“Yes.” The word felt like glass in my mouth. “But not because I want to. The club—”
“I don’t care about the club!” She was shouting now, something I’d rarely seen from her. “I care about us. I care about the man you said you’d become. And right now, you’re standing in my living room telling me that someone is threatening me, that I’m in danger, but you won’t tell me why or who or what’s actually happening. And you expect me to just... what? Accept it? Trust you blindly?”
“I’m asking for some time to figure this out—”
“Time.” She laughed bitterly. “For what? To come up with a better lie? To spin some story that I can’t poke holes in?”
“Indira—”
“No.” She held up a hand, and I stopped. “What’s in the box?” She walked to the coffee table and picked up the leather box—the one I’d forgotten I’d even brought.
“Open it,” I said quietly.
She did. Her hands stilled as she took in what was inside. She pulled out both cuts, laying them on the table, studying them with that analytical gaze I knew so well.
“You mentioned these,” she said slowly, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “In your emails. The old cut and the new one you had made.” She traced her fingers over the embroidery. “Property of Dutch. And this one... just my name with First Lady.”
“Partnership instead of ownership,” I said. “That’s what I wanted to show you. That’s who I’m trying to become.”
She looked up at me, something sharp and painful in her eyes. “And yet you brought these to distract me. To show me pretty symbols of change while you keep me in the dark about real danger.” She picked up the new cut and held it toward me. “You’re still the same man who thinks he knows best. Who thinks he can protect me by keeping me ignorant.”
I had no defense against her words.
“You want me to wear this cut,” she continued, her voice rising. “You want me to be your partner. But you lied to me. Again. The minute things got hard, you lied.”
She picked up the Property of Dutch cut, holding it beside the other. Her hands were shaking.
“That’s not fair—”
“You lied!” The word cracked through the room. “All those promises, all those emails about change, and the first time it actually mattered—” She threw both cuts onto the couch. “God, I’m so stupid.”
I stared at her, my chest hollow with the truth of what she was saying.
Because she was right.
When I’d seen those photos, my first thought hadn’t beenI need to tell Indira everything.It had beenI need to keep hersafe without her knowing the danger.The same pattern I’d fallen into before.
“You’re right,” I said quietly.
She blinked, surprised.
“Completely,” I continued, my voice rough. “Part of me does want to put you under club protection and make all the decisions, because it would be easier. I could tell myself I’m keeping you safe while really I’m just... controlling the situation. Controlling you.” I ran a hand over my face. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
She didn’t say anything, just watched me with those dark, unreadable eyes.
“I came here planning to give you just enough to keep you safe,” I admitted. “Vague warnings, careful words. Enough to get you to accept protection without having to explain why. And I told myself that was okay because I was protecting you.” I shook my head. “But that’s bullshit. That’s me deciding you can’t handle the truth. That’s me putting my comfort ahead of your right to make informed choices.”
“Yes.” Her voice was soft. “It is.”
“I want to tell you everything. But the club—”
“I know.” She held up a hand again. “I know there are rules. I’m not naive about what you are or what world you live in. But Jacob, if you can’t find a way to be honest with me about things that directly affect my life, my safety... then what are we even building here?”
I had no answer.
She set both cuts back in the box and closed the lid. When she spoke again, her voice was steady but heavy with exhaustion. “I need space to think.”
“Indira—”
