We ride the lift in silence, the doors sliding shut with a soft thud that feels far too final. The ascent stretches on, each floor ticking past as the tension tightens. He stands close, his presence crowding the small space, saying nothing, giving nothing away.
When the lift finally opens into his penthouse, the quiet follows us inside.
The door closes behind us with a muted click.
That’s when my patience finally snaps.
I turn to him, exhaustion and unease tangling together until I can barely tell them apart. “Why,” I ask, my voice low but steady, “do I need protecting, Khai?”
The question hangs between us, heavy with everything he still hasn’t said.
And for the first time since he took me from the hospital, I get the sense that the answer, when it comes, is going to change everything.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Khai
I should tell her.
The truth claws at the back of my throat, sharp and poisonous, demanding to be spoken. Every instinct I have tells me keeping her in the dark is a mistake, but letting her see the full picture would be catastrophic. Once she knows, there’s no pulling it back. No dulling the edges. No pretending this is just my paranoia tightening its grip.
She stands in the centre of my penthouse, shoulders squared, chin lifted. Defiant. Unyielding. Her eyes lock onto mine like she’s daring me to lie to her again.
“Why do I need protecting, Khai?”
The question lands harder than it has any right to.
I turn away before she can see the damage it does, the fracture in my control, the fury and fear twisting together in my chest. The city stretches beyond the glass walls, all lights and height and distance. A kingdom of steel and glass I usually trust to remind me that I’m in control.
Tonight, it feels like nothing more than an illusion.
Because he knows. Because he asked about her. Because I didn’t bury her existence deep enough.
The admissions hammer through me, one after another, each more damning than the last. My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms as if pain might keep the memories in check.
If I tell her, fear will take root.
It will seep into everything, into the way she looks at me, the way she moves through a room, the way she breathes when she thinks she’s alone. Fear makes people unpredictable. Fear makes them reckless.
Fear makes them run.
And I cannot afford for her to run.
“You’re safer here,” I say instead.
It isn’t a lie. It’s just incomplete.
I hear her sharp exhale behind me, frustration, anger, disbelief. Good. Those emotions are loud, manageable. I know how to contain them. I know how to stand firm against them without breaking.
I turn back to face her, forcing my features into calm, into control. I summon the version of myself the world sees, the man who never hesitates, never wavers, never lets the cracks show.
Not the one standing a breath away from losing his grip entirely.
“You dragged me out of my job,” she says quietly. “You brought me here without telling me why. That’s not safety. That’s confinement.”
The word cuts deeper than anything she’s said tonight.
I take a step toward her on instinct, then stop myself just as quickly. Closing the distance now would only prove her right. I’ve already crossed too many lines. I need to give her space, even if every part of me resists it.
