Chapter 11 Mia
ELEVEN
MIA
I get through the next week in a daze. Between the nausea, exhaustion, and Jensen’s constant hovering and safety protocols, I’m losing my mind.
Just this morning, he tried to increase my security for an exhibition I’m planning.
I already have Theo and Mike. I draw the line at Luca and whoever else he can rope in.
I’m not just overwhelmed anymore. I’m angry.
My body isn’t mine. My time isn’t mine. And I can’t blink without someone breathing down my neck. This morning, even the lights in the gallery are so bright they feel like an interrogation.
I’m slumped at my desk, ignoring Mike—who’s watching me like I might detonate. Theo’s in his usual spot at the security desk, blending into the walls like a moody gargoyle. Every now and again, he glances over at me, wincing in sympathy.
Because, yeah—I look like shit.
I feel even worse.
My head’s floaty, my limbs are heavy, and every time I stand up, my stomach stages a violent protest.
Inhale. Exhale. Rinse and repeat until it passes…. or I puke. It’s a dice roll.
I press a hand to my belly, breathing through the nausea while I click through my emails.
Come on, nugget. Let mama work today. Please.
I don’t have time to play vomit roulette. There are two exhibits next week and my to-do list is a mile long. Juno’s been a blur all morning, her topknot half way to falling out as she nearly drops a box full of prints.
I slip off my stool to help her, but Mike moves first, peeling himself off the wall, and grabs it from her.
At least he’s making himself useful instead of just looming.
My phone buzzes and I grab it, expecting it to be something gallery-related. It’s not.
Of course it’s not.
Jensen
Hey beautiful. Are you feeling okay?
Do you need anything?
If you’re going out for lunch with Juno, let me know now so I can organize security.
I blink at the messages like they’re live bombs.
Organize security?
I glance at Mike, who’s now hauling another box under Juno’s direction, and then over at Theo, still planted at the security desk, eyes glued to the surveillance monitor like this is the damn Pentagon and not a small gallery in SoHo.
Unless I’m hallucinating, I already have two fully grown watchdogs shadowing my every step.
So what the hell does “organize security” mean?
A body double?
A fucking motorcade?
A special ops team flanking me while I order a bagel and smoothie?
I unclench my jaw, and bite down on the scream clawing up my throat, but my frustration isn’t enough to stop my eyes from burning. I’m tired. I’m queasy.
And I’m so fucking done with this.
I know Jensen’s trying to take care of me—of us—but I can’t live this way any longer. He might be the first man in recorded history to smother someone to death with pure, undiluted love.
Why does lunch need a full military grade operation?
I bounce my leg as I wait for the reply. Is there a threat I’m not aware of? Am I in danger? Is someone likely to stab me over the last cookie?
Jensen
I’m just being cautious, sweetheart. You’re precious cargo.
Cautious? He’s got me wrapped up so tight I’m going to pass out from lack of oxygen. At this rate, I’ll need security clearance just to pee.
I count back from ten. It doesn’t help. This is unhinged, even by Jensen’s standards. Usually, his measures grate, but I keep my mouth shut and do what I’m told. I like him taking care of me, and I understand that marrying a man with more money than some countries comes with risks.
But his fear since I got pregnant is making me crazy.
I know he’s scared something will happen to me or our baby, but this is too much.
There’s not a judge or jury on earth who’d convict me for murder at this point. They’d take one look at this overbearing, obsessive, control-freak man and hand me a fucking medal.
I’ve been patient. I’ve done as I was told.
I haven’t thrown a tantrum, even though I’m a heart beat from full body meltdown.
But I’m done.
My stomach rolls, and not just from the baby. My sweater is too tight around my throat and my skin feels wrong.
My phone buzzes again.
Jensen:
You look upset. Are you okay?
I freeze then slowly, mechanically, I lift my eyes to the small black circle mounted in the corner of the gallery ceiling. He’s watching me through the live feed. Of course he is. Normally, that makes me feel safe, loved and cherished in a ridiculous over-the-top way only Jensen can give me.
But right now, it feels like a boot on my neck. Like he’s pressing down gently, sweetly, until I can’t breathe anymore.
Juno walks up to the desk holding a stack of prints. “Do you want these on the—” She stops, her brows drawing together. “Mia?”
“I can’t do this.” I hate that my voice wobbles. That I sound exactly what Jensen thinks I am—fragile. Weak. Breakable.
“Oh, honey, what’s going on?”
My eyes dart to Theo, who’s watching me, then to Mike. He’s poised, ready to follow if I so much as twitch.
I close my eyes, dragging in a stuttering lung full of air that feels too thin. My phone buzzes again. I don’t need to look to know who it is.
I stand, and the chair scrapes across the floor loud and sharp. Mike moves on instinct, ready to protect, to do his job, but I don’t want a guard. I want space, freedom.
“Don’t.” My voice is quiet, but cracks with a deadly snap.
He freezes, glancing at Theo. He’s watching me like he sees the danger crackling beneath my skin.
I shouldn’t feel this shaky or this furious, but my anger is locked around something far more frightening—suffocating panic.
“I just need—” I suck in a breath, but it lodges in my throat. I can’t find the strength to pull in another as my phone rings.
“Mrs. Rivers,” Mike tries.
I hold up a hand. “Just… leave me alone for five fucking minutes. I’m done being watched, tracked, or fucking analyzed.”
Theo stands now, his eyes softening, like he knows I’m too far gone. Reason and logic have left the building.
“Mia?” Juno whispers, but I hear the sympathy, the worry, and it makes my gut tighten.
“I just need five minutes,” I whisper, desperate for someone to hear me.
She stares at me for a beat, then nods. “Then take it.”
I step back from the desk. Mike shifts toward me. It’s not fair, but I turn on him, my eyes blazing. “If you move another step, I swear I’ll scream.”
He hesitates, torn between protocol and my instruction. “Mrs. Rivers, if you need to go somewhere, we’ll accompany you.”
I laugh, but it’s not warm. “Why don’t you just put me in shackles and drag me wherever you want?”
“Mia,” Theo says my name gently, like he’s afraid I might spook. “What do you need?”
That makes my chest ache fiercely. He’s asking, not demanding. I swipe at the tears trailing down my cheeks.
“To be normal for just a moment.” My phone rings again on the desk. It pierces my ears. I step back from it. I can’t talk to Jensen right now and I know it’s him. Of course it is. He’s watching all of this on the cameras. “Don’t follow me.”
Theo doesn’t take his eyes off me. Not even when I slip through the door to the back rooms. I don’t stop. I don’t think.
I’m out of the back entrance before I consider what I’m doing. The fresh air hits me like a punch, but I keep moving. I feel sick, lightheaded, and pissed.
I join the swell of people on the street, oblivious to the turmoil swirling inside me.
I duck my head, walk faster, ignoring the rolling nausea as best I can.
I don’t have a direction in mind. I’m just walking aimlessly, trying to ignore the knots in my stomach and the bile building in the back of my throat.
Somehow, I end up at Washington Square Park.
I slip under the cascade of trees, following the curved paths behind a couple of dog walkers.
The traffic feels distant even though the city still presses against the edge of the park.
Just a little slice of stillness surrounded by concrete and bustle.
It’s enough to allow me to expand my chest.
I find an empty bench and sink onto it like my legs no longer work. My eyes dart, expecting a masked man to leap out of the bushes and drag me away, but no one pays attention to me. Because despite what Jensen thinks, I’m not that important.
I take a slow, measured breath, filling my lungs for the first time all morning. The breeze is warm, but fall bites at the edges. It brushes over my skin like a balm.
I close my eyes, and I just… exist.
There’s no Jensen. No security.
Just me.
Here, I’m not married to a man who sees monsters looming around every corner. There are no assassins or men waiting to abduct me.
I’m just a nameless face in a crowd of tourists and New Yorkers.
And I didn’t realize how much I needed that until this moment.
The minutes crawl by, and the adrenaline seeps out of my bones.
It leaves behind a deep exhaustion that presses down on my shoulders.
I know Jensen loves me, that has never been in question, and I love him with every beat of my heart.
But this gilded cage he’s locked me in is going to fucking kill me.
He’s afraid, and I know why, but his fear is going to ruin everything we’ve built.
And I don’t know how to pull us back from this.