Chapter 64
IVY
Astrange stillness settles between us. It feels like something has already resolved beneath the surface—like a decision has already been made, and all that’s left is for me to acknowledge it.
I’m not circling the situation anymore, not trying to break it apart into something manageable or less dangerous. The truth sits fully formed in my mind now, sharp and unavoidable, and for once I don’t try to soften it.
When I look at him, he’s already watching. His expression is steady—like I’ve finally caught up to something he understood long before I did.
“This isn’t love.” My voice comes out more controlled than I expect, and the lack of hesitation surprises me almost as much as his response.
“No.” He doesn’t argue or try to reframe it. He simply agrees, as if the word itself holds no real weight.
Irritation flickers in my chest at how easily he dismisses it, and I push further, needing him to feel the edges of what I’m saying. “It’s obsession,” I continue, holding his gaze. “You don’t give people space. You don’t let them choose freely.”
He studies me for a moment, then shifts closer, the movement unhurried but deliberate enough that I feel the change in distance immediately.
“You’re still here,” he says. The words land heavier than they should, and I feel it in the way my breath stutters.
“That’s not the same thing.” My words come out strong, even though the certainty I had a moment ago is already starting to slip.
“It means something,” he says quietly, lifting his hand to my jaw as if this conversation hasn’t altered anything between us.
His touch is familiar, controlled, and my body reacts before I can decide how I want to respond.
I should step back. I know I should.
I don’t.
“It’s control,” I say, softer now but no less certain. “You decide everything. You don’t let go.”
His thumb brushes along my skin as though he’s considering that, though his expression doesn’t shift in any meaningful way. “If that’s how you see it,” he says.
The lack of resistance unsettles me more than an argument would have. I expected him to deny it, to push back, to give me something to fight against. Instead, he lets the words stand, as though they don’t threaten him at all.
“And you don’t let people leave,” I add, forcing the point. “Once they’re in, that’s it.”
A brief pause follows, just long enough for me to feel the weight of what I’ve said. “Yes.”
The agreement lands harder than anything else. There’s no hesitation, no attempt to make it sound less severe, and the calm certainty in his voice makes my stomach tighten.
He doesn’t look away from me, and there’s something unnerving about the way he holds my gaze, as if the outcome of this conversation has already been decided and I’m simply moving through the steps required to reach it.
His hand shifts from my jaw to my waist, settling there with quiet confidence, and the contact sends a familiar reaction through me that I can’t quite suppress.
“Those things may be true,” he says, his voice low enough that I feel it more than I hear it, “but that’s not what this is.”
“That’s exactly what this is,” I counter, even though my conviction feels less solid than it did seconds ago.
“To you.” The correction is subtle, but it lands with precision, cutting through the certainty I’d been clinging to.
Because he isn’t denying anything I said.
He’s telling me it doesn’t matter.
My thoughts begin to spiral again, but underneath the noise, something steadier starts to take hold.
Something that feels dangerously close to acceptance.
He watches me carefully, as though he can see the shift happening in real time. “Well?” he asks, his tone even, patient.
The question hangs there, waiting for me to decide what I’m going to do with everything I’ve just acknowledged.
I could walk away. I could put distance between us, hold onto the clarity I fought to reach, and leave before it disappears completely.
I understand exactly what this is. I understand what it will cost me if I stay.
And I’m still here.
The realization settles into me, and before I can second-guess it, I take a step toward him.
The movement is entirely my own. He doesn’t guide me or pull me closer, but there’s something in the way his hand tightens slightly at my waist that tells me he expected it.
That he knew.
I lift my chin, meeting his gaze without hesitation now. “Then make sure I never leave.”
The words come out steady, carrying more intention than I expected, and for the first time, I don’t feel the need to take them back.
Something shifts in his expression.
He doesn’t respond right away, but he doesn’t need to.
The answer is already there.
I stay.
Still his.
Still thinking about Soren and Ivy? Good girl.
Because this is where it gets worse…