The kind that knew exactly how to punish.
"You're in my space." His voice stayed quiet, deliberate. Each word measured. "And you're touching things that don't belong to you."
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
My throat closed around air that suddenly felt too thick to swallow. My brain scrambled for words—explanations, apologies, deflections—but they all died before reaching my tongue.
What could I say?
I was bored?
I was avoiding you?
I saw the boy you used to be and now I can't unsee him?
He stepped into the room.
The door swung shut behind him with a soft, final click.
The sound echoed in my chest like a lock sliding home.
Trapped.
Again.
Always.
His gaze swept the study—the displaced photo, the shelf I'd disturbed, the dust on my fingertips I couldn't hide—and something darker flickered across his face. Not embarrassment. Not shame.
Recognition.
He knew exactly what I'd found.
And I'd just made it worse.
"Belle." My name sounded like a warning. Like the last chance I'd get before something shifted irreversibly. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"
Chapter 12
Gideon
I stepped into the study, let the door swing shut behind me. The click echoed louder than it should have—soft wood meeting soft frame, nothing aggressive about it. Just final.
Belle stood frozen by the shelf. Dust smudged her fingertips. Guilt painted her face in shades I could read from across the room.
She'd found it.
The photo tucked behind trophies and press clippings, hidden where most people wouldn't think to look. Where I'd convinced myself no one would bother searching.
She'd bothered.
I didn't move closer. The space between us already felt too small, crackling with the kind of tension that came from exposure neither of us had asked for.
She touched the one part of my life I refuse to let anyone see.
Possession flared hot under my skin. Territorial. Instinctive. The kind that made my hands curl into fists before I could stop them.
