Because yesterday, in the library, during what was supposed to be a dress rehearsal for my performance—I told him I loved him.
And he said it back.
And then he said we're not performing.
Said he's choosing me over the inner circle.
I still can't quite believe it's real.
I wake up in his bed—ourbed—with early morning light filtering through the windows and his arm around my waist.
Everything feels different now.
Before, I was property.
An acquisition.
Something he owned and trained and prepared for display.
Now I'm—what? His girlfriend? His partner? His choice?
The girl he's willing to give up everything for?
It doesn't make sense.
None of it makes sense.
But it feels real.
Feels like maybe, impossibly, this twisted thing between us has become something else.
Something that looks almost like love.
Vaughn stirs beside me. "You're thinking too loud."
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Tell me what you're thinking about."
I turn to face him. Study those ice-blue eyes in the morning light. "I'm thinking about how five days ago, I was terrified of the showcase. And now I'm terrified for completely different reasons."
"What reasons?"
"That you'll change your mind. That you'll realize I'm not worth giving up everything for. That you'll wake up one morning and regret choosing me over the inner circle."
He pulls me closer. "That's not going to happen."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've spent years chasing power. And in the short time I’ve had with you, I've learned that power doesn't mean anything if you're alone. If you don't have something—someone—worth protecting."
"But the Consortium?—"
"Fuck the Consortium."
The vehemence in his voice surprises me. "Vaughn?—"
"I mean it. Fuck them. Fuck the inner circle. Fuck the whole system that reduces people to acquisitions and measures worth in displays of control. I'm done with it."
