Are you going to let him take you on the date?
I don’t cancel.
I tell myself it’s because I won’t be dictated to. Because I won’t let him decide things for me. And if I’m honest, would he even accept me cancelling? The thought lingers, unsettling and strangely thrilling.
It’s just dinner, I insist. I won’t let him touch me. I won’t let him distract me with his scent, his presence,
His lips.
I stop short, breath hitching. “No, Emmy,” I mutter aloud, shaking my head like I can dislodge the image. I will leave when I want to. Tonight, I will be in control.
That’s the lie I cling to.
Because the truth is, I’m not afraid of the date. And I’m not afraid of Khai.
I’m afraid of how badly I want it.
And that, more than anything else, tells me I’m already standing far closer to the edge than I should be.
Chapter Seventeen
Khai
I wake before the city decides to move.
The sky beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass is still heavy with night, a dull slate bruised by the promise of dawn. I sit up, already alert, already aware. Sleep has never held me for long. Routine does.
The gym is quiet when I step inside. No music. No screens. Just steel, rubber, and the faint hum of the building waking beneath my feet. I load the bar without hesitation, hands moving from muscle memory alone, and start the first set.
Lift. Breathe. Control.
Normally, this is where my thoughts fall into line.
Today, they don’t.
She intrudes between one repetition and the next, uninvited and relentless.
Emmy, under strobe lights. Her body moving with the music, loose and unguarded. Another man’s hands on her waist. Ryan’s hands. Too familiar. Too close. His mouth leaning toward her ear like he has the right to be there.
My grip tightens.
The image sharpens, cruel and vivid, her laughing, head tilted just enough to invite him closer. His fingers pressing into her skin where mine should have been. Possession slams through me, hot and violent, something ancient and unforgiving roaring awake.
Mine.
The word lands like a blow.
I add more weight to the bar and lift again, harder this time, muscles straining, breath controlled but sharp. Sweat slicks my spine as I pushthrough the burn, chasing exhaustion the way I’ve always done when I need to outrun a thought.
It doesn’t help.
I see his hands again. I see her letting him touch what was never his to touch. Rage coils tight in my chest, dark and deliberate. The only reason he’s still breathing is because she didn’t know better yet.
I rack the bar with more force than necessary and straighten slowly, jaw clenched. She didn’t choose him.
That matters.
I will make sure she understands the difference.
