Chapter 21

“Beauty like hers
was never built to last,
it trembles,
it flickers,
it learns how to bleed
without dying.“

Aylin’s POV

It was like waking up mid-sentence, in a story I didn’t remember starting.

One blink, and the world had changed shape and color. Everything felt wrong, like time itself had stuttered. Nathan’s hands were on my face and neck, pressed hard against the place my pulse lived, checking if it was still there, if I was still there.

And his eyes…oh god, his eyes.

The same eyes that never reflected anything, those same eyes that always hid more than they revealed, now looked nothing like him. They were a collision of…emotions that didn’t belong together.

I didn’t understand.

The last thing I remembered was running, hearing his footsteps closing in behind me, the laughter and excitement bubbling within me, then…nothing.

My pulse grew wilder the longer I tried to think, as if my own body was warning me not to dig deep.

The only clue I had was his expression. I’d never seen him look like that before, not even in his worst, darkest moods, almost like he’d seen something he couldn’t unsee.

Something inside me twisted. I knew that look had something to do with me.

I opened my mouth to speak, to ask what was wrong, but the words stuck. A strange, metallic taste coated my tongue, like a guilt I hadn’t earned yet.

I didn’t have to ask; I knew. It must’ve happened again. Whatever it was. That dark thing that had lived in the corners of my mind for years…it had woken up, back to take everything from me all over again.

My body went cold. I wanted to lie down, curl into myself, vanish until the world stopped spinning. My brain felt drained, as if it had spent every ounce of energy it had just trying to stay here.

Nathan blinked, and that rare look vanished. His face returned to that unreadable casual calm I knew too well. Without warning, he dropped his hands, breaking every point of contact, and took a step back.

The loss of his touch felt more painful than it should have.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice flat and detached. It wasn’t him, not the version from minutes ago, who teased, or touched, or smiled like the world began and ended in me.

I didn’t open my mouth. I don’t think I’m capable of that now.

He turned and started walking, not waiting for me. On slow steps, I followed, my eyes tracing the lines of his back, the way his shoulders stayed perfectly still. Everything about him read as calm, almost casual.

That was the thing about Nathan. You never got to see inside his mind unless he wanted you to, and right now, I could feel him shutting every door and locking me out.

A chill slipped down my spine, and I wrapped my arms around myself. I paused in my steps when I realized he wasn’t walking toward where I’d parked my car.

“My car’s to the left,” I said, finally finding my voice.

Nathan paused and looked back at me. His eyes darkened instantly, “You’re not driving.” It was an order, for some reason, then his hand curled over my arm and pulled me. “You’re coming with me.”

When he finally stopped, I looked around for his car, but couldn’t find it. Instead, my gaze caught on the hulking black motorcycle parked under the streetlight…Holy crap, he doesn’t actually think I’m getting on that monstrous thing, does he?

He picked up the helmet, walking toward me like the decision had already been made. I shook my head and took a step back. “No. Absolutely not,” I said, my voice firmer than I felt.

His jaw flexed once, the muscle ticking in quiet warning. He reached for my arm again, dragging me a fraction closer. “Like I said, you’re not driving.”

My own patience snapped. I yanked my arm free, matching his glare, having had enough of his commanding tone. “That’s not for you to decide,” I shot back, heat creeping into my voice. I turned to walk away, but his hand caught me again, pulled me closer, harder this time, and I stumbled right into his chest. This infuriating human being.

I gasped, more out of anger than surprise. “Nathan—”

He bent his head down until his mouth brushed the shell of my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “Don’t test me, Aylin,” he murmured, his voice low but hard. “Not now.”

He didn’t stop at that. “Fight me over this, and I’ll throw you over my shoulder and drag you home like last time,” He added, and all of that anger in him felt misdirected, burning at me when I’d done nothing to deserve it.

I looked up, glaring at him, my jaw tightening. I wanted to fight back, to tell him off, I really did, but my limbs felt heavy, my body drained as if my mind needed to shut down and was trying to reboot. “You can drive my car, then,” I managed, forcing the words out through my dry throat.

One of his brows arched, a flicker of mockery sliding across his face. “That ugly little thing you call a car?” he drawled. “No, thanks. I happen to have standards.”

I made a mental note to kill him later, once I had the strength.

“I’m not getting on that death trap,” I muttered.

He didn’t listen to me, of course, and instead, edged back so he could slip the helmet over my head. It was much heavier than I expected, the padding pressing close around my cheeks, the faint scent of leather and his cologne filling my nose.

“I’ve been driving it for years, and newsflash, I am still alive.” He said as he tilted my chin to fasten the strap beneath it, tightening it just enough. “So the probability of you dying on it now,” he murmured, “is slim to none.”

Then, he stepped away only long enough to tug on his own gear, a pair of black leather gloves. He extended one hand, “Hands,” he ordered me again. Punch him, then kill him. I mentally penciled both onto tomorrow’s to-do list.

I sighed but obeyed, letting him pull them over my fingers. They were too big, his very own, and they swallowed my hands, the leather cool against my skin before his warmth seeped through as he tightened the wrist straps.

“Still, we could die,” I added.

“If we die,” he said, his voice muffled through the helmet but still distinctly him, with all of its dark humor, “at least you’ll go clinging to me.”

He adjusted the gloves once more, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand, gentler now. “And honestly?” His gaze flicked up before he closed my visor. “I can’t think of a better way to go than that.”

“Hop on,” he added, too casual for everything happening.

I still hesitated and stared at the machine like it might bite me. The metal gleamed under the streetlight; it screamed power and threat. I didn’t move for a long minute. So, Nathan, being Nathan, decided patience was overrated. He nudged me forward, his hands landing on my hips, guiding, no, pushing me closer.

“Come on,” he murmured, “It doesn’t bite. I do.”

I slapped his hand away, cursing him under my breath, and tried to swing my leg over the seat. The bike shifted under my weight, tilting just enough to send my heart into my throat. I yelped and instantly grabbed onto him, clutching his arm with all of my might before I could fall. He steadied me, smug as hell, and climbed as well, ever so smoothly.

That’s when I noticed he only had one helmet, the one currently on my head. “You’re not wearing a helmet,” I mumbled.

He reached for the handlebars, the soft growl of the bike coming alive under us. “If we crash, I’m fine with my face getting mutilated,” he said casually, over the rumble of the engine. His hand found mine and dragged my arms around his waist until I was flush against him.

“But I’m not letting a single scratch touch that pretty face of yours.”

Well, he can’t order me around, then say cute stuff like that, so I stayed silent, unreactive to him. He pulled the bike away from the curb and onto the street. My breath caught at every turn, every vibration rumbling through the machine and straight into my spine.

It was my first time on a motorcycle, and every part of me was painfully aware of how little control I had, the night wind clawing at my clothes, the sound swallowing my heartbeat, the world reduced to motion and his body in front of me.

For a fleeting moment, I forgot how furious I was at him. I exhaled sharply and loosened my hold, untangling my arms from around his waist. My hands searched for something else to anchor to, and found the cold metal bars on either side of the seat.

Nathan noticed immediately, and without missing a beat, he let go of the handlebars with one hand, reached back, and caught my wrist midair. The bike didn’t even waver. He dragged my arm forward and wrapped it around his torso again, “Hold on properly.”

I shoved his hand off and pulled back again, resisting him still.

“Okay, as you want,” he said, his voice dark, almost amused, and then he opened the throttle.

The bike surged forward with a violent growl, the sudden burst of speed slamming my body into his back. A gasp tore out of me before I could stop it, instinct taking over. My hands flew to his chest, clutching tight, holding onto him with panic.

His chest vibrated underneath my touch, ever so delighted.

Deciding it was wiser not to poke the monster again, I kept holding onto him. It didn’t help that the asshole felt so warm and unshakably steady. My palms flattened against the hard muscle of his abdomen through his shirt, moving to his chest, feeling the quiet rhythm of his breathing, so infuriatingly calm. But was it, really?

In the small side mirror, I caught his reflection. His jaw was tight, locked in that dangerous kind of focus he wore when trying not to break something. His hair whipped wild in the wind, and his knuckles were pale on the handlebars. He looked composed, but his composure was armor. I think I know him enough now to see the crack in it.

Something inside me softened. Without meaning to, my hands shifted, one gloved palm sliding over his chest, up and down, a small, instinctive movement that felt like reassurance.

We stopped at a red light. Nathan didn’t look back, didn’t speak to me, but one of his hands left the handlebars and reached for mine. His fingers found the back of my hand and traced along it, so tenderly over the smooth leather of the glove.

It wasn’t a possessive touch this time. It was grounding, reassuring, a silent I’m here. You’re fine. We’re fine.

The light turned green, and his hand didn’t let go of mine as the bike rolled forward again. My arms tightened instinctively, pressing closer to him, and for the first time all night, my mind finally stopped spinning. The noise inside me quieted, my body finding rhythm in his.

I didn’t even realize we’d reached my apartment block until he slowed and pulled to the side.

Nathan cut the engine and exhaled, the sound soft, like a release he’d been holding onto for miles. Then, he shifted his body, his thigh brushing against mine as he steadied the bike with one foot on the ground.

His hand came up to my waist, “Come here,” he said, his voice low.

Before I could ask what he meant, he was already moving me. One hand anchored at my waist, the other braced the seat to steady us as he pulled me forward. The bike shifted under the weight, his thigh flexing to balance it, and in a single, effortless motion, I was turned, pivoted from behind him to straddling his lap.

My knees bracketed his hips, and my spine met the cold press of the handlebars behind me. His chest pressed against mine, and before I could breathe, his hands were on the helmet, unbuckling, lifting, and sliding it off.

My hair fell against my face, and the night air bit at my flushed skin.

Then, without a warning, he leaned in, his fingers wrapped around my throat, not hard, just enough to remind me who was in control, and pulled me closer until there was nowhere left to go. His breath brushed my lips before his lips crashed deeply into my own.

It wasn’t gentle, not in any sense. It was the kind of kiss that burned through every layer of restraint, the kind that tasted like a man losing his grip on reason. His mouth claimed mine with a hunger that bordered on madness, as if he’d been holding back and finally snapped.

Every time Nathan kisses me, it feels new, like he’s rewriting the rules of touch itself. Each movement of his mouth teaches me something different about wanting, about needing, about being wanted to the point of utter madness.

His lips moved against mine with that desperate rhythm only he could make feel like worship and punishment at once. His hand slid higher, his fingers threading into my hair, holding me there, deepening the kiss until I forgot the world entirely.

God, every time he touches me, I forget that anyone ever existed before him. No one ever kissed like he does. No one ever devoured me like he does…so completely, so hopelessly, it feels like he’s trying to taste the part of me that keeps slipping away.

I tore off one of the gloves, desperate to feel him properly. My palm met his jaw, skin against skin, and it was everything he was, cold and warm at once, calm and chaos bound together.

He pulled back slowly, his lips brushing mine once, twice, so softly, a maddening contrast to the way he’d just taken my breath like it belonged to him.

Then he drew in a deep breath, “Come on,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than before. “Go inside. It’s cold out here.”

I couldn’t help the way my heart dipped. “You’re not coming in?”

He shook his head once, his eyes dropping to my still-gloved hand. He caught it gently, his thumb brushing over the leather before sliding it off finger by finger. “No,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on my bare hand now. “I need to…clear my head.”

I swallowed hard, “Can’t you do that here?”With me?

I wanted to tell him more, tell him that…I needed him to stay. That, when this thing happens, my mind feels so weak. That I needed his strength to anchor me. I desperately needed that, but if I opened my mouth, it would sound like begging, and I couldn’t let that happen.

Nathan lifted his head, meeting my eyes. His expression was still maddeningly calm, so composed, “Clearing my head usually includes violence.” His hand came up, brushing my hair behind my ear, “and as much as I love manhandling you when we have sex,” He leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss to the side of my head, near my temple, “I’d never risk hurting you, princess.”

I tried not to reflect my inner turmoil, or every intense feeling he pushed out of me, alongside that sharp sting of disappointment. I nodded my head and whispered, “Okay.”

Nathan helped me off the bike. His hands lingered over my body for a moment, and then they were gone. The cold night air rushed in to take their place. “Good night,” I murmured, not trusting myself to look at him as I turned and walked away.

I made it to my apartment on autopilot. My keys rattled in my hand as I unlocked the door. When I stepped in, the soft click of it closing behind me sounded louder than it should have.

I took one step forward and froze.

Something crunched beneath my shoe.

A sharp pulse of unease ran up my spine. I looked down at the…paper, torn at the edges, and folded in half, resting right by the entrance, like someone had slipped it in.

For a heartbeat, I couldn’t move. My throat constricted, the air thinning in my lungs. I knew what that paper could be.

I took a step back, squeezing my eyes shut as if that could make it disappear, but the silence pressed harder, urging me to look and just face it, then add it to the pile of other similar notes.

I knelt, my fingers trembling as I picked it up. The paper was cool against my skin, almost damp. I unfolded it slowly, my pulse thudding in my ears.

There were two lines written, the same handwriting as before, pressed too deeply into the center of the page.

Do you still dream of me?
Because I do,
every
single
night.

My jaw tightened, the paper trembling between my fingers before I nearly crushed it in my grip. I pressed my eyes shut, forcing air back into my lungs, trying not to let this get to me again.

Just then, a knock echoed from the door behind me. I gasped, my heart jolting against my ribs, and spun toward the door. For a long second, I couldn’t move, startled.

I crumpled the note, shoving it into my pocket, then walked forward, hesitant, every step slow until my hand found the handle and twisted.

The lump in my throat rose higher when my eyes fell on his, standing there like he hadn’t just pushed me away minutes ago. “Nathan?” I said, taken aback.

His jaw worked, the muscle ticking as he stepped inside without waiting for permission and closed the door. “I promised you that—” he muttered, his voice rough and frustrated. His hand moved, and he scratched the back of his head, “that I wouldn’t leave again without an explanation, so I couldn’t go.”

My heart tripped; it clenched so tight that it hurt. Him, what just happened, and the paper in my pocket, it all pressed down on me at once, stacking weight over weight until my vision blurred and my body begged me not to break.

I didn’t want him to see me so weak, so I closed my eyes, trying to swallow them back, but one, just one, trickled past the threshold, carving its way down my cheek.

I felt him before I saw him, the way his fingertip brushed the tear before it could fall further. I opened my eyes, watching as his gaze flickered from my face to the tear now resting on the tip of his thumb.

Something dark flickered across his face, and his jaw flexed. “I don’t like it,” He muttered.

I cleared my throat, straightening and forcing myself to hold steady. “Don’t like what?”

“Your tear,” he muttered, his gaze dipping back to my face, to where it had fallen. “It doesn’t fit on your face. I don’t want it.”

His eyes found mine again, and something in them faltered. He must’ve seen it, my fear, my exhaustion, that fragile part of me I was trying so hard to hide…and for once, he didn’t know what to do with it.

Nathan always had an answer, a smile, a smirk, a cruel dark joke to soften his own edges. But now, silence filled the space between us.

His throat worked, the sound breaking the stillness. Then he exhaled, trying to sound like himself again. “Tears of pleasure, though? Those I eat up.” He lifted his hand, brushing his thumb beneath my eye. “But this?” he murmured, “Not acceptable, okay, princess?”

I shouldn’t have leaned into his touch, but I did. My body moved before my mind could stop it, my cheek brushing his palm. “It happened again, didn’t it?” I asked quietly.

He stilled, then nodded once. “Yeah.”

“Did I…” I hesitated, scared I’d done something similar to that day at the cabin. “Did I say something?”

Nathan’s jaw clenched. His chest rose sharply as he dragged in a breath. “You didn’t,” he said, “and that was the worst part.”

I kept silent, out of words. He watched me for a long moment before his voice broke the quiet again, “Can we talk about it?”

Nathan never asks. He commands, teases, provokes, but never asks. The uncertainty in his tone made my throat tighten. He was hesitant, like even he knew this was a place he shouldn’t step into.

I shook my head, the word refusing to leave my lips. I didn’t have it in me to open that door now.

He studied me for another second, then nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said, his voice too quiet.

⊹˚₊‧──────────────‧₊˚⊹

Nathan’s POV

I hated everything about this.

I felt out of character, unsteady, and just fucking…wrong.

This was an uncharted territory of sorts, one I’ve never traversed, and shouldn’t, but something about this princess of mine keeps pulling me in, something I can’t name, can’t describe even if I wanted to.

I wanted, no, I needed, fucking needed to hit something, someone, to feel bone crack under my knuckles, to bleed, to hurt, to be hurt, to feel some physical pain, because that kind of pain made sense, it was simple, predictable. At least that kind of pain would take some of this horrible, festering thing in my chest and bleed it out.

She looked at me like I was both the fire that burned her and the shelter she ran to for warmth, and it’s messing with my fucking head.

Before the urge to bolt the fuck out of the door could swallow me whole, the doorbell rang, once, then twice. The sharp sound startled Aylin, her head snapping toward it.

Her brows pinched together, confusion flickering across her face. She stepped away from me, collecting herself in that subtle, practiced way, slipping her I’m fine, I’m normal mask back on before pulling the door open.

An old man stood in the doorway, tall, lean, and utterly composed. His hair, more silver than white, was combed neatly back, and his washed-out green eyes carried that pale stillness of age. But the second they landed on my princess, something in them softened.

“Oh my god, Grandpa,” Aylin breathed, pure shock and delight colliding in her tone before she threw her arms around him.

A throaty chuckle rumbled from the man as he folded her into his arms, one hand cradling the back of her head like she was still a child. “I missed you so much,” he murmured into her hair.

“Me too, so much,” she whispered back, clutching him tighter, her voice small but full of warmth.

I stood there, watching. This version of her, this unguarded, relaxed one, felt so foreign. She’s never like that with me. She’s never without her guard, her edge, or her fire.

My gaze shifted back to the man, dissecting every inch. My head tilted slightly as I studied him, tracing the lines etched deep into his face, the posture that spoke of power and authority. His attire unmistakably screamed old money without needing to. My eyes followed the little details, like the antique watch on his wrist and his custom-made designer shoes.

Even with age pressing at the corners of him, he was impossibly well put together. I deduced he had to be her grandfather on her mother’s side; her father’s family wasn’t nearly this aristocratic.

Just then, the man’s eyes flicked from my girl in his arms and fell on me. His strong gaze lingered, unflinching, and not a flicker of surprise at finding a stranger in his granddaughter’s home. That’s when it clicked. I resisted the urge to smile.

Aylin pulled back, still clutching onto the old man’s arm. “When did you get here?” She asked, her voice so light, the color blooming back into her cheeks, ever so delighted.

“Just today,” he replied, brushing a tender hand over her face.

My jaw tightened, the muscle ticking once as my fingers curled into a fist at my side. The urge to tear him away from her flared higher with every second. “And I had to see my favorite girl before anyone else,” he added, smiling down at her.

He threw his arm around her shoulder and stepped into the flat. “So,” he said, his voice calm, polished in a way that rubbed me the wrong way, “who’s this young man?”

Aylin tensed instantly. I saw it, the slight shift in her posture, the flick of her eyes toward me, like she’d only just remembered I existed.

Fucking hell, I did not like that one bit.

“Uh…Grandpa,” she started, hesitant, her throat working around the words. Her discomfort rolled off her in waves. What the fuck? She better not be ashamed of me, or I will fucking…

Breathe in, breathe out, Nathan. In and out, before you do something stupid.

I stepped forward, just in time. “I am the boyfriend,” I answered on her behalf before she calls me a friend or something and urges me to commit a murder. I extended my hand forward, my smile ever so angelic and polite, “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

His eyes fell on my hand, and his jaw clenched, once, twice, before he brought his hand up. He curled it over mine and squeezed tight, tighter than necessary, a silent warning, “I am not exactly fond of people stealing my little girl from me,” He said, ever so direct.

I returned the squeeze with equal pressure, my smile losing whatever pretense of niceness it had. “How convenient, I also happen to hate people taking my princess’s attention away from me,” I said, not caring to play nice. He was here for me, anyway. His daughter must’ve sent him after I threatened her. It was obvious.

Aylin’s eyes widened at the edge in my tone. “Nathan,” she hissed in warning before she came between us to break the contact of our not very peaceful handshake.

She looked back at the old man, flashing him the cutest, most innocent look. “Grandpa, this is Nathan—he is…”  She swallowed hard, as if the fact of who I was to her was too hard to spell out. What am I going to do with this bratty princess of mine? I won’t be very nice the next time I fuck this attitude out of her…

“He is my boyfriend,” Her voice dipped when she said it, and yeah, that was fucking shame in her voice. My jaw ticked, and I glared at the back of her head, “But it’s new, really, I mean, we only just started dating.” The fuck is wrong with her?

“Meaning it might end just as quick, good, nice to hear that,” The old man said, taunting me. When his eyes went back to her, he smiled, leaned down, and pecked her cheek. “Just kidding, you know that as long as you’re happy, I am,” He said, sounding quite convincing.

Aylin relaxed instantly, buying into his civil act, slipping right back into that soft, oblivious happiness. “Come in,” she urged, still glowing from his affection. “You’ll stay here tonight, right?”

Again, what the fuck?

He nodded. “Sure.” Then his eyes met mine, the faintest smile curling his lips. “Do you think I’d leave you alone?” His words were directed at me, and I rolled my eyes, unfazed by his big boy act. I couldn’t care less.

Aylin’s smile widened, melting deeper into his embrace, “Awesome,” She muttered, “Uh, let me quickly change.” She looked down at herself before she turned to me, her eyes screaming behave.

I offered her a smile and nodded, but she didn’t buy it.

“I’ll be back,” she mumbled, walking down the hallway, throwing glances over her shoulder like she was expecting to return to blood on the walls.

The second her door clicked shut, the mask dropped. The old man’s hand shot out, gripping my arm and yanking me closer. His voice came low, stripped of that false warmth.

“Look here,” he grated, “I know what you did today, and I’m not a fan of people threatening my family.”

See, I told you, it’s so obvious.

A slow smile cut across my face before I bothered to look at his hand, where it still gripped my arm. “And I am not a fan of people touching me,” I said, my voice strained at the edges, “So either you remove your hand, or I’ll make sure your skull develops a lovely, permanent fracture. Preferably before she gets back to see it.”

His jaw ticked, and he let go of me with force. Patience, I told myself…she likes him. She won’t forgive me if I kill him now. Patience, Nathan, patience.

“This will be the only time I use my words,” The old man said, “You will leave her, and you will never let me see you near her ever again. If you cross me, you won’t like the lengths I’ll go to make sure you don’t.”

“You see, the more you deny me this, the more I’ll want it,” I said, keeping my tone casual just to infuriate him, but I was equally burning on the inside, “So, I suggest you try something else.”

He took a step closer, crowding my space, thinking he could scare me. God, he really should’ve done his homework before picking a fight with me. “You will let go of the whole medical history ordeal, you’ll leave my daughter and granddaughter alone,” He stressed out on each word, “And if you don’t…well,” His lips curved up, “I’d just have to dry her tears with my sleeves when she loses you ever so tragically.”

I chuckled, “I like you,” I said, “Much more than your daughter, you’re more like my type.”

“But, I’d hate to break it to you, once more,” I added, “I am not gonna stop till I find out what you people are trying so desperately to hide,” I said, never backing off. If anything, I am more determined than ever now.

“I’m not stopping until I pull out whatever you’ve been burying. Anything that threatens my princess’s peace of mind, I’ll extract it from her life, piece by piece,” I added, “including your daughter, you, and whatever threatened her life back then, in that pool, at your summer house.”

My words did exactly what they were meant to. His gaze faltered, barely, but enough. His jaw locked, muscles tightening as if to hold the truth in place, and that was all the confirmation I needed.

Whatever happened back then…well, there was where I’d find all of my answers.

“So, my friendly advice to you, don’t threaten me again,” I said, tapping my hand over his shoulder in an ever calm manner. “You won’t like me when I retaliate.”

I heard Aylin’s door open and her steps getting closer, so I shifted gears instantly, smoothing the roughness out of my tone, the predator back in its cage.

“…so yeah, I finished med school but didn’t pursue it as a career,” I said casually, as if we’d been chatting about hobbies instead of murder. “Business was more fitting at the time.”

When I turned, Aylin was already there, her gaze darting between us, suspicion flickering for half a second before she caught the tail end of my peaceful words. “Princess, your grandpa is just so curious about me. Why didn’t you ever mention me to him?”

Color rushed to her cheeks, her lips parting just slightly as she shot me that look, the stop calling me that name in front of him, look.

“Like I said, we just started dating,” She said, stressing each word. “I haven’t told anyone yet.”

“Are you sure?” I leaned in, savoring the small panic in her eyes, taking my revenge for her refusal to acknowledge me without fucking shame. “If my math’s right, we met nine months ago.” I said, “That’s not that recent, is it now?”

Heat flamed up her neck. If her grandfather hadn’t been standing there, she would’ve clawed my face off.

I turned to the man, soaking in his annoyance and frustration, “The first time I met her was just…phenomenal, it’s such a pity she hasn’t told you about it,” I poured gasoline into the crackling fire, “I must tell you our story, every little detail, really drive home how charming your granddaughter can be—”

Aylin rushed forward, panic written all over her face, coming in between us and shushing me, “Grandpa, you must be tired after your flight. Why don’t you go freshen up?” She said, the words rushing out of her quickly, terrified I’d disclose every detail about the truth of our first meeting, well, considering we had sex on an airplane.

“Meanwhile, I’ll prepare us something to drink,” Aylin added, smiling cutely and flashing him the puppy eyes that must’ve worked wonders over the years.

The man nodded his head, needing to be far away from me, too. “Yeah, sure, sweetie,” he said, flashing me another threatening look that promised meaningless consequences before he disappeared down the hall.

Aylin whirled around, a furious little thing, “You’re just the most infuriating human on the face of the earth, aren’t you?” She shot out, her face flamed, “Why can’t you behave for once in your life?”

“I don’t know how to,” I shrugged, ever so innocently, “No one taught me that.”

Her nostrils flared, and she shot me a glare that should’ve burned. I edged closer, and she stepped back, infuriating me on purpose. My hand reached for her neck, wrapping around the flesh, not hard, but enough to stop her from moving away. “You’ve triggered me quite a lot tonight. I’ll be coming back for revenge, but now, I am getting out of here.”

The relief that flashed in her eyes at that only added to my rage. It pissed me off. For one awful second, I nearly tightened my fingers over her throat to remind her who was in control in here, but held back. I eased my fingers away, my fingertips ghosting over the sweet, racing pulse at her throat. “I don’t appreciate it when I am not the center of your attention.”

She narrowed her eyes at me and slapped my hand away from her neck, “He’s my grandpa, are you insane?”

I nodded, “Still, don’t like it, not one bit.” I leaned in to peck her lips, but she pushed me away, denying me even the kiss. Oh, I was gonna have my fun with her later. My eyebrow raised, “You’d better run away from me when you see me tomorrow. I am not a good sport when I am triggered.”

Her jaw clenched, and she pulled back from me, ignoring me and walking toward the kitchen, in an attempt to escape.

As I turned to leave, the old man reappeared in the doorway. I stepped forward until we were face-to-face. “Apologies for cutting this short,” I said, smoothly, “But I’ve got to go, dear future grandpa-in-law.” I winked. “Pleasure meeting you.”

He leveled me with that same glare. “Remember what I said,” he warned. “Leave her alone, or I will destroy you and everything you hold dear.”

“Well, bad news for you, then,” I smiled, “The only thing I hold dear is your granddaughter.”

⊹˚₊‧─────────────‧₊˚⊹

One day later…

Did I lose my mind? Yeah—probably.

The question kept ricocheting in my skull, an echo that refused to shut up the closer I walked. There was no rational explanation for me being here unless the last thread holding me together had finally snapped. You see, I’ve always walked the edge of madness, but I guess my princess had finally pushed me off that cliff. Why else would I be here now? I’ve gone mad. That’s it.

I paused at the wooden door, calculating my chances of walking away…no one would even know I’d been here. My eyes skimmed the lobby, the high ceilings, the wide space,  the tall panes of glass, giving glimpses of the green, carefully curated forest behind. The whole decor was the same beige-and-white palette everyone uses to sell a sense of serenity and calm.

I huffed out a low breath and tried to focus on what mattered. I raised my fist and knocked on the door. Once, twice, hesitated a bit before the third one.

“Come in,” Natalie’s voice called from inside her office.

I pushed the door open and stepped across the threshold, my gaze already sweeping the room. It was a little habit of mine, a means of survival, to catalog details fast so I could always find the advantage over my opponent.

Natalie’s office was like her…loud, colorful, far too full of life, with too many plants, too many pictures and frames, too many unnecessary decorations. Did we really share DNA? Some days, I doubt it.

She was bent over a cabinet, rummaging through files, when the sound of my steps made her turn. The instant she saw me, her entire body language shifted, the tension straightened her spine, and her hands froze mid-motion.  At least, I could take pleasure in making her uncomfortable.

“Nathan?” she said, her eyebrows knitting together like she wasn’t sure I was real. She blinked, collecting herself, then added, “Uh, hey.” The file in her hand hit the drawer with a thud as she shut it and stepped toward me. “Come in, come in. What…what’s wrong?”

Yeah, that tracks. For me to show up here willingly, something had to be off.

“I don’t know if you have time,” I said quickly, before I could change my mind and leave, “but I could use some of your…professional knowledge in something.”

She blinked again, still trying to process my presence. “Yeah. Sure,” she said slowly. “I am totally free, I mean, I don’t actually have patients today, I just dropped by to—uh, never mind. Come in, sit down.”

She motioned toward the small couches near her desk. I sank into one and shifted, restless already, as she took the seat across from me instead of behind her desk, trying to make this feel less clinical.

“Do you want something to drink?” She asked, ever the generous host.

I shook my head, “No.”

“How’ve you been?”

“I am not here to talk about me,” I cut her off instantly, “Like I said, I am here for psychologist-Natalie, not the Natalie I share DNA with, can you do that, or not?” I said, not an ounce of emotion in my voice, asking her to stick to her limits from the very start.

Her smile faltered. Her eyes drifted for a moment before her jaw tightened and she leaned back in her seat. “Yeah, sure,” she said finally, the warmth in her voice cooling into clinical professionalism. Good.

“If I give you a list of symptoms,” I said, “can you give me a diagnosis?”

Her brow creased, her eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. “It won’t be exact, but I can try.”

“It’s about…a friend of mine, by the way,” I opted for that; she didn’t need to know everything, after all.

She nodded, waiting.

I leaned forward, “Memory lapses,” I said. “Blank-out episodes. Moments where he’s there, but…not really. You look at him, and it’s like watching someone on autopilot, the eyes open, but…the lights are off.”

“He can talk during them,” I went on, “move, but sometimes just…freeze completely. But when it’s over, he remembers nothing, not a damn thing. It’s like time skips for him.” I paused, my jaw tightening. “It’s been happening since he was a kid, stopped for years, but now it’s back, and it’s getting worse. Doesn’t happen in crowds, just…in certain situations, I guess.”

I glanced at her, gauging her expression.

“Anything else you can tell me?” she asked quietly.

I exhaled through my nose. “There’s this incident. Something that happened when he was young. He says someone tried to drown him in a pool.” I clarified, “And now I think that same someone’s after him again, psychologically torturing him by leaving notes and whatnot.”

“So,” I said, “What does your professional brain make of that?”

Natalie stayed quiet for a few seconds, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp, “Well…if what you’re describing is accurate, there are a few possible explanations.” She said, “Still, I can’t give you a definite diagnosis; it’s not that easy. I’ll need to meet the patient, talk with them, and have several tests done. Only then could we reach a definite answer.”

My jaw ticked at her words, so she carried on, “But, based on what you explained,” She leaned forward slightly, “The blank-out episodes and memory loss could indicate some type of dissociative response, something that happens when the mind disconnects to protect itself from trauma. Usually, there’s an early event that triggers it, something the brain files away as too dangerous to process normally.”

I stayed silent. She glanced at me briefly, as if to check I was still following.

“If it started in childhood, that pool incident you mentioned could be the original trauma,” she continued. “You said he believed someone tried to drown him?”

I nodded.

“Is there anyone else who could back up that story?”

I shook my head, “No, even his parents didn’t believe him.”

That seemed to catch her attention. “Hmm,” She mumbled lowly, ever so thoughtful. “Now, the thing is, we’re taught to be cautious with childhood memories,” she said, her words measured. “Kids interpret things differently. Perception is everything at that age.”

My eyebrows pulled closer, “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that maybe…just maybe, there’s a possibility it didn’t happen the exact way he remembers it,” She explained.

She read my lost expression, so she added, “But still, that doesn’t really matter, because no matter what happened that day, the brain perceived it as life-threatening, which is enough to fracture how memories are stored.”

So, again, it all goes back to that day. Fuck, I really needed to figure out what happened. I don’t think Layla and her father are going to be cooperative. Still, I was going to cause them enough anarchy and mayhem till they give up, but till then, I needed to find other ways.

“What caught my attention is that you said it stopped for a while,” she added, her eyebrows tightening, “But only started again recently?”

I nodded, “I guess so.”

“I am just going to speak my thoughts out loud now,” she mumbled, “You said it doesn’t happen in a crowd, because when we are surrounded by people, you know, whether in our work-life or in public, we are more guarded, more in control.”

Her eyes met mine, explaining her theory, “So, when you remove that setting and those factors, when you are alone, or…with someone you trust, you let go, and your guard goes down, so what I could surmise is that in that moment where he lets go, something happens and triggers it…which means…” She blinked, and her jaw clenched as she came to some unfortunate conclusion.

“Which means what?”

Her frown deepened, “There is a psychological side to this, but also it feels like something physical could be wrong with the brain.”

If her goal was to get me to fucking panic, then congrats, she succeeded. If it’s only psychological, then I can deal with it. I will find her monster and fucking slaughter it. Easy. But, if there was something physically wrong with her, what could I possibly do?

My jaw clenched, my feet tapped the floor, the anxiousness creeping up my spine, “You mean…do you mean a tumor?”

“Not necessarily a tumor,” she said. “There are multiple problems that can mimic these symptoms.”

My fingers drummed over my thigh, “Natalie, I don’t understand you,” I grated out, my voice hardening.

She watched me for a second, watched the way my leg jittered, the way my hands refused to stay still. “Hold on.” She got up, moved, and reached for something on a shelf. She came back with a plastic 3D model of a human brain, bright and colorful like a child’s toy.

She set it on the desk and tapped a spot. “This over here is—”

“The temporal lobe,” I said the words on her behalf. She looked at me, blinked, and nodded, “Yeah.” She pointed to another region. “And this—”

“The orbitofrontal cortex, I know that, these are the regions that control memory, emotion, and impulses. I know that. What are you trying to say?”

She blinked, clearly thrown off. “Wow, you really know your way around the human brain,” She commented, impressed.

“Yeah, I finished med school, Natalie,” I muttered, irritation bleeding into the words. “This is child’s play.”

Her eyes widened in shock, “Wait—what? Seriously?” she asked, fully off guard. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot about me you don’t know,” I stated the fucking obvious, “So can you carry on now, and tell me what you were trying to explain?” Because the possible conclusions my brain was drawing were going to drive me mad.

She turned back to the model, her tone shifting. “There could be something pressing on these regions,” she said, tapping lightly at them. “That could explain the memory lapses, the blanking out, especially if those areas are being disrupted when triggered. I’m not saying it’s definitely a tumor,” she added, eyes flicking up to mine, “but it could be, or vascular pressure, or scarring from an old injury.”

Her expression sobered completely. “Either way, your friend needs a full scan, as fast as possible, and even if nothing physical shows up, he’ll still need professional help. Whatever’s happening isn’t going to fix itself.”

Her gaze held mine for a beat. “These episodes can escalate. If they worsen, they could put him in serious danger. He could lose more than time.”

She paused, then said quietly, “So, get him help, before it’s too late.”

I nodded, the weight of her words pressed so heavily over me. For a long moment, I didn’t move, just sat there, my mind turning it all over, dissecting it piece by piece, already trying to fix what I couldn’t even name.

When I met Natalie’s eyes, she was already watching me, with that type of look that made me so fucking uncomfortable. My jaw ticked, and I straightened up. I knew she didn’t believe the whole friend-of-mine part of the story. “I wasn’t talking about me, you know that, right?”

She nodded slowly, like she’d been waiting for the deflection. “Yeah, I know,” she said, too certain. “What you have is a whole different story.”

My brow arched, “I see you had already psychoanalyzed me?”

She gave a small shrug, her lips curving. “It’s an occupational hazard. I can’t help it. I just happen to overanalyze everyone I know.”

“Must be exhausting,” I muttered.

“It is,” she said lightly.

“So,” I said, leaning forward, pretending interest I didn’t have. “What’s my diagnosis, dear doc?”

Her eyes flicked across my face, reading me. Then she shook her head. “I can’t just tell you that,” she said. “That’s not how this works.”

“Well, lucky for you,” I stood, brushing imaginary dust off my sleeves, “I don’t care how this works.” I flashed her a grin that didn’t reach my eyes. “I’m perfectly fine with who I am, actually more than fine, I love myself to bits, and I’m not planning on changing it anytime soon.”I gave her a wink, “So, therapy’s not for me.”

She nodded, so calmly. “Yeah,” she said softly, not pushing it. “Anyway, take care of your friend, and make sure she takes good care of herself.”

I held her gaze with a glare when she deliberatily said she instead of he…well, this sister of mine, she wasn’t an easy one, was she?

“You won’t tell anyone about what we talked about?”

She mimed locking her lips and tossing the key. “Patient confidentiality,” she said with a small smile. “Even though you’re not technically my patient.”

I gave her a curt nod, no thanks, no smile, and turned for the door. But before I could reach it, her voice followed me.

“Nathan.”

I stopped, half-turning, my brow raised in question

“You know you’re always welcome here, and in my home, right?” she said, her voice soft and ruining a perfectly civil ending with sentiment I didn’t ask for. “What happened with you and Nik only happened because he was frustrated.” She defended her dear husband, “He tends to get angry when he can’t control a situation.”

Her lips curved, “And you, Nathan, you are a situation he can’t control.”

“No one ever got that pleasure before,” I said.

Her lips twitched, and she nodded, “He just doesn’t know how to…help you.”

“Why do you both have this big belief that I need help?” I asked, my eyebrow arching, “Didn’t it ever cross your mind that maybe I am quite okay with my life and don’t need any help?”

She studied me for a long moment, her head tilting, her eyes softening in that infuriating way.

“But the thing is, Nathan,” she said quietly, “if you were really fine with your life…you wouldn’t have done half the things you did.”

I didn’t expect her words to hit, but they landed like a fucking punch to my guts.

Her throat bobbed as if she wanted to take it back, and then she shook her head, switching gears. “Anyway,” she said quickly, edging closer, her tone back to business. She extended a hand forward, ever in a professional manner. “Keep me updated, okay? If things get worse, I want to know. Maybe I can help her.”

I stared at her hand for a moment, considering it like a weapon I wasn’t sure how to use. Then I took it, my fingers curling around hers just long enough to feel the warmth before I let go, “Okay.”

I should’ve turned and left, but the question in my head wouldn’t die; it kept scratching at the back of my skull, restless.

“What do you think her trigger is?” I asked, my voice quieter now. “You said it happens when she’s alone, or with someone she…knows.” I paused, refraining from using the word trust. I doubted my princess trusted me. “You said something happens in that moment. What do you think it is?”

Natalie frowned, thinking. “If our theory is right,” she said, “then emotional volatility could spike the activity in those regions.” Her brow furrowed. “So, what kind of emotion was she experiencing when it happened? Anger? Fear? Sadness? Surprise?”

I shook my head slowly, my mind rewinding through both moments, every detail, every breath.

“No, both times it happened—” I murmured, the realization crawling in like a chill as I looked at Natalie. “Both times, she was…happy.”

⊹˚₊‧─────────────────‧₊˚⊹

Author’s note:

Hey, it’s me again 🙂

Hope you liked the chapter. Do vote and drop your opinions 🙂

In the last chapter, everyone agreed that Nathan is a puppy for Aylin, and a wolf for everyone else, and that couldn’t be more true xD

See ya soon 🩶