So now I don’t know. There’s something about it that feels steady. Like I don’t have to keep searching. Like I don’t have to wonder where I stand. Now—when he says I belong to him, if I really let myself sink into it, feel the depth behind his words—it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels like something in me has finally found home.
And, perhaps most uncharacteristically for me, I don’t mention leaving, not once. The thought barely crosses my mind. Usually I have a little scratch at the back of my mind saying ‘what’s next?’, but in Ravelle, with Soren, I don’t. I don’t try to pull it apart. It feels better than what I left. That’s enough.
So maybe that’s the part I need to get used to.
The idea that I might already be his. The one that’s not going anywhere.
His little poison.
CHAPTER 49
IVY
As if sensing my deep thoughts, I hear Soren closing the door to his office and approaching the living room where I’m seated, papers spread out in front of me as I pull together my latest ad campaign for my client.
He has a grin on his face as he walks up to me, jumps onto the couch beside me and grabs me into his arms, tickling me.
I can’t help but laugh, my skin tingling at his touch.
“Come here, little?—”
“Don’t you dare say poison again!” I interrupt, beaming at him.
“…little cheese wheel!”
I laugh so hard I almost snort. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” he grins, proud of himself for his ridiculous misdirection.
“You’re right,” I smile back, snuggling into his arms.
Later, despite the contentment of being in his presence, the thoughts are still rolling around in my head. I feel antsy, and movement helps me to work through things. Being outside, feeling the fresh air on my skin. Just having a moment to myselfto think helps me to process. It doesn’t feel particularly important—definitely not a big deal as far as I’m concerned.
The late morning light is stretching across the living room floor in long, soft lines. The air still holds that calm, settled feeling. I know it will be mild outside, the sun not yet having reached full force. The perfect time to enjoy the gentle breeze that cocoons the neighborhood at this time of day.
I head into the kitchen where I can hear Soren pottering around making a snack. “Hey,” I say.
He glances over his shoulder. “Hey beautiful.” His deep voice and lazy smile make me tingle.
“I might go out for a bit,” I say, casual.
Soren looks up from what he’s doing and turns around to face me. His eyes narrow. “Where?”
I shrug, shifting my weight slightly. “Just down the road. Maybe grab a coffee. Walk around a little.” It sounds simple when I say it out loud. Normal. Small. The kind of thing I’ve done a hundred times without thinking.
He watches me for a moment. There’s no tension in his expression. Just a quiet, measured consideration, like he’s already seeing something I haven’t fully registered yet. “You don’t need to go out right now.” The words land gently, but still they jar me.
I pause. “I just thought—” I start, but the thought loses shape before I can finish it.
He’s already crossing the room at an unhurried pace that somehow feels more certain than anything rushed ever could.
By the time he reaches me, his hand is already at my waist. Familiar. Warm. The contact settles something in me instantly, like my body recognizes it before my mind has time to catch up.
“It’s busy out there this time of day,” he says, his voice calm, even. “Too many people. Too much movement.” His thumb shifts slightly against my side, a small, absent motion that draws my focus inward, back to where he is. “You won’t enjoy it.”
I feel my shoulders drop. Because when I picture it—thestreet, the noise, the unpredictability—there’s a faint tension there I hadn’t noticed before. A subtle resistance. Something that suddenly feels less appealing than it did a moment ago.
“I’ll take you later,” he adds. A brief pause. “When it’s quieter.”