I rub at my wrist absentmindedly as if his phantom grip still lingers there—ridiculous, considering he hasn’t touched me since that last fight in his office when everything finally fell apart around us both.
The windows across from me are black mirrors now; night has crept up unnoticed while I’ve been lost inside myself again. I stare at my reflection—disheveled hair pulled into a loose knot at my nape, Remy’s oversized shirt swallowing my frame—and wonder who she even is anymore.
Three months into living with Remy, I’m still adjusting to this strange new reality. Our relationship defies simple definition. Last week, we fought for hours over the possibility of me helping a colleague with a sensitive article. Remy didn’t try to stop me—he’s learned better—but his jaw clenched in that way that betrays his worry. Instead of forbidding it, he offered resources, contacts, and protection. Progress, considering that not so long ago, he might have locked me in his room.
I smile, remembering how he paced the kitchen that night, torn between his need to control the situation and his promise to respect my autonomy. “At least let me verify your sources,” he’dsaid, hands gripping the counter until his knuckles went white. The old Remy would have simply done it behind my back. This version asked, waited, trusted. A little, at least.
The shift in our dynamic still surprises me. We’re learning to navigate each other’s sharp edges, finding ways to compromise without compromising ourselves. His darkness matches mine, shadow for shadow, but instead of drowning in it, we’ve found balance. He understands my drive for justice because he has his own code, twisted as it might be.
Last night, we lay in bed discussing the ethical implications of blackmail versus bribery. His perspective challenged mine and forced me to examine my own moral flexibility. That’s what I appreciate most—how he pushes me to question everything, even my own certainties. And how I try to do the same with him.
The bruises from my father’s estate have faded, but Remy still touches them with a gentleness that contradicts his nature. His protectiveness manifests in upgraded security systems, thorough background checks on my sources, and a network of shadows watching over me. I should find it suffocating. Instead, it feels like being wrapped in darkened steel—dangerous but secure.
We’re both learning. He’s discovering that control doesn’t always mean possession, and I’m accepting that sometimes protection doesn’t mean imprisonment. It’s a delicate dance, full of missteps and corrections, but we’re finding our rhythm.
The city lights blur as I lose myself in thought until strong arms snake around my waist. I gasp, ready to fight an attacker, when I recognize Remy. His lips find my neck, and despite my irritation at being caught off guard, my body betrays me by leaning into his touch.
“You’re home early,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“Couldn’t stay away when I saw you standing here looking troubled.” His breath fans against my skin. “The security feed showed you’ve barely moved for an hour.”
I stiffen in his arms. “The cameras again, Remy?”
“Don’t start, Eve.” His grip tightens fractionally. “You know why they’re necessary.”
I turn to face him, meeting his intense gaze. “Do I? Or is this about your need to control everything?”
“After everything that happened with your father—”
“He’s in prison,” I cut him off. “The threat is contained.”
Remy’s jaw clenches. “There will always be threats. Always be someone targeting you because of your work.”
“So I should live in a gilded cage?” I push against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. “That’s not living. That’s surviving.”
“I won’t apologize for wanting to keep you safe.” His voice drops lower, dangerous. “I can’t lose you again.”
The raw honesty in his words catches me off guard. I reach up, tracing the scar along his jaw—a reminder of what he endured to protect me. “I’m not going anywhere. But I need you to trust me.”
“I do trust you.” He catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. “It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”
“Then let’s compromise.” I hold his gaze. “Keep one camera in common areas if you must, but my office remains private. I need space to work without feeling watched.”
Remy studies me, and his calculation and concern are warring in his expression. “Four cameras. None in your office. But I want additional security personnel when you leave the building.”
“Two cameras,” I counter. “And I choose which security detail accompanies me. If need be.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Always pushing back, aren’t you?”
“You taught me well.” I lean closer, our lips almost touching. “Do we have a deal?”
His hand slides into my hair, grip firm but gentle. “Three cameras in common areas. You choose your detail from my approved list. Nonnegotiable.”
I consider arguing further, but the tension in his frame tells me this is as far as he’ll bend. “I’ll think about it. But this conversation isn’t over.”
“With you, it never is.” His kiss silences any retort I might have made, and for a moment, I let myself forget about cameras and compromise, losing myself in the dangerous comfort of his embrace.
Remy’s fingers trace idle patterns on my shoulder as we stand by the window. The intimacy of the gesture almost distracts me from his careful scrutiny. Almost.
