The sound felt final.
My breath hitched as he moved closer.Every step he took was measured.Controlled.Not rushed.Not angry.
Intentional.
He stopped a foot away, his hands still in his pockets, his head tilting slightly as his gaze swept over me.I dropped my eyes, heat rushing to my face.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
I did.Holding his gaze felt harder than looking away.The restraint in his expression was devastating anger banked beneath discipline, something sharper lurking just beneath the surface.
“I’m sorry for not trusting you,” I said, the words trembling despite my effort to steady them.
His expression didn’t change.
“Have I ever given you reason to doubt me?”
The question landed clean and sharp.
No.
Never.
The answer pressed against my teeth, but my throat tightened around it.
“No, Sir.”
“And yet,” he said evenly, “you chose not to tell me the truth.”
I flinched.
He didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
“You broke the rules.”
“I know.”
“You made decisions for me,” he continued.“You decided what I could handle.What I deserved to know.”
“I was wrong.”
“Yes,” he said.“You were.”
He let the words sit between us.Didn’t soften them.Didn’t take them back.
“Undoing that,” he said after a pause, “starts with obedience.”
Something in my chest twisted.
Not relief.
Not comfort.
Recognition.
I nodded, even as doubt flickered beneath the movement.
