Chapter 21
IVY
Soren leans forward slightly, palms on the counter. “You could stay here.”
I blink. My stomach turns. “Soren—”
“Don’t,” he says quietly.
And something in my body reacts instantly, like it recognizes the tone.
He softens his expression again, like he’s aware he just tightened the leash.
He reaches out, touches my wrist gently. “I’m serious. You could stay,” he says. “You’d be welcome.” He gestures around. “There’s plenty of space. And the company isn’t half bad, either.”
I pull my wrist back instinctively…
Soren’s eyes flicker. He watches the movement. Then he smiles faintly, like he finds it amusing. “You’re still scared,” he murmurs.
My throat tightens. “I’m not scared.”
His smile widens. “You are,” he says. “And you don’t have to be. You should realize that by now.”
I stare at him. The huge kitchen suddenly feels much smaller, the air thicker. I swallow. “I can’t just… move here,” I say. “I’m not even thinking clearly right now.”
Soren’s expression shifts.
And there it is. The first crack. The faintest shadow of irritation.
Then he covers it. Fast. So fast I almost convince myself I imagined it. He nods slowly, like he’s being patient. “Okay,” he says. “Then don’t move here.”
Relief loosens my chest.
Then he adds—“Just stay a little longer.”
I look at him. “I can’t,” I say. “I have things to do.”
He tilts his head. “What things?”
It’s a simple question. But it doesn’t feel simple—it feels like a test.
I hesitate.
And he sees my pause. His mouth curves. “Exactly,” he says softly.
“I have… work,” I say, my cheeks burning.
He laughs under his breath. “Work,” he echoes. “Ivy, you’re falling apart. You need rest.”
Rest. Again. Rest always sounds like care until it becomes permission.
And he knows my job is remote. He knows I know he knows that. The point is moot. But it was the first thing that popped into my head and I blurted it out as a way to deflect his invitation. Simple as that.
Soren walks toward me slowly, like he’s approaching something skittish.
He stops close enough that I have to tilt my head up to look at him. His eyes are sharper this morning. Less softened by wine and candlelight. Less romantic. More focused.
He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. Gentle. Familiar. Too familiar. “You’re not leaving,” he says softly.
My stomach drops. I blink. “What?”
He smiles like he didn’t just say something insane. “I mean it. You’re not leaving today,” he repeats.
My throat tightens. “I have a flight,” I say.
He shrugs. “I’ll cancel it.”
My pulse spikes. “You can’t just cancel it.”
His gaze holds mine. Unblinking. “Yes I can,” he says.
The calmness in his voice makes my skin prickle. Because it’s not a suggestion. It’s a decision.
My hands tremble slightly on the edge of the counter. “Soren,” I say carefully. “I appreciate this weekend. I really do. I’ve had a wonderful time. But I’m going home today.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “Home,” he repeats. The word looks like it tastes bitter in his mouth. “That’s not home.”
My heart pounds.
Soren exhales slowly, like he’s forcing himself to stay calm.
Then he steps back. And suddenly his tone changes, becomes more intense. “You don’t get it,” he says. “You don’t understand what I’m offering you.”
I swallow. “What are you offering me?”
His smile returns. Slow. Possessive. Like he’s about to say something romantic. Something devastating.
He walks closer again. His voice drops. “I’m offering you a life,” he says. “A real one. Not whatever you’ve been doing. Not whatever that man has been doing to you. Or the one before him.”
My stomach twists.
His hand slides to my waist lightly. He pulls me closer like it’s natural.
Like I belong there.
“You come here,” he murmurs. “You stay with me. You heal. You breathe. I’ll feed you properly. I’ll take care of you.”
My chest tightens.
Because his words sound like safety. Because they sound like rest. Because they sound like surrender.
And my body is so tired it wants to fold into it.
But my mind whispers you’ve heard this before.
Soren’s fingers press into my waist slightly. Then he says, voice quiet—“I love you.”
The words hit like a punch. I don’t know what to do with them.
My breath catches. I stare at him. “I—”
He doesn’t give me time. He keeps going, like the words are spilling out because he can’t stop them. “I know it’s crazy,” he says. “I know it’s fast. But I know what I feel. I’m not some idiot kid. I’m not playing.”
My throat tightens. My skin goes hot.
His eyes burn into mine. “I’ve been thinking about you for years,” he says.
“And now you’re here. And you’ve been sleeping in my bed.
And I’m watching you walk around my kitchen in my shirt like you belong here—.
” He exhales sharply. “I’m good for you.
Miami is not. I’m not letting you go back to that. ”
Letting.
My hands tremble.
I should say something. I should tell him to slow down. I should tell him this is insane. But my body is still warm from his bed. Still softened by his food.
Still high on the feeling of being wanted.
And the truth is, no one has said they loved me like this in a long time. Not like they meant it. Not like I was something worth being claimed.
Soren reaches up and cups my face. His thumb brushes my cheek. His gaze is intense, unwavering. “Move here soon,” he says softly.
My heart slams into my ribs. “What? You’re really serious about all of this?” I whisper.
He nods. “Yes,” he says. “Go back, sort out whatever you need to do, get your stuff, and then move here. With me. I’ll take care of you. You don’t have to fight anymore.”
My eyes sting.
Because I’ve been fighting for so long—to be believed. To be safe. To be normal. To not collapse—or disappear completely.
His thumb strokes my cheek again. He leans in slightly. “You can stop now,” he murmurs. “You can let me do it.”
My throat tightens.
And suddenly I hate him.
Not because he’s wrong.
Because he’s offering me something that feels like relief.
And relief is the most dangerous drug there is when you’ve been in pain for too long.
I step back.
His hands fall away. His expression shifts. A flicker of something sharp.
Then it smooths out again. He smiles. Patient. Controlled. Like he’s waiting for me to come to the right conclusion.
“I can’t,” I whisper.
His eyes narrow. “Yes, you can,” he says quietly.
I shake my head. “I just—I just got here,” I say. “I don’t even know you very well. This was only meant to be a weekend visit.”
Soren’s smile doesn’t move. But his eyes harden. “You do know me,” he says.
The certainty in his voice makes my stomach churn.
I swallow. “I need to go home,” I say again, firmer this time.
He stares at me for a long moment. Then he exhales through his nose. A slow, controlled breath, and his voice drops, softer. “Okay,” he says. “Go home.”
Relief floods me.
Then he steps closer again. He touches my jaw lightly, tilting my face toward his. “But you’re coming back,” he murmurs.
It isn’t a question.
“I don’t know—”
“You are,” he repeats. His voice is gentle, but it’s also final. And something about the combination makes my skin prickle.
He kisses my forehead. Soft. Almost reverent. Then he whispers— “I’m not done with you.”
The words make my breath catch. My pulse spikes. Because it sounds like romance. It sounds like obsession.
But standing in his kitchen, with his hands on my face, it doesn’t feel like a compliment.
It feels like a claim.