Not comfort,resolve.
A glimpse of what I’m fighting for. A reminder of what’s at stake if I lose. If I hesitate. If I don’t finish what my father started.
She shifts again, pressing closer in her sleep, unaware of the war forming just beneath the surface. I hold her tighter, careful, controlled.
She will be safe.
I will make sure of it.
And with that vow burning quietly in my chest, I let sleep take me, deep and dreamless, with the woman I will never let go of right beside me.
Tonight, I don’t dream.
Tonight, I rest.
Finally.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Emmy
I wake cocooned in warmth. Claimed. Sheltered.
Khai’s arms are locked around me like a promise he has no intention of breaking, his breath a slow, steady ghost against my shoulder. I turn carefully within his hold, as if any sudden movement might shatter the moment, and let myself truly look at him.
The blinds were never drawn. Morning has crept in uninvited, spilling a muted, golden light across his face. It softens the sharp lines of him, tempers the darkness I know lives beneath his skin. In sleep, he looks almost harmless. Peaceful. Content. As though he doesn’t carry storms in his bones.
The sun warms my skin, gentle and forgiving, but his touch is another thing entirely. It burns. Not painfully. Possessively. A heat that sinks deep, settling somewhere it has no right to be. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to think. So I close my eyes, stealing a few more seconds in this fragile, perfect stillness, a rare moment where everything feels solid, inevitable. Where happiness doesn’t feel like a lie.
Khai shifts in his sleep. One arm stays firm around me, anchoring me there, while he rolls onto his back. Even like this, unguarded and unaware, he looks sinfully beautiful. Dangerous in the quiet way that doesn’t announce itself until it’s far too late.
He’d left me here last night, slipping away to finish whatever shadows demanded his attention. I remember how heavy my eyelids were, how deep sleep dragged me under. He must have returned long after, silent, careful, because I never felt him climb into bed.
Then it hits me.
Cold. Sudden. Merciless, like ice water poured straight down my spine.
The memory of the text surfaces through the haze of comfort, sharp enough to steal my breath. My chest tightens as I sit up slowly, carefully disentangling myself from Khai’s hold. I glance towards the bedside table where my phone lies in silent accusation, its dark screen turned face-up, waiting.
I don’t reach for it.
Not yet.
I’m not ready to see the words again, to let them sink their teeth back into me. Not ready to acknowledge the weight behind them, the intent, the threat wrapped in familiarity. I already know who sent it. I’ve known since the moment it arrived. But knowing doesn’t make it easier to face.
So, just for now, I pretend it doesn’t exist.
I slide out of bed, the sudden loss of his warmth sending a shiver through me. The room feels different without him touching me, larger, emptier, too quiet. I move through the apartment on bare feet, leaving the bedroom behind like a fragile dream I’m afraid to disturb.
Behind me, the phone remains where it is.
Watching.
I make myself a cup of coffee, standing still as the machine hums to life. The sound fills the silence, steady and mechanical. I watch as the coffee brews, drip by deliberate drip, as if time itself has slowed, stretching, waiting.
When it’s finished, I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the heat sink into my palms. It grounds me. Or at least, it tries to. I turn slowly, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and take in the space around me.
Everything still feels unreal. Like I’m standing inside a half-remembered dream, edges blurred, colours muted. So much has happened in such a short span of time that my mind hasn’t caught up, my heart even less so. I feel suspended between before and after, unsure which side I belong to anymore.
