Chapter 4 The games we play

Chapter Four: The Games We Play

Bella – POV

I didn't see him for the rest of the day.

Not at lunch. Not during the late afternoon shuffle of grocery bags being dropped at the door, not even after the sun dipped below the lines of trees, and the quiet hum of suburbia lulled the house into stillness.

He was avoiding me.

I should have felt rejected. Ashamed. But instead, I sat curled up on the leather armchair in the living room, legs tucked beneath me, eyes half-focused on the muted TV, the rest of me turned to the subtle sound of his return.

When I finally heard the door open around 9 p.m., my pulse spiked. I didn't turn, didn't even flinch-just waited.

Daniel moved like he always did-measured, cautious. But tonight, there was something off. Like he was dragging the air behind him, trying to leave something at the door that refused to stay.

He paused in the entryway.

I could feel him looking at me.

I didn't move.

"You should be in bed."

His voice was lower now, tired. But there was no authority in it. Just a weak suggestion, like he knew I wouldn't listen.

I didn't.

"It's Saturday," I murmured, flipping the remote lazily. "You always say weekends are for unwinding."

He said nothing.

I turned then, finally letting our eyes meet.

His were shadowed, wary, as if he didn't quite trust what he was seeing. Or maybe it was himself he didn't trust.

"You didn't say goodnight," I said softly.

He looked away. "Didn't think it was appropriate."

"Why? Because I wore a robe this morning?" I tilted my head, studying him. "Is that all it takes to ruin everything?"

"You know it's not just the robe, Bella."

Silence stretched between us, thick as fog. I stood slowly, the hem of my oversized t-shirt brushing my thighs. It was an old one-his, actually. Faded and soft. I hadn't worn it to provoke him.

Not at first.

But when I caught a glimpse of it in the laundry basket earlier that evening, I couldn't resist. I'd worn it before, back when I was younger and innocence still meant something. Back when he would ruffle my hair and call me "kiddo."

Now, he looked at me like I was something else entirely.

"I'm not a child," I said.

He inhaled sharply. "Don't."

"Don't what? Say what's true?" I stepped closer, my voice low. "I saw the way you looked at me. You think I don't notice, but I do. I see everything, Daniel."

His name felt dangerous on my tongue.

Too intimate.

He stepped back. "You need boundaries, Bella."

"I need honesty."

We stared at each other-no TV, no distractions. Just the thrum of our hearts pounding out a rhythm we both pretended not to hear.

And then, so quietly I almost missed it, he said, "I'm married to your mother."

It should've been a wall. A line drawn in stone.

But all I heard was guilt-and guilt is the cousin of desire. The two don't cancel each other out. They grow together, roots tangling.

"Do you love her?" I asked.

His mouth parted, but nothing came out. That was all the answer I needed.

"Do you love me?" I asked next-my voice trembling just slightly.

Daniel's face tightened. "You don't know what love is, Bella."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Maybe not. But I know what it feels like to want someone so much you can't sleep. Can't eat. Can't breathe when they walk into a room."

His eyes darkened. "You think this is love?"

I stepped forward. "I think it's the most real thing I've ever felt."

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Don't do this. Please."

And for the first time-he looked afraid.

Not of me.

Of himself.

But it only made me bolder.

"I see you," I whispered. "I know what you try to hide when you look away. I see the way you fight yourself. And I think maybe... maybe you're just as lost as I am."

He stepped back, but his shoulders sagged. Like the weight of everything had finally landed on him all at once.

"I'm trying to protect you," he said. "From this. From me."

I nodded, but my voice was calm when I answered. "You can't."

We stood like that-seconds, minutes-I don't know how long.

And then, without another word, he turned and walked up the stairs. No door slam. No dramatic exit.

Just silence.

And a heartbeat that wouldn't slow.