Tangled Vows | PART 1 |

| Part 1| Ch 04 : Stranger Walls, Familiar Ghosts

Chapter Four  

Savannah

My body woke at 5:00 a.m. as it always did, a routine embedded in years of discipline and rehearsals. The unfamiliar walls surrounding me felt like a silent reminder—I wasn't home. I wasn't even sure where home was anymore.

I threw on my softest joggers and an old university hoodie, grateful that my suitcase had arrived last night. Comfort in clothing, if not in circumstance. I padded out to the balcony, hoping the fresh morning air would make this all feel like a dream. It didn't. The cool breeze stung my cheeks, grounding me.

This marriage was a contract. A sentence. A debt paid for with my freedom.

I whispered the truth out loud just to hear it: "This is temporary."

The garden below glistened in the early sunlight, and I let the quiet settle in my bones. There was beauty here. Not in the man I married, but in the spaces he kept hidden. Like secrets, he didn't want the world to see.

Later, I wandered down to the kitchen. I hadn't expected to find comfort in cooking, but my hands moved on instinct—familiar motions in an unfamiliar house. I tied my hair up and began prepping pancake batter from scratch. Flour, sugar, a splash of vanilla, and a cracked egg. The scent began to rise, warm and nostalgic.

That's when I felt him.

I turned.

Atticus stood at the entrance, shirtless, damp from the shower, a towel lazily thrown over his shoulder. His hair still clung to his forehead, dark and slightly curling at the ends. He didn't look surprised to see me. No, he looked amused—like catching me mid-whisk was the highlight of his morning.

"Good morning, Atticus," I greeted, keeping my voice neutral, my gaze determined to stay at eye level.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, exuding the kind of nonchalance that only came from someone used to being in control. "Morning, sunshine."

I froze.

Sunshine.

It wasn't the word. It was the way he said it—teasing, deliberate, knowing it would crawl under my skin.

I turned, lifting a brow. "Call me that again and I'll pour this batter over your head."

He smiled faintly. "Feisty. I thought you only reserved that fire for slapping grooms."

"I have a generous supply," I replied coolly, flipping a pancake. "Plenty to go around."

He moved closer, slowly, like a panther circling prey but pretending it was just a morning stroll.

I reached for the cocoa mix on the top shelf, stretching up on my toes, my fingers barely grazing the edge. Behind me, I heard the faintest chuckle.

"You know, there's no shame in asking for help."

"I've got it," I said stubbornly, still stretching.

Before I could react, his hands were at my waist. Steady. Intentional. Lifting me without warning.

My breath caught in my throat. His grip was warm and firm, but not forceful. Just... supportive. I retrieved the box and he gently lowered me, his hands lingering just a second too long.

We didn't move.

His fingers brushed along my arm as I turned. Goosebumps rippled along my skin.

"Thank you," I whispered, barely audible, meant for him but also not.

He tilted his head slightly, watching me like I was a riddle he wanted to solve.

And then, because the tension was too thick and I couldn't let him win this stare-down, I dipped a finger into the cocoa mix and swiped a dot onto his cheek.

He didn't flinch. Didn't smirk. Just held my gaze like he wasn't ready to let go.

Later, we sat on the tall stools by the marble island. I passed him a plate with pancakes drizzled in honey and a few sliced bananas. I kept my eyes on my plate until the silence pressed too hard.

"I thought of baking cookies later," I said, my voice softer than I intended. "What's your favorite?"

He looked at me, something unreadable behind his eyes. "Vanilla. With a lot of chocolate chips."

I rested my chin on my palm, studying him. "Didn't peg you for a sweet tooth."

"I'm full of surprises."

Our knees bumped under the island, a touch neither of us pulled away from. My fingers tightened around my fork. His gaze dropped to my lips, and my breath grew shallow.

He didn't lean in, but he didn't move away either. There was a weight to his silence like he was calculating the exact distance between resistance and ruin.

I broke eye contact first, clearing my throat and focusing on my food. "The pancakes are fine, right?"

"They're good," he said, voice low. "Better than they need to be."

A compliment. Sort of.

And yet it landed harder than it should.

Atticus

She made pancakes.

Not toast. Not cereal. Pancakes. From scratch.

In my kitchen.

She moved like she belonged, but I knew she didn't believe that. Her body language screamed temporary, her eyes cautious and clever. But she still poured the batter and licked the sugar off her fingers, and somehow, it felt more intimate than any of the carefully staged dates I'd had in the past.

When I entered the room, I told myself it was because of the smell. That I needed coffee. That I wasn't drawn to her the way I was drawn to sharp things—to anything that might cut.

But when she reached for that top shelf? I couldn't help myself.

I lifted her. Simple. Quick.

Except it wasn't.

Her breath hitched. Mine stalled. And for a moment, I forgot why I was supposed to stay away from her.

Then she thanked me.

She didn't owe me that. But she gave it anyway.

I sat beside her on the island, trying not to focus on the way she bit her lip while waiting for my answer about cookies. Trying not to imagine what that mouth would feel like saying my name without resentment tucked between syllables.

When she leaned in, chin resting on her palm, it was all I could do not to mirror her.

Her laughter, her energy, even her silence—it was seeping into the cracks I didn't realize I still had.

But I reminded myself: she's here because of what I did. Because I forced this arrangement.

She has every reason to hate me.

And maybe she still does.

But the worst part?

I was starting to want her to forgive me.

Not because of guilt.

But because I wanted to deserve her.

And I didn't. Not yet.

She doesn't know it, but I'm holding back—for both of us.

Because once I let myself fall, there won't be a halfway.

And Savannah Amble might be the only person who could make me want to burn the whole damn world just to keep her close.