9. Zachary #2
"She's twenty years old!" Raymond throws the age difference at me like a weapon. "You're nearly forty! She's barely an adult, you're a grown man! This is predatory!"
"She's an adult capable of making her own decisions." I hold his gaze steadily. "I didn't force or manipulate anything. Everything between us is consensual."
Carol is still holding the framed photographs, staring at them with horrified fascination. "You photographed her naked! Display her like—like property! This is obsessive and sick!"
"Those photos are private and intimate, and she consented to them," I reply, zero apology in my tone. "I display them because she's precious to me. I'm not ashamed of cherishing her."
"Cherishing?!" Raymond's disgust drips from the word. "You were fucking her! We walked in on you inside her! Don't dress this up as romance!"
I stand from the bed, sheet wrapped around my waist. I'm taller than Raymond by several inches, broader through the shoulders. I use every inch of that physical advantage now, facing them with dominant certainty.
"Yes. We're sleeping together. Yes, I have photos of her. And no, I'm not apologizing for any of it."
Zoey remains on the bed behind me, still clutching the sheet and crying quietly. But she's watching me face her parents, take the heat, protect her from their fury.
"This ends right now!" Raymond tries to assert authority, voice ringing with command. "Tonight, immediately! This sick relationship is over!"
"That's not your decision to make." My voice is steel. "We're adults. This is our choice."
Carol turns to Zoey, pleading desperately. "Baby, please—you don't understand—he's manipulated you, groomed you?—"
"He didn't manipulate me, Mom." Zoey's voice is shaky but clear, finding strength despite her tears. "I wanted this—wanted him. I chose this."
"She's telling the truth," I reinforce, keeping my stance protective and commanding. "Stop treating her like a victim. She made her own choices."
"While you live in this house—" Raymond tries to play the authority card "—you follow our rules! And this is absolutely forbidden!"
"I have my own property." The statement lands with weight. "Own house, separate finances. We're not going to be dependent on you."
Raymond's expression shifts as he realizes what that means. I've been prepared for this possibility, ready to leave with Zoey if necessary. I'm not trapped by family obligation or financial dependence.
Carol sees it too—sees that she's losing control of this situation, losing her daughter. Her voice hardens through the tears, desperate and final.
"Then you need to choose, Zoey."
The ultimatum hangs in the air, terrible and absolute.
"Him or your family. Choose now."
Before Zoey can answer, I speak. "Don't force her to choose." Warning edges my voice. "Don't do this to her."
"She needs to choose," Raymond says firmly, backing his wife's ultimatum. "If she chooses you, you both leave. Tonight."
Zoey looks between us all—her mother desperate and sobbing, Raymond stony with fury, me steady and protective. The most impossible choice I could ask anyone to make.
I hold her gaze but don't tell her what to choose. I want her to pick me, want it with desperate intensity. But it has to be her decision.
The seconds stretch out endlessly.
Then Zoey speaks, voice shaking but clear. "I choose him. I'm sorry, Mom, but I choose Zachary."
Carol releases an anguished wail, collapsing against Raymond. He catches her, his own face twisted with disgust and anger.
"Then both of you—get out," Raymond says coldly while supporting his sobbing wife. "Pack and leave. Now. You're not welcome here anymore."
"We'll need twenty minutes," I state, not ask. "To pack her essentials and dress."
Raymond nods shortly, jaw clenched tight. "Twenty minutes. Then gone."
He guides Carol from the room, closing the door behind them. Her sobs echo down the hallway, fading as they retreat downstairs.
Zoey breaks down completely the moment they're gone, sobbing into her hands. "I just lost my family?—"
I pull her against me, holding her while she shakes. "I know, baby. I'm sorry."
But we don't have time for extended comfort right now. I gently but firmly set her back. "We need to get dressed and pack. Now."
I help her dress with steady hands, finding her clothes and guiding her through the motions. She's moving mechanically, in shock. I dress myself quickly, then lead her to her bedroom.
I pack her essentials efficiently—clothes, toiletries, laptop, textbooks, medications. Everything she needs immediately. Anything else can be retrieved later if necessary.
She stands in the doorway watching me, still crying but quieter now. Trusting me to handle everything because she can't.
Two large bags hold her essentials. I carry both easily as we head downstairs.
Raymond and Carol wait by the front door. Carol is still crying, refusing to meet her daughter's eyes. Raymond's expression is carved from stone.
"Don't contact us," Raymond says coldly. "Not until this relationship is over. You're not welcome here."
Zoey looks at her mother one last time. "Mom, I?—"
Carol turns away, the ultimate rejection.
My hand settles firm on Zoey's lower back. "Let's go, Zoey."
I guide her toward the door, away from them, out into the night. The door closes behind us with terrible finality.
We walk to my car in silence. I open her door, help her inside, load the bags into the trunk. Then I slide into the driver's seat beside her.
The moment I close the door, Zoey breaks down completely. Violent sobs shake her whole body, grief overwhelming everything else.
I pull her against me, holding her while she cries. "I've got you. I promise. You'll never regret choosing me. I'll take care of everything."
She's devastated, but I can feel the certainty underneath her grief. She chose me. Consciously, deliberately chose me over her family.
She's mine now. Completely, irrevocably mine.
I start the car and pull away from the estate. In the rearview mirror, I watch it disappear behind us.
"Where are we going?" Zoey asks through her tears.
"My house. Across town." I keep one hand on her thigh, grounding her. "Our house now."
She doesn't ask questions, just trusts me to handle everything. Smart girl.
The drive takes twenty minutes. When I pull up to the property, Zoey stares at the modern house with red-rimmed eyes.
"You really were prepared," she whispers.
"Always." I carry her bags to the door, unlock it, usher her inside. "You'll finish college—I'll pay for everything. You'll want for nothing, Zoey. I promise you that."
She looks around the house—beautiful, private, spacious. Our home together, where we don't have to hide anymore.
"I don't regret it," she says quietly, meeting my eyes. "Choosing you. Even though it hurts, I don't regret it."
"Good." I pull her against me, feeling the rightness of having her here, in our space. "Because you're mine now. Permanently."
"Permanently," she echoes, the word both promise and surrender.
I carry her upstairs to the master bedroom—our bedroom now. Tomorrow we'll deal with the aftermath, the logistics, the fallout. Tonight, I just hold her while she cries, while she processes what she's lost and what she's gained.
She chose me. When forced to decide between family and the taboo relationship that horrified them, she chose me.
Point of no return crossed. No going back now.
She's mine. Completely, utterly, irrevocably mine.
And I'll spend the rest of my life making sure she never regrets that choice.