Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Knox
She wears defiance like armor, her chin tilted at that stubborn angle that both infuriates and captivates me, her eyes flashing green fire as I guide her firmly up the path from the dock to the house. My hand remains locked around her wrist, tight enough to assert control but careful not to bruise the delicate skin. Inside, I'm a storm of conflicting emotions—rage at her recklessness, relief that I caught her before she got too far, primitive fear at how close I came to losing both her and our unborn child to the unforgiving sea. If her boat had capsized, if a sudden storm had blown in, if she'd gotten lost on open water with limited fuel…The possibilities torment me, feeding a protective fury that threatens to overwhelm my usual calculated control. I've never been a man who experiences fear—not during the lean years of my childhood, not when building my empire from nothing, not facing down competitors who wanted to destroy me. But the sight of Seraphina on that boat, fleeing from me, from us, awakened something I barely recognize in myself. Something that will do absolutely anything to keep her safe—even from herself.
"You're hurting me," she says, though we both know my grip is firm but not painful. Testing boundaries, always testing.
"You're lucky that's all I'm doing," I respond, not slowing my pace as we approach the house. Staff members quickly make themselves scarce as we enter—they recognize the storm brewing between us, know better than to get caught in its path.
I don't stop until we reach the master suite, practically lifting her over the threshold before releasing her wrist and closing the door with a decisive click. Not locking it—the symbolism would be too obvious, and unnecessary. We both know she's not going anywhere.
"Are you out of your mind?" I demand, my voice dangerously quiet. "Do you have any idea what could have happened out there?"
She rubs her wrist, though again, we both know I didn't hurt her. "I was fine. The mainland is only thirty miles. The boat had plenty of fuel."
"And if a storm had come up? If the engine had failed? If you'd gotten lost?" Each possibility fuels the fear-driven rage coursing through me. "You're pregnant, Seraphina. With my child. Our child. And you risked both your lives on a reckless escape attempt."
"I wouldn't have had to escape if you hadn't imprisoned me here in the first place!" she counters, backing away as I advance toward her. "You left. Without telling me, without discussing it. What was I supposed to do, just sit here like an obedient pet waiting for its master to return?"
"You were supposed to trust that I had a reason for leaving," I respond, closing the distance between us until her back hits the wall. "That I was handling something important for our future."
"What could possibly be so important that you'd leave without even telling me?" The question holds genuine curiosity beneath the anger.
For a moment, I consider telling her about my meeting with Richard, about ensuring he'll never interfere in our lives again. But that would only feed her narrative about my controlling nature. Instead, I focus on what matters now.
"That's irrelevant compared to what you just did," I say, placing my hands on the wall on either side of her head, caging her with my body. "You could have died out there, Seraphina. Both of you."
Something in my voice—the raw edge of genuine fear—seems to penetrate her anger. Her expression shifts, surprise flashing across her features.
"You're really scared," she observes, studying my face with newfound awareness. "You're not just angry that I defied you. You're actually afraid."
"Of course I'm afraid!" The admission tears from me with unexpected force. "Do you think I rescued you from that farce of a wedding, brought you here, claimed you again just to lose you to the fucking ocean because you're too stubborn to accept what we both know is true?"
She blinks, startled by the intensity of my response. "I wasn't trying to?—"
"You weren't thinking," I cut her off, leaning closer until our faces are inches apart. "About yourself, about our baby, about what it would do to me if something happened to you. You were so focused on defying me, on proving your independence, that you risked everything that matters."
Her lips part, but no argument comes. Instead, she simply stares at me, as if seeing something new in my expression, something that challenges her perception of my motivations.
"I will not lose you," I continue, my voice dropping to a dangerous register. "Not to another man, not to your own stubborn pride, and certainly not to some ill-conceived escape attempt. If I have to tie you to this bed until you understand that, I will."
Her eyes widen, her breath catching audibly. "You wouldn't dare."
"Test me and find out." I'm deadly serious, and she knows it. "I am not above using any means necessary to keep you and our child safe, Seraphina. Even if that means protecting you from your own reckless decisions."
"That's insane," she whispers, but there's a waver in her voice that betrays the effect my words—and proximity—are having on her. "You can't just tie me up because I tried to leave."
"I can and I will if that's what it takes." I move one hand from the wall to cup her face, forcing her to maintain eye contact. "Do you have any idea what it would do to me if something happened to you? To our child? Can you even comprehend what you mean to me?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with a vulnerability I rarely allow myself to show. Seraphina's expression softens almost imperceptibly, something like realization dawning in her eyes.
"Knox..." She begins, then stops, as if unsure how to respond to this glimpse beneath my controlled exterior.
"I've built an empire worth billions," I continue, my thumb tracing the delicate line of her jaw. "Created technology that's changed how the world functions. Been called brilliant, ruthless, unstoppable. But none of it—nothing I've accomplished, nothing I own, nothing I've built—means anything compared to you. To our child. You are everything, Seraphina. Everything."
A small sound escapes her, something between a gasp and a sigh. Her hands, which had been pressed flat against the wall, come up to rest against my chest. Not pushing me away, just feeling my heartbeat beneath her palms.
"You can't keep me prisoner here," she says, but the fire has gone out of her words, replaced by something more complicated. "That's not love, Knox. That's possession."
"It's protection," I counter. "And yes, possession too. I won't apologize for that. You're mine to protect, mine to cherish, mine to keep safe. If that means restraining you until you stop fighting what we both know is right, so be it."
"And what about what I want?" she challenges, though her body betrays her, softening against mine despite her verbal resistance. "Doesn't that matter at all?"
"What you want and what you need are often different things," I reply, bringing my other hand to her waist, feeling the slight curve that will soon show evidence of our child. "You want freedom without consequences. Independence without responsibility. The ability to run whenever things get too intense, too real, too demanding."
"That's not fair," she protests weakly.
"What you need," I continue as if she hadn't spoken, "is security. Stability. Someone who won't let you sabotage your own happiness out of fear. Someone who sees all of you—the strong, independent gallery director and the woman who craves being completely possessed. Someone who loves both versions equally."
"And you think that's you?" There's vulnerability in the question, a genuine uncertainty that pierces through my anger.
"I know it's me," I answer without hesitation. "Just like I know you're pregnant with my child. Just like I know you belong here, with me, building our future together. Some truths are immutable, Seraphina. Fighting them only causes pain."
Her eyes search mine, looking for something—deception, perhaps, or manipulation. Finding none, because there is none. Everything I've said is the unvarnished truth. I would tie her to this bed, would lock her in this room, would do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Not out of cruelty or a desire to control, but out of a love so consuming it terrifies even me with its intensity.
"I can't live in a cage," she whispers, "even a gilded one. Even for you. Even for our child."
"I'm not asking you to," I respond, gentling my tone. "I'm asking you to accept protection. To stop running from what frightens you. To trust that I want your happiness as much as I want your safety."
"And the threat to tie me to the bed?" A hint of her usual spirit resurfaces. "That's not a cage?"
"That's a consequence," I clarify. "One I hope I never have to implement. But make no mistake, Seraphina—I meant every word. I will not lose you. Not to the sea, not to your fears, not to anything or anyone. If that requires extreme measures, so be it."
She takes a shuddering breath, her body trembling slightly beneath my hands. "I don't know if I can do this, Knox. Be what you want me to be. Live up to these expectations."
"I don't want you to be anything other than what you are," I tell her, surprised by her misunderstanding. "Fierce. Independent. Challenging. Those are the qualities that make you perfect for me. I don't want to change you, Seraphina. I just want you safe while you're carrying our child. I want you here, where you belong, instead of running from the intensity of what we have together."
For a long moment, she's silent, processing my words. Then, unexpectedly, she leans forward, resting her forehead against my chest. It's not surrender—not yet—but it's the closest she's come since I brought her to the island.
"I can't promise I won't try to leave again," she says finally, her voice muffled against my shirt. "I can't promise I'll ever be what you want."
"I only want you," I reply, wrapping my arms around her, holding her close. "Everything else is negotiable. Except your safety and our child's. On that, I will never compromise."
She doesn't respond verbally, but her body softens further into mine, accepting comfort if not defeat. It's not a complete victory, but it's progress. The storm between us hasn't passed entirely, but the most dangerous squalls have abated for now.
If she tests me again—if she makes another attempt to flee—I'll make good on my promise. I'll restrain her physically if that's what it takes to keep her safe. But for now, I'm content to hold her, to feel her breath against my chest, to know that she and our child are secure in my arms where they belong.
Where they'll stay, by whatever means necessary.