Switched Bride, True Luna - Chapter 49: Chapter 49

Logan
I told myself I was giving her space.
That every quiet glance she threw over her shoulder, every moment she slipped down the hallway without meeting my eyes—it wasn’t avoidance. Just time. Just distance. Just a bruise that needed to fade.
But the truth was harder to swallow. Emily wasn’t drifting. She was retreating.
And I was letting her.
I stood outside her bedroom door, hand poised in the air for far too long, debating if I should knock. Without thinking I just turned the knob and stepped inside her space, uninvited.
I wasn’t supposed to be here.
Not standing in her room, not pacing by her window, not staring at the line where her shower steam still fogged the mirror on the far wall.
But I’d lost count of the ways this arrangement had unraveled. And tonight, I couldn’t stomach another hour of pretending her absence didn’t bother me.
She’d been gone all weekend and come back quieter than ever. She slipped past me in the halls like a ghost. The worst part wasn’t the distance—it was how easy she made it look.
And I couldn’t take it anymore.
The click of the door behind her sounded like a trap snapping shut.
My eyes zeroed in on her hair, damp and curling around her collarbone, skin flushed from the heat, towel knotted across her chest. Drops of water clung to her bare shoulders and slid down her arms in slow rivulets.
She froze in the doorway, eyes going wide. The tension sharp as a blade between us.
“Logan,” she said, her quieter than I expected. “What are you doing here?”
I should have left. Apologized. Given her privacy. But I was past that point.
“Waiting for you,” I said simply.
Her brow lifted. “In my bedroom?”
“I needed to talk.” My voice came out rougher than I intended.
She didn’t move, didn’t relax. Just stood there like she wasn’t sure if this was about to become another fight—or something worse.
“Towels aren't usually part of my preferred wardrobe for conversations,” she said, dry as bone.
“I’ve noticed,” I replied, tone matching hers.
That got a flicker of a smile. Not much. But enough to remind me she was still in there. Still had that fire in her I was drawn to.
I looked away, jaw tight. Not because I didn’t want to stare. But because I did.
“Whatever this is,” she said, arms folding beneath the towel, “you could’ve waited.”
“No,” I said. “I couldn’t. You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I needed space.”
“And I need answers.”
She moved further into the room, deliberately turning her back to me as she picked up a folded shirt from the dresser. “We’ve said enough, haven’t we?”
“No,” I said, heat curling under my skin.
The air between us pulsed, charged and electric. She was still standing there in nothing but that damn towel, and I hated myself for noticing—but gods, I noticed.
Every inch of bare skin, every drip of water that kissed her throat, her thighs. She was fire and ice and fury all at once.
She narrowed her eyes, suspicion flaring. “Why now, Logan? Why after everything?”
“I’m not here because of everything,” I said. “I’m here because of you.”
That stopped her.
“You’re the one who keeps walking away.” I growled, my power becoming harder to contain.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
I wanted to touch her. I wanted it more than I’d wanted anything in years.
Her breath hitched. Mine followed. She turned away again—half a defense, half a retreat. And my instincts told me that was unacceptable.
I took one step closer. Then another. It was enough to close the gap and make her breath hitch. Her chest rose slowly, carefully. Her grip tightened on the edge of the towel.
We stood there, both too angry to fully close the gap but too close not to feel it in our bones.
“I came here to talk,” I said again, but my voice had shifted—lower now, rougher.
“Then talk,” she said, but her voice wavered.
I reached for the words, but all I could think about was how she smelled. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to pull her closer or shake her for staying so far away.
She looked down on me even though I towered over her. In the low light, her eyes looked darker. Bolder.
“If you think showing up in my room like this gives you some kind of advantage,” she said, “you’re wrong.”
“Is that what this feels like to you?” I asked, my voice still ragged. “A power play?”
Her gaze flicked down to my lips, then back up—fast. Like she hadn’t meant to look. Maybe she was as effected as I was.
“You’ve been shutting me out since you got back.”
She lifted her chin. “What else is there to say?”
“How about the part where I didn’t ask for Chloe to be there, or for that article, or for half the bullshit your family’s feeding the press?” I stepped closer. “Or the part where I didn’t defend you nearly enough, and I know it?”
That pulled her up short. I watched her fingers twitch where they still clutched the towel.
“But that wasn’t what ruined any trust we started to build, was it?” I asked, my voice lower now. “It wasn’t Chloe. Or the article. It was me.”
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t deny it. And I didn’t stop myself from reaching for her this time.
Slow and deliberate, I brushed her wrist with my fingers. Just that. Barely a touch. But it felt like setting fire to kindling—immediate and dangerous.
Her breathing hitched, but her body stayed still, letting me explore with the ghost of a touch.
“If I crossed a line,” I said, “say it. I’ll go.”
Her voice was quiet. “I don’t know how to trust you when it feels like you’re still deciding.”
I stepped closer. My hand slid down her wrist, fingers brushing the line of her forearm.
“I already chose you,” I said, rougher than I meant to. “You’re the one who keeps walking away.”
The towel trembled under her grip. My thumb traced the edge of her knuckle like it had a mind of its own.
“I walked away because I don’t know what we are,” she whispered. “Because I thought if I let myself want more that what we agreed to, I’d be the only one who did.”
I stared at her lips, close enough now to see the pulse fluttering in her throat. My body leaned in before I knew I was doing it.
“You think I don’t want more?” I whispered against her ear.
“You act like you don’t.”
“Then I’m doing a terrible job,” I said. “Because it’s torture, Emily. Staying away. Even from the parts that scare the shit out of me.”
She swallowed. “So why haven’t you kissed me?”
It was a whisper. A challenge.
I could’ve kissed her right then. Could’ve pinned her to the wall and swallowed the words from her mouth. But if I did, I wouldn’t stop.
And I wasn’t sure either of us was ready for what came next.
I let my hand fall away, though it killed me to do it.
“Because if I kiss you right now,” I said, “I won’t be able to pretend this is just a contract anymore.”
She blinked slowly. Her lips parted—but no sound came out.
We stared at each other, hearts beating like war drums. And then I stepped back because I wanted her too much to screw it up with a moment I couldn’t take back.
I crossed the room and paused at the door. My hand rested on the frame. I didn’t look at her when I said it—but I meant every word.
“I’m not walking away.”
A silence stretched between us, long and aching. I closed the door behind me.
But I left it unlocked.