Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions novel Chapter 111

Chapter 111

Thane stands up and holds out a hand towards me, asking, “Come with me? And without an ounce of hesitation, I slip my hand into his and rise from my chair.

He leads me down a long hallway where our footsteps echo softly in the quiet of his penthouse. I’m still reeling from the events of the whole afternoon, trying to reconcile everything he’s revealed since we got here. The words he spoke, the promises he made, the way his touch lingered just a little too long–it’s all settling in, and I’m left wondering how far this thing between us will go

His hand is warm around mine, and I can feel the tension in his fingers by the slight tremble in them as he walks next to me, almost as if he’s unsure of what he’s about to show me. It’s strange, seeing him like this–uncharacteristically uncertain. It seems the man who rules with power and control is suddenly navigating through a space he’s not used to: vulnerability.

Almost at the end of the hall, we stop in front of a set of double doors, and for the first time, I see a flicker of hesitation in his posture. His shoulders stiffen just a fraction, and his jaw tightens, like he’s bracing himself to show me something I might not like. My chest tightens as 1 watch him, unsure of what to expect, but there’s something in the way he holds my hand that tells me this isn’t just about showing me a room. It’s about way more than that.

“I know you love books,” he starts, his voice soft and almost uncertain. “This morning, before I came over to your place, I made a couple of calls, and I had something done. I want you to see it.”

Without waiting for my response, he pushes the doors open, and I’m immediately taken aback

The space before me is overwhelming in its beauty, It’s a library. A real, bona fide library, with walls lined from floor to ceiling with books. So many books. The air in the room smells of wood, old paper, and leather–warm and inviting–with the faintest hint of something familiar that reminds me of the cozy corner of my bookstore.

I step inside slowly, feeling the weight of the moment and the overwhelming warmth of the space. There are several reading nooks tucked into corners, each with plush armchairs, thick woolen throws, and soft lighting. A fireplace sits off in one comer, its hearth untouched but offering a promise of warmth.

But my gaze is almost immediately drawn to one section in particular. It’s been cleared out, the shelves emptied, and there are numerous stacked, sealed boxes on the floor in front of it.

1 turn to Thane, who’s watching me with an unreadable expression. “Why is that section empty?” I ask, although I suspect I already know the answer. But the sight of the boxes–the sheer effort that must have gone into this–stirs something inside me.

Thane’s voice is low, and there’s a soft uncertainty in his words as he says, “While I was with you this morning, I had this area cleared out. 1 didn’t know how you like to organize your books, so I left them in their boxes for you to sort dut.”

I blink, then blink again, feeling something stir deep inside me. This wasn’t just à gesture; it was thoughtful. He didn’t just dump a collection of random books in here and say it was mine. No, he gave me the space to make it my own, and to decide how it will ultimately fit into my world.

I step forward, my hand slowly slipping from his, and reach for the flaps of the first box. As I begin to open it, I can’t help but tease him. “Lean already tell this is going to be a mismatch of epic proportions. My books and yours? Non–fiction, biographies, and whatever else you read… And then here I am, surrounded by romance novels that would make you cringe.”

The slight twitch of his mouth shows that he’s holding back a smile. “I think I’ll survive,” he replies dryly

I open the box, and the first thing I see is a handful of classic romance novels. My heart skips a beat as I take one out and glance at the cover. My fingers skim over the worn edges, and I notice the subtle smell of ink and age.

I look at him, my voice barely above a whisper, as I ask Incredulously, “Are these…first editions?”

then, before I have a chance to overthink it, I spin around and throw my arms around his neck. My lips find his in a kiss that feels like it’s

been waiting for months to happen. I don’t care about the boxes, the books, or even the fact that we’re standing in the middle of his private library where he’s made space for me. This moment is mine, and his, and I can’t seem to pull away.

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