Chapter Ten-Xander
1397 Words
I had never understood the meaning of peace until Cairo walked through my house.
It was strange.
I had owned this place for years.
I had built it from the ground up.
Every wall.
Every room.
Every piece of furniture.
Every tree outside.
Every security system.
Every detail.
And yet, until today, it had always been just a house.
A beautiful one.
An expensive one.
A secure one.
But still just a house.
Now Cairo was here.
And suddenly, it felt like home.
I stood in my office and watched him through the glass doors.
He was walking through the garden.
Slowly.
Curiously.
Touching flowers.
Looking at the fountain.
Stopping every few minutes as though he were trying to understand the property.
I smiled faintly.
He didn’t know.
He had no idea.
That garden wasn’t mine.
It had never been mine.
It belonged to him.
Every inch of it.
Years ago, when we were teenagers, Cairo had talked to Caleb about his dream house.
I remembered every word.
A quiet place.
Surrounded by trees.
Away from the noise of the city.
A big library.
A movie theater.
Large windows.
A garden.
A private space where he could walk whenever he wanted.
And the woods.
He had always wanted woods.
He’d said he wanted somewhere he could run when he needed to clear his head.
I had been listening.
He probably thought I wasn’t.
Cairo had always been soft enough to believe that people didn’t notice him.
I noticed everything.
So when I eventually built my own house, I built his dream.
The location was deliberately secluded.
The property stretched across acres of land.
Trees surrounded the estate.
The woods began beyond the garden.
And then I fenced everything.
Every acre.
Every entrance.
Every possible access point.
Cairo wanted freedom.
I wanted security.
So I gave him both.
He could run through the woods.
He could walk for hours.
He could disappear into nature.
But nobody could walk into his space.
Nobody could approach him.
Nobody could stumble across him.
Nobody could find him unless I wanted them to.
It was perfect.
He just didn’t know it was his dream.
Yet.
⸻
We had lunch together.
Cairo sat across from me, quietly eating.
I found myself watching him more than eating.
He looked peaceful.
Safe.
There were no men around him.
No strangers.
No employees.
No people staring at him.
No one trying to speak to him.
Just Cairo.
Here.
With me.
And something inside me finally settled.
This was what I had wanted.
Not necessarily the house.
Not necessarily the property.
Him.
Safe.
Close.
Mine.
After lunch, Cairo wandered around some more.
Eventually, the afternoon sun began fading.
I found him lying on the couch.
Asleep.
I stopped.
The mint-green outfit looked perfect on him.
The color complemented his skin.
The fabric fell naturally against his body.
It showed his shape without exposing everything.
Exactly how I liked it.
Elegant.
Soft.
Beautiful.
Covered.
Why couldn’t he dress like this all the time?
It was perfect.
I sat across from him.
And watched.
His breathing was slow.
His face relaxed.
He looked younger when he slept.
Softer.
Peaceful.
I could have stayed there indefinitely.
Eventually, his eyes fluttered open.
He blinked.
Then looked at me.
“Why are you looking at me?”
His voice was sleepy.
Soft.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Instead, I kept my expression neutral.
“You’re sleeping.”
“I know.”
He rubbed his eyes.
“What time is it?”
“Almost evening.”
His eyes widened slightly.
“When do I need to go?”
I already knew what he was asking.
And I knew the answer.
He needed to go home.
He had work Monday.
Sunday would be his only proper day to rest.
I could have told him to stay.
I could have kept him here.
I had enough authority, enough influence, enough control to make it difficult for him to leave.
But I didn’t want that.
Not yet.
If Cairo ever stayed here for a week, a month, even longer, I wanted him to choose it.
I wanted him to walk through my front door because he wanted to.
Not because I had forced him.
That distinction mattered.
“Pack your things.”
He stared at me.
“I’m taking you home.”
“Really?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Do you want me to repeat myself?”
He immediately shook his head.
“No.”
I watched him disappear upstairs.
A few minutes later, he returned carrying his bag.
And his old clothes.
I looked at them.
“No.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“Give them to me.”
He held them tighter.
“No. They’re mine.”
“Give them to me.”
“Xander—”
“Give them here.”
He hesitated.
Then slowly handed them over.
I took the clothes and tossed them onto the couch.
“I don’t want to see you wearing them again.”
He looked at me.
I didn’t explain.
There was no point.
Those clothes were finished.
They weren’t seeing the outside world again.
⸻
The drive to the Harris estate was quiet.
Cairo sat beside me.
Every few minutes, I caught him looking at me.
I looked back.
He immediately turned toward the window.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Eventually, we arrived.
I parked outside the estate.
Cairo reached for the door.
“Cairo.”
He stopped.
“I don’t want you wearing revealing clothes.”
He sighed.
“I know.”
“And I don’t want you going out without telling me.”
He turned toward me.
“Why would I?”
“I said I don’t want you going out without my permission.”
His expression changed.
“If you go out without telling me, you’ll stay at my house.”
His eyes widened.
He understood.
I wouldn’t threaten something I couldn’t accomplish.
“Do you understand?”
“Sure.”
“Sure?”
“Okay. Yes.”
I held his gaze.
“Good.”
Then I added quietly,
“And don’t wear revealing clothes.”
He sighed.
“I’ve heard you.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I’ll try.”
I stared at him.
“I have some revealing clothes, okay?”
He looked frustrated.
“I can’t just donate them. Some haven’t even been worn, and they’re designers.”
I considered that.
He wasn’t wrong.
I didn’t want him throwing away expensive clothes simply because I disliked them.
“Fine.”
His shoulders relaxed.
“But don’t wear them often.”
“Okay.”
He opened the door.
“I’ll call you later.”
I nodded.
“Good.”
He stepped out.
Then he closed the door.
I watched him walk toward his house.
Only when he disappeared through the entrance did I start the engine.
⸻
The moment I returned home, the silence hit me.
It was different.
When Cairo was here, the house felt alive.
Now it felt empty.
I walked upstairs.
Into my bedroom.
The bed was still unmade.
I stopped.
He hadn’t made it.
Good.
Very good.
I walked toward the bed.
Picked up one of the pillows.
His scent remained faintly on it.
I sat down.
Then slowly lay back.
I pulled the pillow against my chest.
Closed my eyes.
For a moment, I could almost imagine him there.
Curled up beside me.
Sleeping peacefully.
Safe.
My fingers tightened around the pillow.
I breathed in deeply.
He had been here.
In my room.
In my bed.
In my house.
He had walked through the garden I had built for him.
He had worn clothes I had bought for him.
He had eaten at my table.
And for an entire day, Cairo had been exactly where I had always wanted him.
Close.
I smiled.
Four years ago, I had built this house from a teenage boy’s impossible dreams.
Cairo had forgotten those dreams.
I hadn’t.
I had remembered every single one.
And now he had finally stepped into them.
He just hadn’t realized yet that the house he had always dreamed of was mine.
And perhaps, eventually, he would realize something even more important.
The house had never really been the dream.
He was.
And now that he was finally home, I had no intention of letting him become a distant memory again.
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