He huffs something like a laugh. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“That’s not the point.”
He tilts his head. “Then what is?”
“That you’re always watching.” The words come out harsher than planned. “Even when you’re pretending to do something else. You’re always… there.”
He doesn’t deny it.
The silence that follows feels heavy, like the air itself is considering my accusation.
He steps into the room fully, leaving his post by the door. “You’re under my protection right now.”
“You mean under your control,” I correct.
His eyes narrow slightly. “Protection and control go together in my world.”
“I didn’t ask for either.”
His expression shifts—just a flicker, but enough for me to see something almost like irritation. “You walked into my world,” he says quietly. “You don’t get to act like you’re not in it now.”
I stare at him, anger and fear mixing in my chest.
He moves closer, slow and deliberate, until he’s standing in front of me. Not touching. Not crowding as badly as before. But close enough that I have to tilt my head to meet his gaze.
My heart races again, traitorous and loud.
“Stop doing that,” I say.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“Like what, Eden?”
Like I’m the only thing in the room. Like he’s dismantling me without lifting a finger.
“Like you see more than you should.”
He doesn’t smile, but something knowing flickers in his eyes. “Maybe I do.”
The awareness of him follows me into every room. When I stand at the sink, I feel his gaze on my back. When I sit on the couch, I feel it on the side of my face. Even when he’s quiet, even when he’s turned away, I can sense him tracking every movement, every pause, every breath.
By the time night settles over the city, I realize a chilling truth.
Simon is always watching.
Not just like a man guarding an asset. Not just like a predator tracking a target. There’s something more focused, more personal in it. I feel it wrap around me like an invisible hand—never squeezing, but never letting go.
I should hate it. Part of me does. The other part… doesn’t know what to do with the way it makes me feel seen.
Chapter Twelve - Simon
I watch her from the moment she wakes.
She stirs on the couch, disoriented for half a second before memory slams back into place. I can see the exact moment it hits; her eyes widen, then narrow, her throat works around a swallow, and she doesn’t scream. She sits up slowly instead, scanning the room, cataloging exits, people, objects.
She’s afraid, but she’s thinking through the fear. That’s rare.
