His hand slides from my wrist, back to my waist in one smooth motion, like the shift was always going to happen. He steps in, the space between us disappearing. “You don’t understand. You don’t need anything out there. Not unless I’m there with you.”
My chest tightens, a thousand angry flapping butterflies threatening to burst from my lungs. Because this time, it doesn’t just sound like him being possessive.
It connects—the ride, the messages, the signal, the keys, the door—all of it. The thought lands fast and sharp, but so does the realization that if I tried to string these things together and explain them to someone external to the situation they’d think I was crazy.
And then his thumb moves slightly against my waist.
Heat flares low in my stomach, immediate. Unwanted. My breath stutters. I hate that. I hate how quickly everything else starts to blur when he touches me.
“Look at me.”
I don’t even think about it—just obey.
His gaze holds mine, steady, unbroken, like he’s waiting for me to settle. His eyes are clear, honest. True.
And I do settle. My body softens before my thoughts catchup. The tension in my chest loosens, the sharp edge of it dulling until it’s harder to hold onto.
“You’re fine here.”
My fingers twitch slightly at my sides. I should argue that. I should push back, ask what he did, why everything stopped working the second I tried to leave. The questions are there. They just don’t feel as urgent as they should.
I glance toward the door. Still slightly ajar, just enough to remind me that I could go.
But I don’t move. His hand remains at my waist. Steady. Present. Anchoring. Like it belongs there more than anything else does.
His hand presses in slightly. Grounding. Pulling. Keeping me right where I am. “You don’t need to go anywhere.”
I exhale slowly. The fight in me—the part that wanted to leave, that was already halfway out the door—it’s still there. Just… quieter. Further away. Like it’s behind something I can’t quite push through.
I lean into him before I realize I’m doing it. Barely. Just enough to close the last inch of space between us.
His grip eases almost immediately. “There you go,” he murmurs. Like that was all he was waiting for. Like nothing about this was strange.
My eyes drop for a second, my thoughts trying to catch up. Because this keeps happening. Every time I try to reach outside of him, something gets in the way. Something shifts. Stops me.
My body follows before I decide to. One step back, then another. Away from the door, and back into the apartment. My breath catches slightly. That wasn’t a decision. Or was it?
Just like that, the thought of leaving slips and fades.
I don’t move. I don’t reach for the door again. I don’t ask for my phone back. I stay exactly where he put me.
And this time, I know I’m choosing it.
He reaches out a hand. Mine meets it without thought.
“Come,” he says. “I have something to show you.”
CHAPTER 52
IVY
Soren touches a panel at the end of the hallway. It moves to the side, revealing a door. He opens it and we step inside.
“It’s a place for you to process.”
I look around. The lighting is low, controlled, softer toward the edges, brighter in the center. Focused, like attention is meant to be directed there.
There are objects I don’t fully recognize at first, none of which seem accidental. He clicks a button. Then there’s a distinctive ‘beep, beep, beep’. It comes from one side of the room, and then the other. Never changing pace–constant, rhythmic.