or not? I was enjoying myself just fine."

I turn a page.

"If you want to leave, go ahead. Focus on your work."

From the corner of my eye, I watch him.

His lower lip pushes out slightly. A pout. His eyes drop to the ground. Something in his expression dims, and his shoulders soften as if he’s trying to make himself smaller.

Then he steps back. Turns.

Walks away.

I watch his back until he disappears through the door.

He’s really leaving?

Something twists unpleasantly in my chest. I frown at the page in front of me.

Why do I care if he stays or goes?

I set the juice glass down on the table. Lean back into the couch. Calmly. Deliberately.

I turn another page and try to focus on the words. But I’m not reading. I’m just staring at shapes on paper.

Then—

A hand reaches from behind me.

Something cool presses against my cheek and glides across my skin, leaving behind a faint scent.

I flinch. Just a little.

My fingers rise to the spot. They come away coated in something white.

Sunscreen.

I turn.

Silas stands behind me, holding the bottle. A silent laugh rests on his lips—quiet, almost shy, but unmistakably amused.

My voice sharpens.

"What are you doing?"

He hands me a note. Already written. Already waiting.

The sunlight is strong today. Your skin will burn if you don’t protect it.

I crumple the note in my fist and toss it aside.

"I’m an Alpha." My voice comes out cold. "My skin isn’t as fragile as you think. I don’t need that."

I turn back to my book.

He applies more cream to my cheek.

My head snaps toward him. Eyes sharp. Jaw tight.

"I said I don’t need it."

He doesn’t stop. If anything, his smile widens. He dabs more sunscreen onto my nose—slow, deliberate, almost playful.

My eyes widen. Just a fraction.

So that’s what he’s doing.

He’s teasing me.

I close my book. Set it aside. Then stand. Slowly.

"Fine."

The moment the word leaves my mouth, he runs. The grass is warm beneath my bare feet, still holding the memory of the morning sun. I take off after him.

And he’s laughing. Actually laughing. The sound is light and rare, bright enough to make the entire garden feel different.

A sharp smirk spreads across my lips.

"Who’s going to save you now?"

He keeps running, but not very fast. Almost like he wants to be caught.

He turns around to look at me, still smiling, still teasing.

I quicken my pace. My hand shoots out and catches the fabric of his shirt.

His eyes widen. He tries to step back, but the movement is too sudden. The sunscreen bottle slips from his hand and disappears into the grass.

His balance goes with it.

He falls backward.

The grass cushions his landing. His back hits the ground with a soft thud, surprise flashing across his face.

And I fall with him.

My hands land on either side of his head, catching my weight at the last second. My chest presses against his.

For a moment, neither of us moves.

His smile is still there. Soft. Bright. Unfair.

My own smile widens before I can stop it.

"I caught you."

His heartbeat is fast beneath me. I can feel it. Through my chest. Through my ribs. Through my own stubborn heart.

My eyes stay on him. Slowly, my hand rises.

I hold his face with one hand. Cup his cheek. His lips press together into a small, unconscious pout.

Cute.

Without thinking, I brush my cheek against his—spreading the sunscreen between us, smearing it across both our skin.

Then I brush my other cheek against his. The cream is cool. His skin is warm. The contrast makes everything feel sharper. More real.

I pull back just enough to look at him.

He lies beneath me, frozen. His eyes are wide. Fixed on mine. His breath brushes against my lips—warm, quick, uncertain.

I stare at him for a moment.

Then I whisper,

"It seems like you need a punishment."

I lean down again.

Brush my nose against his.

He blinks. Once.Twice.

My gaze drifts from his eyes to his lips. Soft. Pink. Parted slightly, like a question waiting to be answered.

So soft.

My smile fades. Slowly.

I lean closer.

Closer.

His eyes close. His brown lashes rest against his cheeks like dark feathers.

My own eyes close.

Our lips brush.

Lightly. A whisper of touch. A promise of something more.

Before they can meet again—before I can close the final breath of distance between us—

A voice cuts through the moment.

Shocked. Startled.

"Ohh... My..."

My eyes snap open.