Chapter 35

“Everyone says don’t swallow the thing
that burns.
They never tell you
what happens when you do,
and it doesn’t finish the job.“

Nathan’s POV

My brain is a high-maintenance whore.

Yeah, believe me, it really is.

It needs to be fed, constantly, aggressively, and creatively. If it gets bored, it gets ideas, and my ideas…tend to come with body counts.

I learned that early on in life.

See, some people get sad when they’re understimulated, some get lazy, and some might binge-watch a reality TV show.

Me, on the other hand? I start imagining how easily a ribcage opens if you hit it just right.

So yeah, we all cope differently. No judgments there.

From the very beginning, I understood that my mind was not a safe place to loiter, it’s fast, too fast sometimes. It doesn’t walk, it sprints. It doesn’t think, it hunts. It doesn’t rest, it circles, like a goddamn predator on crack with a superiority complex.

And if I don’t give it something to chew on…it chews on people.

So I fed it.

I fed it all types of hard and complicated things, those that required focus, precision, and discipline. That’s why I went into medicine in the first place…the whole human anatomy, physiology, blood, organs, systems, and failure points. I told myself and those around me that it was a curiosity, merely an academic interest.

A noble pursuit.

Haha, yeah, right.

In reality, I was mapping the human body like a battlefield.

I was young, maybe too young. Despite the unbalanced life I had, I skipped grades, slipped through way too easily, pretending I was gifted when really I was just…wired wrong, I guess. My brain devoured information as if it were starving. Which, to be fair, it was.

Knowledge was the only thing that ever managed to put a muzzle on it.

I memorized bones, nerves, and arteries. I learned how life works, how it breaks, and how easily it stops. I studied until my head ached and my hands shook and my teachers praised me and my demons sulked in the corner, bored and annoyed.

It worked…for a while.

Then it didn’t.

So I tried other things.

The basics, you know, alcohol, drugs, and fighting rings. Violence with rules, violence without.

All of it tasted incredible at first. God help me, it was loud and electric, aphrodisiac even. The rush, the chaos, the way the world went quiet when someone was on the floor, and I was still standing.

God, it was delicious.

Then…it wasn’t.

The problem with my brain is that it adapts fast. Too fucking fast. What thrills me today becomes background noise tomorrow, what satisfies me tonight becomes boring by morning.

So I changed the route.

Sex helped too, at first. The chase, the bodies, the control, and the heat. The way they fell apart for me, the way they wanted me, and the fragile way they broke.

It kept my mind occupied and distracted…until it didn’t.

Planning Nikolas’ ruin, though…

Ah, that was art.

That was poetry I am fluent in.

It was the sweetest, most intoxicating stimulus I’ve ever had. The layers. The patience. The strategy. The slow burn of it all. The way every move connected to another, every action a thread in a beautiful, intricate web of destruction.

I could feel my brain purr whenever I thought about it. Finally. Finally, something worthy of me.

Then, my lung started failing, which, honestly, was a very bad timing.

But even that…even dying…kept me entertained. The adrenaline of survival, the daily gamble, the way every breath was borrowed and every heartbeat felt like a middle finger to fate.

I didn’t need a stimulation then.

I was the stimulation.

But things changed after, for reasons I’d rather not discuss, I got the damn transplant.

I lived.

And Nikolas became…inconveniently untouchable.

So there went my favorite hobby. Sad times, really.

The ugly started creeping back in. The restless. The violent. The images. The impulses. The itch under my skin that whispers break everything when I’m too still for too long.

That was when my princess finally came into my life.

A beautiful, wicked thing sent from God or the devil…I still haven’t figured out which one is more likely. Maybe both, maybe neither, or maybe she crawled out of something darker than either of them.

She didn’t just crash into my life…she rewrote it.

She didn’t stimulate my brain, she claimed it.

She didn’t excite me, she consumed me.

She didn’t distract me from the darkness, she became the only thing standing between me and it.

The only thing my mind doesn’t get bored of. The only thing that doesn’t fade. The only thing that doesn’t lose flavor.

Her voice. Her chaos. Her softness. Her damage. Her defiance. Her tears. Her laughter. Her fear. Her fire. Her whole fucking existence.

She is the only stimulus I’ve ever had that didn’t dull with time.

Which is…concerning, really. It is deeply, medically, and psychologically concerning.

Because now, three and a half days without her, and my brain is tearing itself apart.

Due to the bad weather, there were delays in the flights. Her schedule changed, and she didn’t come back the next day like she was supposed to.

I hated to admit it, but maybe it was better that she was away at the time. It had given my wound time to heal and my energy time to be restored. If she sees the stitches, I genuinely don’t know what I am going to say.

Maybe I should hold off on sex for a while…

What the fuck, no.

Absolutely not.

Who am I kidding? I’d last approximately twelve seconds before I throw her against the nearest wall and fuck her brains out.

I could keep my shirt on, maybe, or I could flip her over so she won’t see my newly engraved wound. There are too many options. I am nothing if not resourceful.

Besides, her being gone gave me time to go through the medical records that Layla finally allowed me access to. I sent everything to the doctor, along with her results that came out today. He said he’ll go over them, consult with his colleagues, and we can meet in the next two days.

I’ve also read enough medical books in the past sixty-five hours to qualify as a fucking honorary neurologist, dissected every study, cross-referenced every symptom, and memorised every possible explanation.

Because if there is something wrong with her…I will find it, and I will be the one to fix it.

My knowledge-devouring brain finally has something worthwhile to feast on, and for once in its miserable, restless life…it’s hunting to save, not to destroy.

We’ve texted and facetimed, of course, but nothing comes close to having her skin under my fingertips. Nothing compares to the way she fits in my space, in my arms, in my air.

I fucking ache when she’s away, and it’s not even funny anymore.

Luna, apparently, noticed.

She had been glued to me the entire time, like a tiny, judgmental emotional support therapist with fur. She’s currently curled into a little ball on my desk, right next to the chaotic pile of papers I’ve been tearing through like a madman.

Her paws were tucked under her chin, her tail flicking every now and then. Her eyes blinked slowly, heavy and sleepy, but still tracking me like she was on guard duty.

She didn’t understand a single thing I was doing.

But every time I got too still, she shifted closer. Every time I cursed under my breath, I was pretty sure she blinked up at me and glared, and every time I felt like sleeping for longer than an hour, she stretched one tiny paw and tapped my wrist, like no, sir, we spiral later.

I brushed my knuckles over her head, and she immediately leaned into me, purring softly.

I was so deep in my head that I didn’t even hear the car pull into the driveway until the engine cut off. My gaze snapped to the window on instinct, and there she was, stepping out of her car, hair slightly messy, shoulders a little tired, and still so devastatingly beautiful.

Fucking finally.

I stood up fast, scooped Luna up from the desk, and left the office without sparing a glance at the disaster of papers and files I’d left behind. I’d deal with the chaos later. Right now, my priority was the woman walking toward my door.

I wanted to pick her up from the airport, but she declined, being her usual stubborn, infuriating self. Still, Adam had been keeping a close eye on her and filling me in, which helped dull the edge of my worry, just a little.

I set Luna down at the top of the stairs, and she launched, like a bullet, running down so fast. The second Aylin stepped inside, she rushed her, brushing against her legs with too much enthusiasm.

Aylin gasped and jumped back. “No, no—st…stay away, shoo,” she said in panic, trying to dodge her.

Luna did not care and went for the ankle. Aylin yelped, spun in a circle, and looked around, “Nathan, help,” she cried out for me, “Nathan!“

Did I help? Of course not.

I leaned against the stair railing, arms crossed over my chest, thoroughly entertained as I watched the tiny menace assault my girl.

I smiled as my gaze drank my princess in like I was committing her to memory all over again, soaking in every little detail, her eyes, her face, the curve of her shoulders, the way her golden hair fell, the faint exhaustion in her posture.

Three days without her felt illegal.

Her eyes finally found mine, and she paused mid-movement, Luna instantly forgotten.

Her lips twitched, just barely, and my entire fucking world stilled.

They parted a second later, a little spark lit up in those green eyes, and something in her expression shifted, soft to stunned, tired to…awed.

She froze.

I took a step closer, then another.

Before I could pull her into me, before I could steal her mouth and breathe her in like oxygen, she lifted both hands and placed them on my cheeks, holding my face still like I was some priceless piece of art.

She stared at me…just stared.

I blinked, “What…” I muttered.

“My God,” she whispered, awestruck, “I either missed you way too much, or I’m sleep deprived, or…” her gaze stayed locked on my eyes, so reverent, “…you really look unfairly handsome with these on.”

It took me a second to realise what she meant. Oh, right, I still had my glasses on.

I huffed a quiet laugh and reached up, my fingers curling around the frame. “My eyes were hurting a bit, so…” Reading too much and not sleeping as much could do that.

She snatched them from my hand before I could even finish.

Then, she put them back on, adjusted them, fixed them carefully on my face, and gazed at me.

“No, no,” she murmured. “Keep them.”

“Wow,” Her lips parted again, her lashes fluttering, and her eyes darkened just a fraction, “Damn you…”

I chuckled because I genuinely had not seen that coming.

She didn’t break her gaze, not for once, her pupils were blown wide, and her lower lip slipped between her teeth, “Okay, next time we have sex, you are so keeping those on,” She said, so bluntly, and I couldn’t help but throw my head back and laugh.

God, I missed her.

I didn’t wait. I didn’t think. My fingers curled over her shirt, and I pulled her into me, hard enough that she gasped, soft enough that she melted instantly. I dipped down and caught her mouth with mine. My tongue thrust inside, welcoming her heat, welcoming her home as I kissed her with the savagery of an animal.

Three days without her hit me like a relapse I never planned to recover from.

She made a small sound in her throat, breathless, and tried to meet me where I was, but I was already too far gone. She tried to match my pace but couldn’t, not when I had every intention of devouring her whole.

Her fingers curled over my sweatshirt as mine fisted over her hair, pulling her deeper into me, closer, closer, fucking closer. Her breath stuttered, and I felt it, felt her melt, felt her give, felt her lean into me like she’d been craving this as badly as I had.

I didn’t let go, fuck, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My teeth sank into her lower lip, ready to draw out even her blood, because she was mine, mine to consume, mine to keep, mine to protect, only mine. I wouldn’t accept it any other way.

The darkness clawed at the inside of my skull again, reminding me of the fact that I needed to tell her about her mother, and I had no fucking idea how she was going to take that.

I broke the kiss only when I felt her sway slightly in my arms. Fuck, if she wasn’t so tired, I was more than ready to bend her over the nearest surface, bury myself deep in her warmth, and let all of this building frustration out into her.

She hummed softly and tipped her head up, her fingers still curled into my sweatshirt like she needed the anchor to stay upright. She gazed at my face, her eyes were hazy, sleepy, warm, and so fucking soft it hurt.

“You sexy devil,” she breathed, awed and a little dazed, her voice thick with exhaustion. “I can’t stop looking at you.”

I laughed under my breath and slid my arms around her back, pulling her closer, “You’re so exhausted, aren’t you?” I murmured, because she was never this unfiltered unless she was running on fumes.

She hummed sadly and let her head fall against my chest. Her hands slid from my sweatshirt and wrapped around my waist instead, “I am,” she admitted, snuggling into me, “I’m sleepy, and hungry, and I missed you…”

Something in my chest twisted sharply, the predator waking up and stretching its claws. Did it satisfy me that she missed me, too? That the distance had bitten her the way it had torn at me? Hell. Yes.

I wanted to live under her skin. I wanted my absence to hurt her, so she’d avoid it.

I dipped my head and pressed a kiss into her hair, breathing her in. She shifted slightly, edging back, her nose wrinkling as her sleepy eyes drifted around, “What smells so good?”

I smiled and pinched her adorable nose, “I made you food,” I said. “I knew you’d be starving.”

Then I took her wrist and pulled her with me toward the kitchen.

“Wait…you made me food?” she asked, blinking up at me as I dragged her inside. “Made as in…” she squinted, suspicious, “…ordered takeout, right?”

I released her hand and turned to face her, deeply offended. “You wound me, princess,” I said, my eyebrow lifting. “How could you think so low of me?”

Her eyes flickered to the stove, and they widened, “You’re kidding…” She mumbled as she walked past me to get a better peek.

“It’s just that creamy chicken pasta thing that you like,” I said, dismissing the topic.

She leaned in, inhaled, and let out a low moan…huh, interesting.

“Oh my god, this smells so good,” she murmured. Then her eyes lifted to me, softening instantly. That sleepy little pout appeared on her lips, fully disarming me, “I really can’t believe you sometimes.”

I closed the distance in two steps, my hand settling at her waist and pulling her back into me, incapable of tolerating even an inch between us. Three days were more than enough distance for one lifetime.

“Why?” I asked lightly, brushing her hair back and tucking it behind her ear. “I just watched a video, it’s quite easy,” I added smoothly. “The video said how to make pasta for your girl and woo her.” My eyebrow lifted. “Since I’ve got the woo her part all taken care of,” I winked, “I focused on the meal.”

She chuckled softly and leaned into my touch. “You have definitely wooed me,” she said, her lips curving into the softest smile.

A low breath slipped past her lips, “It feels so good to come back from a tiring trip and have you here, do you know that?” she added, and I had to fight the very real urge to keep her awake and tired just to hear more of these dangerous, adorable little confessions.

I leaned in and pecked her sweet lips. “Oh, I know,” I murmured. “I make it a point to be unforgettable.”

She sighed into my lips, and I pulled back, “Come on,” I said, already steering her toward the chair. “Let’s feed you before you faint.”

I pulled a chair out and nudged her into it, then moved to fill her plate, and one for myself, because apparently I’d forgotten how eating works when she was not around. I had no appetite over the past few days, could’ve been my wound, could’ve been her absence. Probably both.

We settled in, and she dug into her plate immediately, “If you keep spoiling me like this, I might get used to it, you know,” She said playfully.

Then, she took her first bite, and a low, satisfied sound slipped out of her. “Nathan, this is so good, it’s unfair.”

I chuckled under my breath and slid my glasses off, setting them aside, only to catch the immediate little frown that tugged at her lips when she noticed.

Mental reminder: wear them more often.

“Better get used to it then,” I said, taking a bite of my own. Well, would you look at that? My hands could do wonders, not only to her but to food, too, apparently.

She chewed happily, then glanced at me with that sleepy softness, “So, you’ll always make me food whenever I come back tired?”

I nodded, “Sure, I just have to watch more cooking videos, I guess,” I said.

She chuckled softly, “Who knew you could be someone’s very unstable husband?”

My eyebrow lifted before I leaned closer, my hand curling around the back of her chair, dragging it toward me with a screech that made her yelp, and made me grin. “Not someone,” I corrected smoothly.

I reached out and brushed my thumb over the corner of her mouth, wiping away at the bit of sauce, “Only yours.”

She gulped down her bite, and her fork froze midair.

Her eyes went glassy as she looked at me, and a soft, traitorous blush bloomed at her neck before creeping all the way up to her ears.

Do I believe in marriage and all  that sentimental, legally binding nonsense crap? Of course, not.

But do I want to claim her, keep her, and tie her existence so tightly into mine that an escape becomes theoretical? Absolutely.

Do I want to wife her up and lock her in my orbit until death, or something equally dramatic, do us part? Without hesitation.

I nodded toward her plate casually. “Aren’t you going to finish that?”

She cleared her throat like she needed to reboot her brain and blinked down at the food. “Uh…yeah,” she mumbled, twirling the pasta with noticeably less enthusiasm than before.

I changed the subject because she looked so uncomfortable, and asked her about the past three days. I listened to her talk about insignificant people I couldn’t care less about, but I’d listen to anything that comes out of that beautiful mouth like it was scripture.

Her sweet voice does something to my head that no drug, no violence, no stimulus ever managed to do. It steadies the restless parts, feeds the predator without blood, and keeps the chaos quiet, keeps me…civil.

It’s irritatingly effective.

And yet, while she spoke, my mind kept circling back to one thing.

Her mother.

I needed to tell her about the whole ordeal before the old woman did it herself.

I’d already risked it by waiting until she got back. Thankfully, Layla hadn’t said anything to her yet, at least not from what I could tell, but I wasn’t stupid enough to think I had more time.

Fuck, since when do I hesitate? Since when do I feel uncomfortable about my sins?

I’m not apologetic. I don’t do guilt. I don’t do hand-wringing, or second-guessing, or whatever weak, moral nonsense normal people do when they’ve done something questionable.

Do I regret taking her mother in?

Of course not.

Would I do it again?

Absolutely.

So why the fuck did my chest feel tight, like I was about to hand her a knife and politely ask her to aim for my throat?

I hated that.

I hated it…but I did it anyway.

Fuck. Here goes nothing.

“I had your mother captive,” I said, right into the middle of her sentence.

Aylin choked on her bite so violently that she coughed and jerked forward.

I was already moving, grabbed a glass of water, shoved it into her hands, and rubbed her back like I hadn’t just detonated a bomb in the room.

She gulped the water, coughed again, then lifted her head, her eyes wide and disbelieving. “Wha—”

She coughed once more.

Her gaze locked onto mine like she was trying to see if this was a joke.

She lowered the glass slowly. “What…what did you say?” Her voice sounded small, like she was blaming herself for hearing wrong.

“Your mother,” I repeated. “I held her captive for a week…ish.”

Her eyes widened further. “What do you mean?” she demanded, the words tripping over each other. “Are you kidding, Nathan? Because that’s not funny—wha…what the hell—”

I watched the gears turn behind her exhausted eyes, the panic trying to form, and the disbelief fighting the logic.

Her chair screeched as she pushed it back and stood up abruptly, like her body couldn’t tolerate being seated for this conversation. I rose to my feet too, my gaze tracking every shift in her posture.

“She is fine, by the way,” I added to assure her, “I mean, I didn’t hurt her…much, and I let her go, even hand-delivered her back to her home, safe, sound, breathing, and maybe just mildly annoyed,” I shrugged lightly, “I even sent her chocolates and a thank-you note.”

Her mouth opened, then closed.

“For cooperating,” I clarified. “She gave me one of the things I wanted, and I’m big on manners.”

Aylin’s wide eyes stayed on me, her lips parted as she tried to make sense of every word I muttered, “Wha…” she breathed. Then, quieter, horrified, “Oh my god…”

Her gaze dropped, unfocused, as something ugly had just clicked into place, some random dots connecting, “Oh my god, Nathan, what the hell is wrong with you?” she burst out loudly before she shoved past me, her shoulder slamming into my arm hard enough to make a point.

I followed her, watching as she grabbed her discarded coat, dug into the pocket, and yanked her phone out. Her hands were already shaking. Her skin was flushed, panic bleeding up her neck, into her cheeks, into her eyes. Fuck, this is not good, not good at all.

She fumbled with the screen, cursed under her breath, and pressed the phone to her ear.

She turned away from me, pacing back and forth, back and forth in a frantic loop.

“Come on, Mom…come on, pick up,” she whispered, biting down hard on her lower lip. Her palm pressed to her forehead like she could physically keep herself together through sheer force, “pick up.”

When no answer came, she lowered the phone and dialed her again. Her breathing was off, too shallow and uneven. Her free hand dragged through her hair, then over her face, then back to her hair again, anxiously pacing as she waited for an answer that didn’t come.

I watched every little fracture, and something in me stuttered.

This is the part where I’m supposed to be calm and in control. The villain who does what he wants and calls it strategy.

I make messes.

I don’t clean them.

I don’t fix things. I break them and dare the world to punish me for it.

But this…this was tearing something open inside her, and for the first time in my life…I didn’t know what to do with the fact that I might’ve pushed too far.

Still, how could she care so deeply for that excuse of a mother? I guess that’s where she and I differ. She’s too merciful, too normal when it comes to this, while I am not.

She still loves people even when they don’t deserve it.

She told me she…loved me that one time, and I sure as hell don’t deserve anything that tender.

“It’s late, maybe she’s asleep,” I suggested to ease her misplaced worry.

She spun around, fast. Her eyes slammed into mine, and the fire burning in her gaze was so vicious and untamed, devouring that beautiful secret garden of mine.

“You—” she choked, her voice breaking with fury, “—shut up. Don’t…don’t talk.” Her chest was heaving, and her grip tightened around the phone like she wanted to break it or throw it at me.

“I don’t want to hear you, or I swear to god I’ll…I’ll hit you,” She added, her eyes turning glassy as the moisture gathered.

Fuck.

When she realised her call wasn’t about to get answered, she shoved the phone into her pocket and moved fast.

She grabbed her coat and bolted for the door.

My eyes widened as my instinct kicked in. I followed her immediately, snatching my phone off the counter and yanking the door shut behind me. By the time I stepped outside, she was already in her car, already turning the key.

I reached the passenger side just as her car lurched forward and slid in, slamming the door shut.

She noticed, and her foot slammed the brake so hard my upper body lurched forward, my shoulder smacking into the dash as I caught myself at the last second to keep my head from cracking into the glass.

I hissed under my breath and straightened slowly, turning toward her, my eyebrow lifting because, of course, this would be the night she humbled me.

“Get out!” She shot out.

I shook my head once, “You’re not going anywhere without me.”

“Get out, I said,” she repeated, her voice hoarse. She shifted in her seat and lunged toward me, her hands shoving at my arm, pushing me away, “Get out—get out!”

When I didn’t budge, she struck my arm with her little tiny fist, once, twice, thrice.

“Get out!”

“Aylin—” I tried to say as my hand curled around her wrist, trying to stop the assault, but she tore free with a groan and used her other hand.

She hit me again, her breath coming in sharp, broken pants. “I can’t believe you,” she snapped, her words tumbling over each other, “I can’t…I was worried sick. I was so worried, I couldn’t reach her for a week, Nathan. A week.”

So, she noticed that the old woman was missing. Interesting. She didn’t even tell me.

She shoved me again, hard enough that my shoulder slammed back into the door, mostly because I wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop her.

I’d take her anger, her fury, her punches and hits. She could do this all night long, and I wouldn’t blink. Hell, her aggression has always been more tempting than anything else. I had to physically remind myself that this was not the ideal time to get hard.

I’d take anything but her entertaining the idea that this could put an end to us. That was an option I would neither accept nor tolerate.

“I was terrified something bad happened to her,” she continued, her voice cracking, and I wanted to pull her into me and hug her tight, “and you’re telling me you…you had her? You’re the one who took her? How could you?”

Her hands were everywhere now, pushing, striking, gripping my arm like she might shake the answers out of me. “Why would you do that?” she screamed, “I told you my family was off-limits. I told you. Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

“I need you to calm down so I can explain—”

“No, no!” she cut me off violently. “I don’t want to hear a single thing from you.”

Her chest was heaving. Tears clung to her lashes but didn’t fall, not yet.

“There is no explanation, you kidnapped my mother, for god’s sake!” She shot out before she collapsed back against her seat like her body had run out of fuel, her chest heaving, too drained, “In what universe,” she demanded, slamming her palm against the steering wheel, “is that acceptable?”

“My universe, I guess,” I mumbled lowly.

That triggered her again. Her head snapped toward me, her eyes murderous, and for a fleeting second, I believed that maybe she hates me now. To hell with that, she’s stuck with me for life, she’ll learn to unhate me.

“You’re not even sorry, are you?” She muttered under her breath, “Of course you are not, you never are, I bet you don’t even regret it.”

“I don’t.”

Fuck, why do I have to be so damn honest?

A low, broken groan tore from her throat, and she lunged at me again, shoving my arm with what little strength she had left. “Get out of my car,” she shouted. “I said get out!”

“I am not going anywhere, so you might want to save what little energy you’ve got left to get you through the rest of the night,” I suggested, gazing at her exhausted eyes. I should’ve held off and told her in the morning after she had rested well.

I guess I didn’t expect her to react like this. What? She didn’t have the warmest relationship with that woman, so why the fuck does she care so much? I miscalculated this. Badly. That doesn’t happen to me often.

“You can hit me all you want in the morning,” I offered, but every calm word of mine fueled the fire.

Her eyes darkened, and she pushed closer, less erratic now and more calculated, her knee pressing between us, and all I felt was her hand dig into the pocket of my pants…whoa…didn’t expect this turn of events.

“Princess, I’m flattered by the enthusiasm, and I am not against car sex or angry sex per se, but aren’t you a bit tired—”

The words died in my throat when she yanked my knife out and pushed the edge to my throat, her eyes blazing, “If you don’t get the hell out of my car, I will hurt you,” Her other hand curled over the neck of my sweatshirt, as if to hold me in one place, “I swear to god Nathan, I am not messing around.”

I glanced down at the blade pressed to my neck and thought how effortlessly I could snatch it away, flip her over, pin her, disarm her, and force her under my non-existent mercy.

My eyes flickered back to hers.

Well, similar situations, but with one crucial difference. Her eyes are so aware of me now. Hyperaware even.

“Won’t be the first time, princess,” I muttered back, my voice low.

A few lines pressed between her brows, but she covered her confusion fast, probably mistaking my words for that one time where she had me cornered just like this in my car when I had forcefully trapped her. Good times, really.

I do have a knack for triggering these reactions in people, huh? I am a force of nature, indeed. God bless me.

She pushed the blade further so that it grazed my skin. Fuck, someone tell my dick to behave and stop reacting to this.

“Are you going to get out, or do you want me to push deeper?”

“I am not getting out, so go ahead, princess, stab me, but I’d rather you do it somewhere else, my chest or stomach, for example,” I gave her options.

“My neck, though,” I lifted my chin slightly and pointed to where she had the blade positioned, “It’s too close to my pulse point, so you might end up killing me, and I don’t think that pure little heart of yours would enjoy living with that fact.”

A faint curl touched my lips. “Can’t have you suffering when I’m gone.”

I reached up, slowly, and wrapped my fingers around her wrist, not to disarm her but to guide her. Her fingers twitched in resistance, but I tightened my grip just enough as I nudged the blade down, away from my throat.

“Here,” I said quietly, pressing the sharp tip to my chest, just left of center. “Heart. You go in deep here, you’ll probably kill me,” I explained, “Very messy, not recommended for the faint-hearted.”

Her gaze dropped from my eyes to where our hands were interlocked. Her throat bobbed. Her face flushed deeper, anger, fury, exhaustion, and the quiet urge to collapse all bleeding together.

Her grip trembled as I moved her hand lower, a few inches to the side. “Here, lung, still dangerous, but survivable if help comes fast.”

Then I went lower, toward my abdomen. The blade whispered over fabric as I guided it down, “And here?” I shrugged faintly. “It’d be painful, maybe a long recovery, but wouldn’t kill me.”

My two newly stitched-up wounds there burned, probably due to all the movements, shoving, and pushing, but in the grand scheme of things, it barely registered.

Her eyes lifted back to mine. The tip of her nose was red now, tears clinging to her lashes. I had this violent, stupid urge to kiss them away before they fell and ruined me completely.

I guided her hand back to my heart, “So, what’s it going to be?” I muttered, “My heart?” I asked, “It’s already yours, has been for a while, actually. You can do whatever you want with it.”

She kept silent, didn’t move, didn’t breathe right, so I added, “So, tell me, are we going for fatal…or not?”

Her fingers loosened over the blade, almost in resignation. The knife slipped from her grip and landed in my hand. I clasped it shut, closed my fist around it, and shoved it back into my pocket. At this rate, I should stop carrying weapons around this wicked girl. One day soon, she might actually use it to kill me for real.

Her hand didn’t leave my chest, it hovered there, her fingers nearly quivering. I brought my other arm around her waist, steadying her and nudging her closer.

Her fingertips pressed over my heartbeat, the one too steady for someone who had a blade at his throat one second ago. Her gaze stayed fixed on where her hand rested, like she couldn’t look at my face and say what she was about to say, like she had to aim it properly.

Then, so softly I almost missed it, she whispered, “You get annoyed when I tell you your heart is grey.”

“I was wrong,” she murmured.

Her tired eyes flickered up to mine, “It’s black.”

My jaw ticked, but she wasn’t done, “You don’t care about me, you only care about what you want, what you plan, what satisfies you—”

“Don’t start spewing nonsense now,” I said lowly, my voice roughening as something ugly stirred within me. My fingers dug into her waist, “or I will get angry, and believe me, you don’t want me angry.”

She shook her head, not once caring for the warning in my expression, “That’s exactly what I mean, Nathan. You think that is care, it is not, you don’t—”

“The fuck I don’t,” I shot back. “Everything I’m doing is for you.”

“Is it really? Is it for me or is it only your…urge to rebel, to ruin and to prove you’re untouchable when things don’t go your way?” She shot back, one tear breaking through, “Because if you really cared for me, you would’ve fought that urge. You would’ve stopped yourself because you would’ve known it was going to hurt me.”

She shook her head, “If you cared, you’d care for what I want, what I need, you wouldn’t hurt the people closest to me, first grandpa and now my mom,” She stabbed an accusatory finger into my chest, “you would’ve listened to me when I told you to let it go, to leave them alone. I warned you, but you don’t respect what I want, you only care about what you want.”

Her teary eyes burned into mine. “You don’t listen when I ask you to stop. You don’t respect my boundaries. You don’t let things go.” Her fingers curled into my shirt. “You decide, you act, and you expect everyone else to deal with the fallout.”

Her voice dropped, “You think consequences don’t apply to you, like they’re just obstacles you can outsmart or step over.”

She shook her head, “To you, I am just…I am just something that fulfills your needs, you said it once, how I keep your mind stimulated, and that’s not caring about me. That’s using me to manage you.”

She pulled her hand free from my chest and shoved my arm away from her like it burned. “So, stay like this, do whatever you want, Nathan, but one day, you’re going to look around and realize there’s no one left by your side, and only then you’ll understand.”

She retreated back into her seat, wiping her cheeks roughly with the back of her hand, sniffling as she turned the key in the ignition.

“You don’t want to get out,” she said flatly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Then don’t.”

She put the car in gear, “I’m going to see my mom.”

I didn’t say a word, didn’t correct her, didn’t argue, didn’t do the thing I always do…twist reality until it obeys me.

I stayed quiet for both our sakes.

I sat there as the city blurred past the windows, streetlights streaking as I replayed her words over and over, and over again…

I tried to catalogue it, reframe it, dismiss it. That usually works.

It didn’t.

The quiet pressed in, so thick and suffocating, and my body did what it always does when I’m trapped, it got restless and hyperactive, like a predator pacing a cage that’s suddenly too small.

I reached for the radio and flicked it on. Music filled the car for exactly one second before Aylin’s hand shot out and killed it.

Dead silence again.

I exhaled slowly through my nose, shifting once again in my seat, my eyes drifting out the window. I pressed the button, lowering the glass just enough to let cold air hit my face.

Aylin silently pressed the button on her side and brought it right back up. The fuck.

I tried not to glare at her. I was annoyed as fuck due to her accusations, but I’d shelf that for another time. I’m excellent at shelving things. They tend to explode eventually, but that’s a future problem.

I adjusted my seat, trying to back it up to make some room for my legs. I hated her stupid excuse of a car. She told me that her grandfather bought her one as a Christmas gift, but she didn’t accept it. Thank god for that. I noticed that about her, though, how she doesn’t get involved in whatever wealthy aristocratic lifestyle her family has going on.

She’s more to herself, her little rented apartment, her little tiny car, her own everything, far away from them, then she has the audacity to blame me for introducing a little chaos into their perfectly curated lives…unbelievable.

“Your car is too small, it barely fits me,” I grumbled, trying to find room for my legs.

“You can open the door and drop on the highway, I promise I won’t stop you,” She muttered monotonously, not once looking at my side.

I frowned.

Sure, I like the push and pull thing we have from time to time, but I don’t like this one bit. I want the Aylin who liked me back.

I can handle rage, knives, and yelling. I thrive in chaos.

This cold? This distant, unplugged Aylin? I want the one who bites back, the one who looks at me like she’s angry at herself for wanting me.

When we reached her mother’s house, she parked crooked in the driveway and got out immediately, not once glancing at my side. I followed her, my eyes flicked to the windows automatically, scanning for lights, movement, or any sign of life.

I knew this reunion wouldn’t be too warm, but sue me if I cared.

Aylin rang the bell once, looked around, and then knocked.

When no answer came, she rang again, knocked harder. Her gaze kept darting to the windows, the tension creeping into her shoulders.

When a couple of minutes passed and no answer came, she turned her accusatory gaze to me.

I lifted my hands in surrender. “I swear I returned her in one piece,” I said, “If anything happened after that, it’s really not my fault.”

Her nostrils flared, and she knocked again, and again, and again.

I almost told her that there was no point, that her mother wasn’t here obviously, but judging by how just the sound of my breathing seemed to irritate her right now, I decided silence was the wiser survival strategy.

Her breathing fractured, and she angrily slammed her fist into the door before she tore herself away and looked around, dragging air into her lungs like she’d forgotten how. Fuck, all of this pulled tight at my heart, the one she fucking called black. Yeah. I’m not letting that one go.

She scrubbed a hand down her face and sank onto the porch steps as she pulled out her phone, dialed someone, and pressed it to her ear, her head dropping forward like gravity finally won.

“Grandpa,” she whispered when he answered.

I rolled my eyes automatically, because of course she’d call him.

“Did I wake you? I’m so sorry, I just—” She paused, listening, then asked, “Do you know where Mom is?”

Whatever he said made her eyes close in relief.

Her shoulders sagged instantly, the tension bleeding out of her all at once, like someone pulled the plug.

So, she is with the old man, huh, probably teaming up to retaliate against me, and plotting my ceremonial execution. Whatever.

“Okay…okay,” she murmured. “Thank god,” Her voice was quieter now, so much thinner. “Can I come there now?”

Another pause.

“No—no, I can drive. I’ll come on my own,” she said, softer still. “Yeah…okay.”

She ended the call and shoved the phone into her pocket.

That’s when she folded into herself. Her elbows pressed into her thighs as her head fell into her hands, sitting on the cold stone porch as she’d finally run out of fuel. No anger left, no fire, and just the aftermath.

I moved closer without thinking, crouching in front of her. I reached for her arm carefully, like she might flinch or push me back.

She sniffled and lifted her head. Tears slid down her cheeks, and something vicious squeezed around my ribs.

“She’s with him?” I asked quietly, my hand already on her face, brushing each tear away before it could fall too far, maybe I could undo the damage by erasing the evidence.

She nodded her head, her eyes hollowed out, completely drained, “Yeah…she is okay,” She whispered, no energy left in her to push me or scream at me.

“Nathan,” She whispered my name so weakly I was ready to do anything for her.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask something from you?”

My jaw tightened, aware I wouldn’t tolerate that something, but I nodded my head nevertheless.

“Can you leave me alone tonight?” she asked, “I need to go to Grandpa’s, and I want to stay there, I need to see my mom, and I…I don’t want to see you tonight.”

Black heart, she says, then why the fuck did that last sentence tear it apart?

She brought her hand to her face, gently moving my hand away from her skin, “Please, just give me this night, I am…I am so tired, I just…” She sniffled again. Her fingers were shaking, I had to curl my hand over them, warming them up, my thumb brushing over them soothingly.

I couldn’t bear to see her all shaken up, so before she’d say more, I nodded my head, “Okay.”

“On one condition,” I added, “You’ll let me see you tomorrow, and we’ll talk about this, alright?”

She nodded her head, small and tired, “Okay.”

“Let me drive you there,” I said. “You’re all shaken up. I won’t rest anyway, and I’ll follow you regardless, so just—” I exhaled. “Let me make sure you get there safely, and I’ll leave right after I drop you off.”

She studied me in silence, then she nodded.

We got into the car after, and she kept silent, and I refrained from speaking. She was tired, and I’ve done enough damage for one night. Before I could pull the car into the driveway, her hand curled over my arm, “Stop, I’ll…I’ll go on from here,” She muttered.

“If grandpa sees you now, it’ll turn ugly, so…” she added.

I couldn’t care less for that, but then again, I couldn’t refuse her a thing now.

I pulled over at the side of the road and killed the engine. The sudden quiet rang in my ears.

She reached for the door, but I caught her arm before she could open it, just enough to make her look at me.

“Tomorrow?” I checked once more.

Her gaze dropped to my hand. Then lifted back to my face, too empty, closed off in a way I’d never seen before. “Tomorrow.”

“You promise?” I just had to make sure because it felt like she was escaping from me again, just like that time she jumped off my balcony.

She nodded, “Promise.”

⊹˚₊‧────────────‧₊˚⊹

I didn’t sleep again.

Instead of spiraling, I focused on my earlier tasks and kept going through medical information until my brain felt fried, but I was so close. I just knew it.

I let half the day pass without disturbing Aylin, letting her have her fill of her mother and whatnot, letting myself pretend I was capable of restraint.

By past noon, the restraint got bored of me and left.

So I texted her.

Me: When can we talk?

No answer came.

When I noticed she read it and did not answer, I typed another message.

Me: You said tomorrow. Tomorrow is today, so when can we meet and where?

Read.

Still nothing.

I breathed in and out. I am calm…so fucking calm.

Me:
If you want more time, just say it.
I can’t predict what goes on in your pretty little head on my own.

She didn’t read those messages.

An hour passed. Two…then three.

My chest felt tight now, like something was pressing inward. I hated that sensation, hated that she could cause it without even touching me.

I exhaled slowly, then typed the last one before I did something drastic and entirely on-brand.

Me:
I’m trying not to be the worst version of myself right now.
Help me out.

That one stayed unread longer.

When it finally flipped to read, I didn’t blink.

I was out of the house and in my car before logic could crawl out of whatever grave I’d buried it in. One look at her location told me she was still at her grandpa’s, so I drove there.

When I reached the house, I got out and knocked hard enough that the door shuddered in its frame. I was still pounding when it finally tore open. I expected the robotic butler, but it was Mr. Charles in all his aristocratic glory.

His eyes were hard, murderous, even. That washed-out green had gone darker, sharper, like he already knew it was me before the door opened. I was almost sure I spotted cameras near the entrance and an updated security system. So cute. Must be for me.

“I am not here for you,” I said in boredom before he’d go on threatening my existence and all that blah fucking blah. My eyes flickered inside, searching, “Aylin?” I called out for her, pushing through, “Princess, where are you?”

“You fucker—” Charles snarled, his fingers fisting in my collar as he tried to shove me back. “Aylin does not wish to see you.”

I wrapped my hand around his wrist and peeled him off me. He resisted longer than expected, huh, the old man got some fight in him, I’ll give credit where it’s due.

“I’d rather hear that from her,” I said flatly, shoving past him anyway.

“Aylin?” I called again, louder now.

Footsteps echoed from deeper inside, till she came into view.

She stopped mid-hallway the second she saw me, tension snapping through her posture. She looked so soft, fuck me, but she always does. Her hair was falling around her beautiful face, and she was dressed in a ridiculous little red pajama set with fluffy slippers.

Her throat bobbed as her gaze locked onto mine.

Those eyes, too expressive for their own good, caught between wanting to shove me out the door and wanting to run straight into my arms.

A war I knew all too well.

Then her mother stepped into view and stopped beside her, her sharp eyes landing on me.

Ah.

The audience grows.

I didn’t look away from my princess, “Come on,” I said, nodding to the outside, “Get your things and let’s go, we need to talk.”

I didn’t get to hear her answer because the old man intercepted my view. His hand curled at his side, so tight, restrained, but he didn’t touch me yet. I had to guess it had something to do with Aylin standing right there.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” he said lowly, “Showing up here after everything you’ve done.”

I finally shifted my gaze to the nuisance of a man.

“You still have no idea who you’re dealing with,” he continued, his voice dropping further. “I’ve buried men for less than what you’ve pulled. I can make you disappear so cleanly your name won’t even echo.”

He is so funny.

“I warned you once,” he added, stepping closer, invading my space with too much precision. “You cross my family again, and you’ll spend the rest of your short life regretting the day you learned my name.”

I inhaled deeply, “Look, I could redecorate this hallway with your face right now, but I’m holding back for her sake.”

I tilted my head slightly, “So let’s not turn this bloody,” I stepped past him anyway, because I wasn’t here to negotiate. His hand shot out and fisted my shirt, yanking me back hard enough to wrinkle the fabric. His other fist came up—old man still has reflexes—but mine were faster.

I caught his punch mid-swing, my fingers closing around his knuckles like a clamp, stopping it an inch from my face.

The air went razor-thin.

“Grandpa!” Aylin’s voice cracked through the hallway as she rushed forward toward us.

He released my shirt and turned to her, “Aylin, stop!” He shot out, his harsh tone freezing her in the spot, her eyes widening, her breath catching, “I have tolerated this far enough, but it ends here!” He snapped, and I was one second away from fucking up his face for talking to her in that tone.

“I have never interfered in your life this way, but this cannot go on any longer. I won’t let it. You’ve seen what he is. You’ve seen what he’s done—”

“You seem to fucking forget that you sent men after me to kill me, so if anything, you started this,” I shot back, so he’d climb down from his high horse for once.

He turned to me, “Don’t worry, this time I’ll make sure they finish the job,” He said, not shying away before he turned back to Aylin, who looked between us both with bewildered, lost eyes, not sure which step to take next.

“If you go out with him now, Aylin, then…you can forget you have a family,” He said, giving her a fucking ultimatum.

Her mother’s eyes widened in shock. She stepped closer to Aylin, her hand going to her daughter’s arm, protectively, like she could physically tether her to the side she wanted.

Aylin’s lips parted, and the sound that came out of her was so small. “Grandpa…” she whispered. “What do you mean—”

“I mean, it’s either him or us,” He said, his voice final, “Look, Aylin, I love you more than life itself, you know that, so I won’t let you do this to yourself, or to your only family.”

My jaw ticked. She won’t…she won’t choose them, would she?

Her glassy eyes flickered from him and landed on me, and something ugly tightened in my chest. I was clenching so hard I was surprised bone didn’t crack.

I extended my hand forward, “Come with me, Aylin,” I said, my voice measured, controlled, “Let’s get out of here.”

Her gaze dropped to my hand.

Her throat bobbed.

One tear slipped free, tracing a slow line down her cheek, and then she shook her head, once, so faint I almost convinced myself I imagined it.

“Princess—”

“No,” Her voice was barely there. She backed away, straight into her mother’s arms, her fingers clutched the fabric of the woman’s cardigan, “You need to…you need to leave, Nathan.”

The word leave didn’t register properly. My brain rejected it like a foreign body, a fucking virus.

“You know I won’t let this go like this,” I said quietly, every syllable a promise. “So don’t complicate it. Come with me.”

She shook her head again and backed even more, building distance, more and more, away from me, building walls, brick by fucking brick.

“No, it’s…it’s over.” Her eyes held mine, though teary, they were determined, as if she’d made the choice, to step over her heart, choose them and not me, “It’s over.”

She is choosing them.

She is choosing them.

She is fucking choosing them.

That was the moment everything inside me went eerily silent.

My extended hand dropped slowly to my side.

I shook my head once, my eyes drifting from her, to her mother, and lastly to the old fucker who thought this was victory.

I turned away, already walking toward the door as I said, loud enough for them all to hear.

“No,” I said, “No, it is not.”

⊹˚₊‧────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

Author’s note:

So, that happened…
Well, Nathan did say it was war from now on, so let’s see who will win.
Him or them xD

I hope you liked the chapter.
Are you on Nathan’s side or Aylin’s side here?

Also, we are entering the part of the story where things will start to get revealed, so buckle up and enjoy the ride xD

See ya soon 🖤