Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Seraphina
I stand at the floor-to-ceiling windows of Knox's penthouse, staring at the miniature world below.
Freedom looks so close yet impossibly far away, like a dream that dissolves upon waking.
My hands drift to my swollen belly, cradling the life growing inside me—our life, mine and Knox's.
The baby kicks against my palm as if to remind me why escape is no longer an option.
Not that Knox would ever allow it. The truth sinks in like a stone to the bottom of a dark pond: I belong to Knox Vance now, and he will never let me go.
Less than a day. I managed less than a day on my own before he found me. Jus hours before Knox stormed into my room like a vengeful god, eyes blazing with fury and something else—something that looked dangerously like heartbreak.
I lean my forehead against the cool glass, my breath creating a small circle of fog. Behind me, I hear Knox moving around the kitchen, the gentle clink of china against marble, the soft hiss of the espresso machine. Always taking care of me, even when he's furious. Especially when he's furious.
The memory of his face when he found me makes my chest tighten.
I'd never seen Knox Vance—tech genius, ruthless businessman, billionaire—look so utterly shattered.
For a split second, before the mask slipped back into place, before the rage took over, I saw raw pain in those dark eyes. And I put it there.
"Are you trying to see if the glass will give way? Because I assure you, it won't. It's bulletproof." His voice comes from directly behind me, making me jump. I didn't even hear him approach—Knox always moving with that predatory grace that makes him so dangerous.
"No," I whisper, turning to face him. He stands close, too close, his massive frame blocking out the rest of the world. In his hands are two mugs—mine decaf, his quadruple shot, no doubt. "I was just thinking."
"About running again?" His voice is deceptively soft, but I hear the steel underneath. Knox doesn't ask questions he doesn't already know the answers to.
I shake my head, taking the mug he offers. "No. About staying."
Something flashes in his eyes—triumph, relief, possessiveness. He doesn't believe me yet. I don't blame him.
"Good," he says, one large hand coming up to cup my cheek. I should pull away. I should maintain some kind of boundary. But I don't. Instead, I lean into his touch like a cat seeking warmth. "Because I've made it clear that's not an option, Seraphina."
The way he says my name—like it's a rare artwork he's acquired, something precious and irreplaceable—sends a shiver down my spine.
"I know." I take a sip of my tea, allowing the warm liquid to soothe my throat. "I understand now."
Knox's eyebrow arches, skepticism etched across his aristocratic features.
"Do you?" His thumb traces my bottom lip, a habit he seems unable to break.
"Because I'm not convinced you grasp exactly what you mean to me.
What this means to me." His hand drops to my belly, splaying wide across the swell where our child grows.
"You made it abundantly clear when you tracked me across state lines with a private detective and half a dozen security personnel."
A smile curls one corner of his mouth, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "That was me being restrained, Seraphina."
I believe him. That's the terrifying part. The man who stands before me, who looks at me like I'm both salvation and temptation, would burn the world to ash if I disappeared again.
"I needed space," I explain, though the words sound hollow even to my own ears. "Everything happened so fast—the gallery opening, us, the pregnancy. I just.. panicked."
"And now?" His voice drops an octave, becoming that dangerous velvet rumble that makes my toes curl against the hardwood floor.
"Now I accept my fate." The words should feel like surrender, like defeat. Instead, they taste like truth.
Knox's eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. He sets his mug down on the nearby console with deliberate care. "Your fate?" He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my face up. "Is that what I am to you? Some cosmic punishment?"
"No," I whisper, my pulse quickening. "That's not what I meant."
"Then perhaps you should explain exactly what you meant." His breath fans across my face, mingling with mine. "Because I am many things, Seraphina, but I am not a sentence to be served."
I close my eyes, gathering my scattered thoughts. When I open them again, Knox is still there, still watching me with that intense focus that makes me feel like the only woman in existence.
"I meant that I accept that this—us—is inevitable.
That from the moment you walked into my gallery and looked at me like I was more valuable than every painting on display, some part of me knew I couldn't escape you.
" My voice grows stronger with each word.
"I accept that you will never let me go, and I'm... I'm not sure I want you to anymore. "
Something dark and hungry flares in Knox's gaze. His hand slides from my chin to the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my hair. "Say it again," he demands, the words a growl against my lips.
"I don't want you to let me go."
He crushes his mouth to mine, not asking permission, not seeking consent—simply taking what he considers his.
And God help me, I give it freely. My hands clutch at his shoulders, my body melting against his solid frame.
The mug in my hand tilts dangerously, but Knox, ever aware of everything in his orbit, takes it from me without breaking the kiss and sets it aside.
When he finally releases me, we're both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, our shared air hot and intimate.
"I searched for you for six hours," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "Do you know what that was like? To know you were out there, carrying my child, thinking you could disappear from my life?"
Guilt washes over me, an uncomfortable heat that spreads through my chest. "I'm sorry," I whisper, and I mean it. Not for trying to escape, perhaps, but for the pain I caused him. For not understanding sooner that this man's obsession with me isn't something to fear, but to embrace.
"I don't want your apologies." His hands frame my face, his eyes drilling into mine.
"I want your promise. Your vow that you will never do that again.
That you understand, truly understand, that you are mine.
That our child is mine. That there is nowhere on this earth you could go that I would not find you. "
There's something beautiful in his madness, in his absolute certainty. In a world of tepid feelings and casual discarding, Knox Vance wants me with a fervor that borders on religious.
"I understand," I tell him, reaching up to trace the hard line of his jaw. "I do. You'll never let me go."
"Never." The word is a vow, a threat, a promise.
And as his mouth claims mine again, as his hands slide possessively over the curves of my body, as he presses me against the window with the city spread out beneath us like a glittering offering, I surrender completely to the knowledge that I am caught. Captured. Claimed.
I am Knox Vance's, and he will never let me go.
And the most terrifying revelation of all? I don't want him to.