A Silent Rescue
605 Words
Chapter: A SILENT RESCUE
Arabella
I inhale once. Deep. Controlled. Enough to settle the shake in my hands before Soren notices.
"I'm ready to start again," I tell him, smoothing my fingers over the hem of my dress, pretending my pulse isn't climbing.
Soren studies me with that steady, unhurried gaze of his-the one that feels like it reaches places I don't show people.
"Are you sure?" he asks quietly.
There's no judgment, no pressure. Just concern. Just... him.
"Yes," I say. "I can do it."
He doesn't argue. He only nods, slow, like he's cataloguing something he's not yet ready to ask aloud.
And as I turn to go back, I hear the faintest exhale behind me-like he's wondering how many times I've done this, smiled through things I shouldn't have had to.
---
Back on set, the director spots me instantly.
"Arabella, sweetheart-I'm so sorry about earlier. Truly. We took care of it."
I brace myself, expecting the photographer to still be there, expecting forced apologies-or worse, excuses.
But he's gone.
Completely gone.
And behind the camera now stands someone new-warm smile, gentle posture, actually respectful. My chest loosens with quiet relief.
I exhale. "Thank you," I manage. "Really."
The shoot restarts. And for the next five hours, I'm the version of myself everyone knows-the calm one, the glowing one, the girl who never slows down, never lets it show when she wants to.
I do the poses. The angles. The soft smiles. The fierce ones. The "effortless" charm they like to brand me with.
And when we finally wrap, an assistant approaches with a makeup wipe in one hand and a conspiratorial grin.
"Thank goodness Soren Everheart got rid of him, right?"
I blink. "He... did that?"
"Oh yeah, totally." She waves her hand like it's common knowledge. "He talked to the director too. Something about professionalism, liability, brand image-super serious. And then he had a checklist? I've never seen a guy so calm and terrifying at the same time."
My breath catches, warm and strange.
The assistant leans in. "Are you two dating?"
I manage a soft, practiced laugh. "No, no. He's a friend of the family."
A friend.
A quiet one.
A careful one.
One who watched me panic and didn't look away.
Externally, I'm composed-dewy smile and all. But inside, gratitude blooms in places I didn't realize were starved.
He didn't have to intervene.
He didn't have to notice.
But he did.
Of course he did.
---
Later That Night
We had planned a group hangout-me, Adriana, Beckett, Aliana, Atticus, Soren.
Six people. Chaos energy. The usual.
Except one by one, the texts roll in.
Beckett: Running late to a dinner with my parents. Apologies.
Adriana: Helping finalize jewelry line sketches-rain check!
Atticus: Wedding planning emergency. I fear Aliana has discovered mood boards.
Aliana: Atticus is being dramatic. But yes, we're stuck.
Which leaves...
Just me.
And Soren.
Perfect.
Awkward.
But also... not.
When I arrive at the restaurant, Soren is already there, sitting by the window, quietly stirring his water like he knew-of course he knew-everyone else would cancel.
He glances up, that small, knowing half-smile lifting one corner of his mouth.
"Looks like it's just us," he says.
My heart gives this tiny, ridiculous flutter.
"Guess so."
He rises to pull out my chair-effortless, gentle-like he does it all the time.
Except this time, I notice his hand lingers a second longer on the back of the chair, like he's grounding me without actually touching me.
And for the first time all day, the knot in my chest eases.
Maybe being seen isn't so scary after all.
- Writer
