Celine set her fork down, the plate nearly empty, save for a few crumbs and a slice of bacon she'd pushed around more than eaten. Her stomach was full, but her mind was far from settled.
She glanced up at August, who had been watching her in that quiet, unreadable way of his.
"Where's your bathroom?" she asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin.
He nodded toward the hallway. "Second door to the left."
"Thanks."
She rose, her steps steady but her insides still rattled. In the bathroom, she locked the door gently and stared at herself in the mirror.
The food had helped. The silence had helped more. But the bruising on her cheekbone was darker now, and the memory of being dragged, slapped, and forced into a chair came back with frightening clarity.
She gripped the sink edge, knuckles white.
Nolan… she should've known he wouldn't give up so easily.
He wanted her properties!
Her gaze hardened.
She wasn't the scared woman from last night. Not anymore.
Washing her hands slowly, she exhaled, pulled herself together, and stepped back into August's apartment, her mind racing but her face composed.
He looked up from his coffee. "You okay?"
"No," she said honestly. "But I will be."
August studied her for a second. The bruises, the faint tremble in her fingertips, even beneath her calm, she was shaken. Still wrapped in her silk nightgown from last night, she looked far too vulnerable in the soft light of his apartment.
He stood, disappearing into his room for a moment, then returned with a folded shirt and a pair of sweats slung over his arm.
"They're clean," he said, setting them gently on the backrest of the couch. "Not exactly couture, but they'll be more comfortable than that."
Celine looked at the clothes, then at him.
"Are you always this prepared for runaway women?"
He smirked. "Only the ones who almost die in front of my car."
That pulled a small, reluctant smile from her.
"Thanks," she muttered, reaching for the shirt.
"Bathroom's still where it was," he said, his voice softening. "Take your time."
Celine disappeared down the hallway, clutching the clothes. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, August exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. She was trying to keep it together, he could see that, but the cracks were there. Deep ones.
Inside the bathroom, Celine stood in front of the mirror, fingers curling around the edge of the sink. Her reflection stared back: hair tousled, eyes rimmed with exhaustion, and faint bruises marking her arms. Her breath caught.
She gripped the edge tighter.
Pull yourself together. She changed to herself.
She slipped out of her nightgown and into August's shirt. It was oversized, soft, and carried the faint scent of his cologne, something woodsy and warm. For a second, it felt like safety.
When she stepped back into the living room, August was clearing the dishes. He glanced up,and paused.
His shirt swallowed her, sleeves too long, sweatpants cinched tightly at her waist. But she looked better. Less shaken. A little more… her.
"You look like you raided my closet," he teased gently.
She rolled her eyes. "Don't get used to it."
But there was no heat in her voice.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
Celine nodded, though her fingers still fidgeted. "Enough to ask for coffee. Strong. And answers."
August gave a nod. "Both coming up."
August handed her a mug of steaming coffee, then paused as she set it aside quickly, her voice low but firm.
"I need your phone," Celine said. "I need to call my assistant."
He raised a brow. "Lost yours?"
Her jaw tightened. "They probably have it."
August didn't ask who they were. He didn't need to, he'd seen enough last night to guess this wasn't some petty robbery. Wordlessly, he reached into his back pocket and handed her his phone.
"Thanks," she murmured, fingers trembling slightly as she took it.
He watched as she walked toward the window for some privacy. Her back was straight, but her other hand still clutched at the hem of his shirt like she was holding herself together.
She dialed with muscle memory. Stacy picked up almost instantly.
"Hello?"
Celine swallowed. "Stace… it's me."
"Celine?! Oh my God, where have you been?! I've been calling, texting, what the hell happened? Are you okay?"
"I'm safe now. I'll explain everything. Just… I need you to bring me a change of clothes and—"
"Where are you?"
Celine glanced at August, who'd gone back to the kitchen but was clearly listening in. She gave the address softly.
"I'll be there in twenty," Stacy said, tone sharp with worry now. "Don't move. And don't even think of ghosting me again."
"I won't," Celine whispered. "Just… hurry."
Celine ended the call and handed the phone back to August, her fingers brushing against his. He didn't press for answers, just took it silently and set it on the counter.
"She'll be here soon," Celine said, her voice tight.
He gave a nod. "Your assistant?"
"Yeah. Stacy." She ran a hand through her messy red hair. "She's probably halfway to calling the police or burning the city down looking for me."
August chuckled softly. "She sounds like a good one."
Celine gave a tired smile. "She is."
There was a brief silence between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. He leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded, watching her.
"I know it's none of my business," he said finally, "but whatever happened last night… it wasn't small. You looked like you were running for your life."
Her eyes flickered, guilt and fear wrestling across her face.
"I was," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "I just… I thought I could handle it."
August studied her. "And now?"
She shrugged. "Now I'm standing in your shirt, in a stranger's home, after dragging your night into hell. So maybe not."
"You didn't drag anything," he said, voice firm. "You ran. That's what you should've done."
She looked up at him, something vulnerable in her eyes.
"I don't even know why I came your way," she said.
August stepped closer, his tone softening. "Maybe because part of you knew you wouldn't be turned away."
Before Celine could respond, a knock came at the door, sharp and fast.
"Stacy," Celine breathed.
August moved to answer it while she straightened up quickly, brushing invisible wrinkles from his shirt.
As the door swung open, Stacy burst in, her eyes wide as they locked on Celine. "You look like hell," she said, then rushed forward and pulled her into a tight hug.
"I missed you too," Celine mumbled into her friend's shoulder.
Stacy pulled back, her hands gripping Celine's arms as she scanned her face. "What the hell happened?"
Celine's eyes dropped, her voice tight. "Nolan happened."
Stacy froze, her expression darkening. "You mean your ex? What, Celine, what did he do?"
Celine shook her head slightly, her jaw clenched. "He sent people. Broke into my place… they tried to force me to sign over the property."
Stacy's face drained of color. "What?! Are you serious right now?"
"I got away," Celine said quickly, trying to steady her voice. "Barefoot, running through the street like a damn movie. I don't even remember how I got here. August—" she glanced over at him "—he almost ran me over."
August raised a brow from where he stood silently nearby, arms crossed, leaning against the kitchen doorway. "You jumped in front of my car."
Stacy turned sharply to him, eyes narrowing. "You… Wait. You helped her?"
He gave a calm nod. "Took her in. She was clutching a document like her life depended on it and looked like she hadn't taken a breath in an hour."
Celine gave a small, wry smile. "He made me breakfast, too."
Stacy looked between them, her expression still stunned. Then she exhaled. "Okay. Okay. We need to go to the police."
"No," Celine said instantly.
Stacy stared at her. "What do you mean, no? They broke into your house and tried to force you to sign over your property. That's insane, Celine."
"I just need time," Celine muttered. "Time to think. To plan."
"You're not doing this alone," Stacy said firmly.
August's voice cut in, calm but certain. "She's not."
Stacy looked at him again. And for the first time… she didn't argue.
August caught the weight of the conversation lingering in the air and quietly excused himself, giving the women space. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything," he said simply, disappearing down the hallway.
Celine sank deeper into the couch as Stacy hovered protectively beside her, still shaken.
A few minutes later, August returned, two mugs of steaming coffee balanced in one hand, a small plate of buttery biscuits in the other.
He walked in casually, setting them on the table in front of them. "Figured you could use something warm. And sugary."
Stacy looked up, surprised. "Thanks… You didn't have to—"
He shrugged, flashing a low-key smile. "Habit."
She picked up the cup, inhaled, then took a sip. Her eyes widened. "Okay. Damn. This is good."
"Chef's hands," he replied, dryly.
She narrowed her gaze, suddenly piecing it together. "Wait. You're that chef? The new restaurant, the one in Westbay? The place with a waitlist longer than Celine's emails?"
August chuckled as he lowered himself into a nearby armchair. "In flesh."
Stacy looked at Celine, brows raised. "Girl. You didn't say the man who saved you also owns taste buds' heaven."
Celine gave a faint smile. "Didn't think it mattered."
August met her gaze across the room. "It kind of does now."
Stacy leaned back slowly, sipping her coffee again, watching the quiet exchange between Celine and August like she'd just walked into a season finale cliffhanger. "Right," she said, drawing out the word. "Well, this just got interesting."
Celine shot her a look. "Stace…"
But Stacy only raised both hands. "I'm just saying. The chef-slash-savior is hot, makes coffee like this, and clearly gives a damn. If this were a rom-com—"
August cleared his throat lightly, lips twitching. "Should I step out again?"
Stacy grinned. "No need. I'm rooting for you now."
Celine shook her head, visibly tired but trying not to smile. "This isn't a story, Stacy."
Stacy sipped her coffee with mock solemnity. "Every woman says that… until it is."
Celine turned to August, quieter now. "Thank you. For everything. I don't know what I would've done last night."
August met her eyes, his tone gentler. "You don't have to thank me. Just… maybe next time, don't wait till it gets that bad."
Celine nodded slowly, her fingers tightening around the mug. "I didn't think it would."
He watched her for a beat, then said, "You're safe now. That's what matters."
The silence that followed was calm, not awkward, but shared. And for the first time in days, Celine felt like maybe she could breathe.