Katherine's POV

My hands sank into the deep pockets of my jacket as I trudged forward, the chill biting at my skin.

The woods loomed around me. The towering trees, their branches reaching toward the sky, swayed gently as if whispering secrets to one another. Darkness stretched in every direction, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves beneath my steps.

And yet, I wasn't afraid.

Far ahead, a glimmer of light pierced the shadows. It flickered, drawing me closer like a moth to a flame.

My feet moved on their own, as if they knew a path my mind couldn't comprehend.

Step by step, I moved forward, time felt endless. Minutes could've been hours, or maybe they were seconds. I couldn't tell. The forest felt infinite, but the light never seemed farther or closer, just there.

And then, finally, with one last step, I crossed into its embrace.

The forest vanished leaving behind an unsettling void. My breath hitched as I took in my new surroundings. Everything was blindingly white—the walls, the ceiling, the floor—all of it shimmering like freshly fallen snow.

It wasn't calm. It wasn't comforting.

It was suffocating.

I turned in slow circles, searching for something—anything—that made sense.

My chest tightened with unease as I realized there was no exit, no door, no window. Panic clawed at my chest as I started walking, aimlessly at first, then faster.

But no matter where I went, I ended up right where I started.

I clutched my head in my hands, squeezing my eyes shut in desperation. Maybe if I closed them, if I willed myself hard enough, this place—this dream—would dissolve. Maybe I'd wake up.

Maybe.

And then, I felt it.

A hand on my shoulder.

I froze, my breath caught in my throat.

Slowly, hesitantly, I turned.

My gaze met a pair of familiar, piercing blue eyes that shone like the clearest summer sky. His face was etched with warmth, his smile soft and breathtaking. It wasn't just a smile—it was him, entirely, just the way I remembered.

"Chase," I whispered, his name slipping from my lips like a prayer, a plea, a confession.

At the sound of it, his smile widened, as if hearing his name from my mouth breathed life into him. That smile—it was so familiar, so achingly perfect—it cracked something inside me.

He reached out, his hand so warm as it cupped my cheek. My eyes fluttered shut on instinct, and I leaned into his touch, letting his palm cradle the weight of everything I couldn't say.

This isn't real. It can't be real.

"I missed you," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"I missed you too," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing, the sound of it breaking me further.

It was everything I had yearned for—everything I thought I'd lost forever.

The first tear slipped down my cheek, and before I could stop it, more followed.

I opened my eyes, terrified that if I kept them closed for too long, he'd disappear, like every other time I dared to dream of him.

But he didn't.

His gaze locked with mine, those twinkling eyes holding me captive, tethering me to a reality I knew wasn't real but wished so desperately it was.

Without hesitation, I threw my arms around him, burying my face in his chest. His scent washed over me, intoxicating and familiar. God, he feels so real. My hands clung to him, gripping his shirt like letting go would mean losing him all over again.

"This can't be real," I murmured against him.

"That doesn't mean you can't enjoy it," he replied gently, holding me like he could shield me from every pain I'd ever felt.

I don't know how long we stayed like that—seconds, minutes, years.

God, I wanted us to stay like this forever.

Finally, he pulled back. His thumb brushed against my tear-streaked cheek, wiping away the evidence of the heartbreak I'd been carrying for years.

"You love him, don't you?" he asked, softly.

My body stiffened, and my breath caught in my throat.

I didn't respond, but my silence was answer enough.

"It's okay to fall in love again, Katherine," he said, his smile small but so heartbreakingly beautiful.

I shook my head fiercely, tears streaming anew. "It's not okay," I choked out, "It's not okay to let myself love anyone again. I shouldn't," My fingers reached for his face, resting over his skin. God, he still feels the same, "How can I," Guilt wove into my words, "I've loved you so much, you were my everything, how can I ever—"

He shook his head, "You can, of course, you can," he said softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, "Katherine, you can't feel guilty for wanting to be happy."

"Do I even deserve to be happy again?" I whispered.

His eyes softened, "You deserve the world. It's been years, Katherine. Three years already. It's time to move on."

"But..."

"No buts, baby," he said, "You don't have control over what your heart desires. So don't fight it. Never fight it. Don't feel guilty for it," He added, "Katherine, I just want you to be happy."

My tears blurred my vision, and my voice was muffled against the tears spilling over, "Then what should I do?"

"Give your heart what it wants," he said, like it was so simple.

Could I do that? Could I let myself?

Sensing my hesitation, he pulled me back into his embrace, his arms wrapping tightly around me. His hand stroked my back soothingly as he whispered, "It's scary, I know, but it's okay to be afraid."

"I'm so scared," I admitted, my voice muffled against his chest. "I'm scared of falling alone."

He held me closer, his hand brushing through my hair. "Don't worry, Katherine," he said, "You're not the only one falling."

And then, just as quickly as it came, the warmth began to fade.

The world around me blurred. My arms clung to him, desperate to keep him here, but I could feel him slipping away.

Away.

Far away.

My eyes snapped open, and I bolted upright in bed, my breath coming in uneven gasps. The remnants of my haunting dream clung to me.

It wasn't a nightmare. No, not in the traditional sense. It was something else entirely—a dream unlike any I'd ever had before.

His voice echoed in my head, and his face was imprinted on the insides of my eyelids every time I blinked. He felt too real.

His words replayed like a broken record in my head, repeatedly. I pressed a hand to my chest, willing my heart to calm, but it hammered against my ribcage like it wanted to escape.

I didn't even realize I was crying until I felt the wetness on my cheeks. My fingers brushed the tears away, but they kept falling.

I stumbled out of bed, heading for the bathroom. The cold splash of water against my face did little to soothe the storm raging inside me. I brushed my teeth, fixed my hair, and took a moment to stare at my reflection. I looked as torn as I felt.

With a deep breath, I left the room, determined to distract myself. I needed something—anything—to push the dream from my mind.

But as I walked into the kitchen, the smell hit me first—warm, sweet, and unmistakable. Pancakes. And not the sad, burnt kind I sometimes attempted. These smelled heavenly.

I froze in the doorway, my eyes landing on Ashton's back as he stood at the stove. It took me a moment to process what I was seeing, and even longer to register how my heart tripped over itself.

Give your heart what it wants.

Chase's voice whispered in my head again, making me falter.

My gaze stayed locked on Ashton, who was blissfully unaware of my presence and my internal crisis. His hair was slightly messy, like he'd just run a hand through it.

He must've sensed me standing there because he turned, his expression softening when his eyes met mine.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," I managed to reply.

"Hungry?" he asked.

It took me a second to realize I'd been staring at him for way too long. My eyes flicked to the stove, where a stack of golden pancakes sat, and my stomach betrayed me with a low growl.

"Come sit," he said, gesturing to the counter, "Breakfast is almost ready."

I gaped at him.

So yeah, maybe we haven't fought once since my three a.m. midnight snack crisis a week ago. Maybe we've exchanged decent little conversations here and there. They've been limited, but never clipped or hurtful. Maybe we're figuring this whole marriage thing out, maybe...

But still, I definitely didn't expect him to be making me breakfast.

I slid onto one of the stools, still in shock, "You're not at work?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

"No," he replied without looking at me, his focus on plating the food. "I've got a few things to handle later, but I'm not leaving until noon."

I nodded, watching as he placed the plate in front of me. The pancakes were perfect—fluffy, golden, and drizzled with just the right amount of syrup. My mouth watered.

Ashton leaned back against the counter, casually crossing his arms. "By the way," he started, but I was barely listening, already halfway through my first bite, "The man I'm working with, his son's engagement party is tonight."

He paused, his eyes briefly meeting mine, a bit of hesitation in his tone. Was he nervous? No way.

He cleared his throat, "Would you like to come with me?"

I paused mid-chew, looking up at him. I swallowed quickly, nearly choking on the pancake in the process. Did he really ask me that?

"Uh, yeah," I said, my voice too high-pitched to be normal. I licked my lips nervously. "Yeah, sure, that would be great."

I winced internally. Why did I say...great? I probably sounded overly enthusiastic.

But deep down, I was truly excited. To be out. To wear a nice outfit. To be out with him. It felt good in a very dangerous way.

"What time is the party?" I asked, trying to sound composed.

"It starts at seven, so be ready by six thirty," he said, his tone more relaxed now, "I'll pick you up."

I nodded, my mind already racing to what I could wear. Did I even have anything suitable?

Almost as if reading my thoughts, he added, "If you need to go shopping, the driver's available. Skyla can go with you—I don't want you going alone."

I ignored the hint of concern in his voice at the last sentence and refocused on my pancakes. I cut off a small piece. Just as I was about to take a bite, the piece slid off the fork and landed squarely in my lap.

Great. Just great.

I glanced up, praying he hadn't noticed, but of course, he was watching.

"Okay, just say it," I grumbled, hating how often he used to call me clumsy.

His smile widened, more heartfelt, like he found me so adorable or something. He leaned closer, his gaze dropping to my lips. My breath hitched as his thumb brushed against the corner of my mouth, wiping away a smear of syrup I hadn't even realized was there.

And then—oh god—he brought his thumb to his lips, licking the syrup off like it was the most casual thing in the world.

"Yeah," He drawled, the tease curling his lips, "You haven't changed much. Still my clumsy girl."

Wait. Hold the phone. My?

"When exactly did you decide I was yours again?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, and as soon as the words hung in the air, my eyes widened in regret. Damn it, Katherine. The dream was surely messing with my head, making me reckless.

My comment was enough for that teasing look to fade. His small smile straightened into something unreadable, and he leaned back slightly, clearing his throat. "Well," he said, his voice more reserved, "we're married, aren't we?"

I nodded, "Yeah," I murmured, "On paper only, though. Isn't that what you said?" I added. Didn't he say all of that on our wedding day? Didn't he indirectly hint that he will be seeing other girls?

Didn't the mere thought of that keep me awake at night every time he came home late? God, I hated that it did.

The image of him with someone else...made my chest ache in a way I didn't want to name.

No, Katherine, no. Don't go there.

Ashton did what he loved doing the most, which was to ignore my words and act unaffected, unbothered like nothing happened. He didn't look at me, didn't respond, didn't even flinch. He was a master at ignoring me when I hit too close to home.

He sat down, his gaze on his plate, but I could see his appetite long gone. Why did I have to say anything? He had been relaxed, even playful for once, and I ruined it.

I watched him, his hand hesitated as he cut into the pancake. He sliced off one perfect piece, then another, but never brought them to his lips. Goddammit.

"I am sorry," I whispered.

His eyes snapped back to my face, startled by the apology. My throat felt so dry and I reached for the coffee cup. I took a sip, "Lately," I murmured, "I seem to open my mouth at all the wrong times."

He shook his head. Leaning back in his seat, his features shifted, that familiar coldness creeping back like a wall slamming into place. "No," he said, his tone guarded, "It's good you do. It gives me a reality check."

He leaned forward, reaching for the plate of untouched pancakes. "Reminds me exactly why I'm doing this."

I watched in silence as he walked to the trash, dumping the perfect stack of pancakes into the bin and I felt like the most horrible person on the planet.

I pushed up from my seat, my feet moving before my mind could catch up. I paused, standing just behind him. My hand hovered near his back, trembling with hesitation so I pulled it back. Oh come on, you can touch him, he is not radioactive.

"Ashton," I reached for his hand, my fingers wrapping gently over his wrist. His body tensed at the contact, and he turned to face me, his eyes dropping to my hand before flicking back up to meet mine.

"Is this how it's always going to be between us?" I asked, "Walking on eggshells around each other, and once we slip, we're back at ground zero?"

His jaw tightened. He raised his free hand and gently pried my fingers from his wrist. His movements were gentle but he needed my hand away from him, almost like it burned him.

"I don't know," He shook his head, "Maybe being here, together and alone, away from everyone, is making us—" He paused, searching for the right words. "—like this."

"Like this?" I repeated, my brow furrowing. "You mean...closer?"

"Yeah," He nodded, "And when we go back to the States, that'll automatically change."

"How so?"

"Because we'll go back to living our separate lives. You'll be busy with yours, and I'll be busy with mine. There won't be...this," He looked around, "I won't get up and prepare you breakfast," He said, as coldly as ever, "And you won't get up in the middle of the night and come to me for ice cream. You'll have your life, I'll have mine."

I swallowed hard, "But Ashton," I began softly, "we're having a baby together." I reminded him, pointing out how our lives can't be that separate.

My hand instinctively moved to my barely-there bump, as if to shield it from the ache in my heart. "I'm pregnant," I said, emphasizing the words, forcing him to confront the reality we both shared. "At some point, I'll get big. My body will grow weak, and I'll need help. Will you be there to help me?"

His eyes dropped to where my hand rested, and the icy shield over his expression cracked. His guarded demeanor melted into something vulnerable. It was like he hadn't allowed himself to fully think about what bringing this baby into the world meant—what it demanded from both of us.

"You know, this baby won't stay here forever," I said, my tone pained but playful. My fingers gently moved over the fabric of my shirt, "He will come out at one point and he will have so many needs," I added, "We will need to get him or her clothes, and even decorate a room. I mean, won't we?" I asked, "Won't we do this together?"

He stayed silent, his chest rising and falling as he absorbed my words. His eyes darted away for a moment, but I wasn't going to let him retreat. Not this time.

"Isn't this why you wanted this marriage," I asked, "So we can give this baby a good life."

He drew in a shaky breath, his shoulders dropping as though the weight of everything was finally pressing down on him. Slowly, he nodded. "Yeah," he whispered.

I took a hesitant step closer, letting my hand fall from my belly. His eyes flicked back to mine, "For us to do that," I murmured, "we have to stop doing this. We have to stop tearing each other apart. We need to stop talking about our past."

He stiffened slightly, but I pushed on, "It'll be hard, I know but, we have to try," I added, "For this baby's sake, for our baby's sake."

My chest tightened so badly, "I'll never bring up the accident again," I promised him, "But you have to stop throwing every mistake I've made back in my face."

I extended my hand toward him, determined, "Can we call a truce?"

Ashton stared at my outstretched hand like it was something foreign. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths. For a moment, I thought he wouldn't take it—that he'd leave me standing there.

But then, his hand moved. He raised it slowly, his long fingers wrapping around mine, warm and firm. His grip felt safe—steady. "Okay," he said softly, nodding, "A truce."

I smiled, my heart slightly calming down. Keeping his hand in mine, I gently guided it toward my belly, pressing his palm over the tiny swell. My own hand rested on top of his, for the first time trying to make a connection, between him, me, and this little baby growing inside of me.

"We are going to have a baby," I whispered, my smile small and somber, and for once attempting to enjoy the fact.

My heart clenched so tight and emotional tears filled my eyes. Was it his touch, our closeness, the future awaiting us, or the image of a little family with him, it was all so very overwhelming.

Ashton's gaze locked on our hands, his eyes glistening, so glassy. His fingers twitched against my stomach, trembling slightly, and I knew he was feeling it too—the overwhelming realization of what lay ahead. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, redness creeping up his neck and into his face.

God, I wanted nothing more than to bridge the little gap and throw my arms around him. To assure him that it will be okay. To let him assure me the same.

Our little moment was interrupted by the loud ringing of a phone. The sound broke the trance. It had me remove my hand away and Ashton pulled his hand back, breaking the contact and I tried not to feel so bad at the absence of his touch.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, and my eyes involuntarily fell onto the screen, catching the name Rebecca before he answered and pressed the phone to his ear.

I stayed quiet, watching as he talked. He rushed a hand over his face, shaking the previous emotional wave. It was almost unsettling, the way he could flip the switch so fast. His tone went back to professional, his expression turning back to calm.

I listened, catching bits and pieces of their conversation.

"Yes...Good," He said, all businesslike, "I canceled the meeting, you can talk to Sam about it...yeah sure, he knows what to do with them." He paused, his brow furrowing slightly. "No, don't send them to Mark." His voice held a tinge of annoyance now.

"Alright, see you later."

Who is Rebecca?

I knew almost everyone who worked in his close circle, from back when I worked there. I never heard of a Rebecca.

The call ended, and he set the phone down, turning back toward me. He read the question in my eyes and before I could ask or walk away, he informed me, "New assistant," he said.

"Oh," I mumbled lowly.

I tried not to dwell on it, but my heart betrayed me, tightening in a way I hated.

He was always at work these days, which meant he spent more time with her than he did with me. And well...I had been his personal assistant once, and look how that had turned out...

I shook the thought away, trying not to be irrational or god forbid...jealous.

"So, uh," I started, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear, "Is she good?" I asked, "I mean, after the perfect, amazing assistant you used to have," I added, dramatically pressing a hand to my chest to emphasize my point.

His lips twitched slightly,  "She's competent," he said vaguely. "Gets the job done."

I shrugged, attempting to keep the conversation playful. "Well, she won't be better than me."

His eyebrow quirked as he glanced at his phone. "As long as she doesn't make me lose the company, I'm not complaining."

My smile fell.

Ashton realized his mistake rather quickly. He winced, and his head snapped up to me, regret flashing in his eyes, "I shouldn't have said that. We just agreed we wouldn't...I—" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, forget I said that. We'll just hit the reset button, alright?"

I nodded, "Okay."

"Katherine, really, I didn't mean to," he said, his voice softer this time.

Forcing a smile, I nodded again. "Yeah, reset button," I said, "Just know you only get to use it once."

His lips curled into an amused smile, his shoulders relaxing down at my light tone.

I rolled my eyes, acting indifferent. "You're so silly," I mumbled under my breath.

"I'm silly?"

I nodded, "Yeah," I said, "And you have more mood swings than I do," I added with a pointed look. "And might I remind you, I'm the one with raging pregnant hormones between the two of us."

"So, I am silly and I have mood swings?"

I nodded, giving him a matter-of-fact look. "Yeah. One second, you're cold and brooding, and the next, you're whipping up pancakes like it's a cooking show. It's confusing."

Ashton scoffed, setting his phone down before he edged closer to me, "Yeah sure, I am the confusing one."

I narrowed my eyes at his mocking tone, "At least I have an excuse for my chaos. What's yours?"

My heartbeat quickened as the space between us disappeared entirely, and I found myself awkwardly trapped between him and the counter.

"My excuse is you," He answered. His hand rested against the counter beside me, caging me in with ease. Why is he trapping me? What will he do?

I gulped down, keeping my cool—or at least trying to. "Me?" Move away from me, move away...

"Yeah," he murmured, his gaze falling to mine, "You drive me crazy."

I backed away as much as I could, but the counter offered no escape, its edge pressing into my spine as I tried to put some distance between us. My hand moved to his, attempting to push it away, but instead of letting go, his hand shifted.

Oh god.

His palm moved to my waist, resting there casually yet somehow holding me in place. My entire body tensed at the contact.

I looked up at him, my breath quickening, "Can you...remove your hand?"

"Why?"

I wanted to hit him, "I am ticklish there."

He chuckled lowly, "You're ticklish there?" He said, teasingly, his fingers shifting, lightly grazing the fabric of my shirt.

The touch was featherlight, deliberate, torturous. It sent a tingling sensation shooting through me, making me squirm as a bubble of low laughter escaped my lips despite my best effort to hold it in.

"Stop," I gasped, trying to swat his hand away, but he didn't let go.

"You weren't lying," he mused, his low amused chuckle warming something in me, "You're really ticklish, huh?" His hand moved again, this time targeting an even more sensitive spot, and my entire body jolted as laughter poured out of me uncontrollably.

"Oh my god," I wheezed between fits of giggles, writhing to escape his hold, trying to slap his hand away. "Ashton, I swear—stop! Let go!"

"Not until you admit it," he said, "Say I'm not the one with mood swings."

I could barely breathe, let alone form words. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, "No! Stop...Chase—"

The moment his name fell from my lips, everything froze.

Ashton's hands stilled against my sides, his muscles going rigid. The laughter in the room evaporated in an instant, replaced by an unbearable silence.

Oh no.

What did I just say?

"I—" My voice broke as I scrambled for words, "I didn't mean... I wasn't—"

Ashton's jaw clenched, his features hardening like a mask sliding into place.

"I need to go," he said, grabbing his phone from the counter and shoving it into his pocket. He didn't look at me, didn't even hesitate as he turned and walked toward the door.

"Wait, Ashton, please—"

The door clicked shut before I could finish, leaving me standing there.

I sank against the counter, my heart pounding, the sting of tears burning my eyes. Everything had been so perfect—too perfect—and somehow, I managed to ruin it.

"Great job, Katherine," I whispered to myself, burying my face in my hands. "You really outdid yourself this time."