The Ice-Hearted Groom

Close Enough to Feel It

Chapter Eight — Close Enough to Feel It

The morning light cut through the curtains like a soft spotlight.

Ariana blinked awake to the sound of quiet breathing beside her.

Not the couch.

The bed.

She turned slowly — and there he was.

Zayden Knight.

Lying just inches away.

Shirtless. Hair tousled. Jaw slack in sleep. No tension in his brow, no armor on his face.

Just… a man.

And somehow, seeing him like this — unguarded — made her chest tighten in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

She just watched him breathe — until suddenly, his eyes opened.

Gray. Cold. Alert.

They locked on hers instantly.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice rough from sleep.

“I could ask the same,” she said calmly. “You left the couch.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You slept just fine.”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t read into it.”

“I didn’t.”

But they both knew she had.

And worse — so had he.

---

Back at the Knight estate, silence returned like a reflex.

Zayden buried himself in emails and calls. Meetings. Deals. Distractions.

But Ariana’s voice lingered in his head.

The softness. The steel.

The way she’d looked at him this morning — like she saw a man beneath the empire.

And it unsettled him more than he'd admit.

Later that afternoon, Eleanor summoned Ariana to the garden terrace.

She looked pale. Fragile.

“I need you to keep your eyes open,” she said softly.

“For what?” Ariana asked.

“For Zayden,” Eleanor replied. “There are forces circling him. People who want him to fall. He’s been… angrier lately. Distant. He won’t tell me anything. But if he lets anyone in, it’ll be you.”

“I don’t think he trusts me either.”

Eleanor looked her in the eyes. “Not yet. But you’re closer than anyone else has ever been.”

---

That night, Ariana entered the study quietly.

Zayden sat alone, tie loose, eyes fixed on an old photo in his hand.

He didn’t hear her until she spoke.

“You okay?”

He flinched. Covered it with a glare. “Why are you in here?”

“I live here, remember?”

He said nothing.

She walked over slowly. Saw the photo — a little boy and a teenage girl on a swing. Laughing.

“Is that your sister?”

His fingers curled around the frame. “Was.”

Ariana paused. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at the photo like it burned his hands.

Finally, he said, “She died in a car crash. I was 16. She was 19. I was supposed to be in that car.”

Ariana didn’t speak. Just

sat down across from him.

And waited.

Because sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do…

Is stay.