I keep replaying the encounter in my mind: the man’s badge, his eyes flicking to the house, the polite but persistent questions about Simon and our routines. I told myself it was nothing, just paranoia. But when I slipped inside and saw Simon waiting, arms folded, jaw set in a hard line, I knew better. The warning was written all over his face, even before I opened my mouth.
Now it’s evening. Shadows collect in the corners of every room, thickening with the promise of danger. Simon’s orders have become sharper, more urgent. I hear him snapping at the guards, his voice cold enough to cut glass.
“No one steps near her. No one.” I see the way his gaze latches on to me whenever I move—a silent tether, invisible but iron-strong, keeping me in his orbit whether I want it or not.
Truthfully, I do want it. His obsession should scare me, should make me run, but it doesn’t. It makes me feel—safe, claimed, protected in a way I’ve never known before. I find myself seeking him out, watching for the reassurance of his presence, my pulse calming when I catch his eye.
Night falls with a heavy hush. I walk the hallway, restless, unable to sleep. The house feels both fortress and prison. I pass a window overlooking the garden and pause, drawn by movementin the shadows. Someone slips past the hedge. I squint, heart stuttering. Is it Anton? One of Simon’s men?
No. It’s the man from earlier—the “delivery” badge gone, a hard edge to his posture now, nothing polite or casual about him. He circles the back of the house, eyes darting.
For a breath, I freeze, mind racing through everything Simon drilled into me about what to do if danger comes. I fumble for my phone, my hands clumsy with fear.
Suddenly, the man is right there in front of me.
“Miss, wait—” he says, voice low and urgent, but the pretense is gone. His hand shoots out, reaching for my arm.
Panic erupts, white-hot. I try to scream, but the sound catches in my throat. Before I can even react—before I can fight or run or call for help—a blur of movement slices through the darkness. Simon.
He appears like a shadow torn from the night, moving faster than I’ve ever seen. In a heartbeat he’s between us, grabbing the man’s wrist, wrenching it so hard I hear a wet pop. The intruder cries out, buckling, but Simon is merciless. He slams the man against the wall, forearm pressed to his throat.
“You made a mistake,” Simon growls, his voice thick with something primal and deadly. The man struggles, kicking out, but Simon is stone: unyielding, unstoppable.
“Simon!” My voice is shaky, but I can’t look away.
His eyes flick to mine, wild and dark. “Go inside, Eden.”
I nod, but I can’t move. My legs refuse to carry me. I press myself against the doorframe, hands shaking, breath coming in ragged gasps.
The man claws at Simon’s arm, but it’s useless. Simon holds him pinned, face inches away, radiating violence. “Who sent you?” he demands.
“Cortez—he said—” The man chokes, but Simon’s grip only tightens.
“Never again,” Simon snarls. “You go back to him missing a hand, or you don’t go back at all.”
The man whimpers. Simon shifts his grip, twisting the intruder’s arm until I hear another sickening crack. He releases him at last, and the man collapses, gasping, clutching his ruined arm.
“Tell Cortez,” Simon says coldly, “he’ll have to do better.”
He turns to me then, eyes blazing, chest heaving. The other man scrambles to his feet, limping away into the dark, and I finally find my voice. “Simon—”
He’s at my side in a blink, gathering me into his arms, holding me so tight I can barely breathe. I press against him, burying my face in his chest, shaking so badly I can’t stop. He doesn’t let go. One hand cradles the back of my head, the other wraps around my waist, anchoring me.
“Did he hurt you?” His voice is rough, urgent, desperate.
I shake my head, but tears start anyway, silent and sudden, everything catching up to me at once.
Simon’s hands are everywhere—brushing my hair back, checking my arms for bruises, holding me until the trembling slows. “You’re safe,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you. No one will ever touch you again.”
For a long time, we just stand there in the doorway, the night pressing in around us, the air thick with adrenaline and relief. His possessiveness is not just a claim; it’s a shield, lethal and absolute.
I realize, somewhere in the rush of my heartbeat, that I’m not afraid of him—not even a little. I’m afraid of the world without him.
He lifts me, carrying me inside as if I weigh nothing at all, and locks every door behind us.
“You stay with me,” he commands, voice hoarse. “From now on, you don’t go anywhere alone. Not for a second.”
I nod, letting him guide me through the apartment, back to our room. The tension in his body thrums against mine, barely leashed violence simmering beneath his skin.
