Diamant's POV
The city always looked the same when I returned.
Steel, glass, ambition stacked into impossible angles, all pretending it didn't breathe without permission.
Yet tonight, something about it felt… misaligned. Like a painting hung a few millimeters off center. Small enough for most people to ignore. Loud enough to irritate me.
The car slowed into the driveway of the estate.
Home.
A word that used to mean silence, order, predictability.
Now it meant Noah.
I stepped out before the driver could open the door fully, adjusting my coat as I walked in. The guards greeted me. I barely acknowledged them.
Inside, the house was too quiet.
Not peaceful.
Quiet in the way a held breath is quiet.
I paused near the staircase.
No footsteps from above.
No distant sound of movement.
No Noah rushing down to complain that I left without saying goodbye properly, or pretending he didn't care while clearly watching the door every hour.
That absence should have been normal. I had been away for work before.
Yet tonight it felt intentional.
My gaze shifted slightly toward the living room.
Then I saw him.
Noah was sitting on the couch.
Still.
Too still.
A book lay open beside him but untouched, like it had been placed there as decoration rather than read. His posture was straight, but not relaxed. More like he was holding himself together through sheer discipline.
His eyes were fixed on nothing in particular.
Not the TV.
Not the window.
Not even the pages.
Just space.
I watched him for a moment longer than necessary.
He didn't notice me immediately.
That was new.
Noah usually sensed me the moment I entered a room. He had this ridiculous habit of turning around before I even spoke, as if my presence had a sound.
Today… nothing.
I walked closer.
Still no reaction.
I stopped a few steps away.
"Noah."
His name landed cleanly in the room.
He blinked.
Once.
Then twice.
Like someone being pulled back from somewhere far away.
"Oh," he said softly. Too soft. "You're back."
Not the reaction I expected.
I tilted my head slightly.
"That's usually how time works."
A faint smile tried to form on his face, but it didn't commit. It stayed halfway, stuck between habit and hesitation.
"You didn't tell me you were coming back today," he said.
"I didn't need to."
I studied him more closely now.
His hair wasn't as neatly arranged as usual. Not messy exactly, just… unattended. Like he had stopped caring about small details that used to matter to him.
His hands were folded tightly in his lap.
Too tightly.
"What happened while I was gone?" I asked.
"Nothing," he answered immediately.
Far too immediately.
I exhaled slowly through my nose. "Noah."
That tone usually made people correct themselves.
He shifted slightly.
"I said nothing," he repeated, quieter this time.
A pause stretched between us.
I didn't push yet. I knew Noah. Pressure didn't break him open. It made him retreat.
So I changed approach.
I sat on the armrest of the couch instead of standing over him.
Smaller distance.
Less confrontation.
"What have you been doing all day?, the butler said you worked from home today" I asked instead.
He hesitated again.
Then shrugged. "Just work… staying in."
"Is something bothering you?"
"No."
Another lie.
Not obvious enough for most people.
But I noticed the way his eyes flicked away for half a second too long.
I leaned back slightly, watching him carefully.
Something was wrong.
Not physically.
Not visibly.
Something quieter.
The kind that sits behind the eyes and refuses to leave even when the face smiles.
"You're avoiding me," I said calmly.
His head snapped toward me.
"I'm not."
A beat.
Then he added, softer, "I'm just tired."
Tired.
That word again.
I had heard it from him before. But never like this.
This time it felt like a shield.
I studied him in silence.
He didn't meet my gaze fully.
No teasing. No sarcasm. No attempt to lighten the moment.
Just careful distance.
I stood again.
Walked toward the window instead, letting him breathe without my attention pressing down on him.
The city outside glowed like it always did. Unbothered. Indifferent.
"Noah," I said again, without turning back. "Look at me."
A pause.
Then movement.
He stood up slowly.
I turned.
Now I saw it clearly.
The exhaustion wasn't just in his posture anymore. It was in the way he held his expression together like it might fall apart if loosened even slightly.
I frowned.
"You're not fine."
"I am," he insisted.
But his voice cracked just enough to betray him.
That made me stop completely.
No jokes this time.
"Noah," I said more firmly. "What happened?"
Silence.
A long one.
Then he looked away.
"I said I'm fine."
But this time he didn't sound convincing even to himself.
I stepped closer again, slower this time, like approaching something fragile.
"Did someone say something to you?"
His jaw tightened.
"No."
Another lie.
Now it was becoming a pattern.
I studied him for a moment longer, then made a decision not to push further tonight.
Whatever this was… it wasn't going to come out under pressure.
Not from him.
Not yet.
So I softened my voice.
"Alright," I said.
His shoulders loosened slightly, like he expected relief.
Then I added, quieter, "But you're not good at hiding things from me."
That made him look at me again.
For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Something more complicated.
Then it was gone.
"I'm just tired," he repeated.
I nodded once, even though I didn't believe him.
"Go rest," I said.
He hesitated.
Like he wanted to say more.
Like something was sitting on the edge of his tongue and refusing to leave.
But instead, he just nodded.
"Okay."
Then he walked past me.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like even proximity might give him away.
I didn't stop him.
I watched him disappear down the hallway instead.
Only when I was alone again did I allow my expression to shift slightly.
Something was wrong with Noah.
And it wasn't exhaustion.
It was silence with teeth.
I exhaled once, slow.
Then I turned back toward the city view.
If someone had hurt him while I was away…
I would find out.
Not immediately.
Not loudly.
But thoroughly.
Because Noah didn't look like someone who was simply tired.
He looked like someone carrying a story he refused to tell.
And I didn't like unknown stories living inside my house.