Olivia #2
I swallowed hard, but the guilt kept churning in my stomach. My father had stood in this hallway because of me. Had threatened Rhys because of me. Had said those cruel, cutting things—
The tension between us stretched taut, suffocating.
Rhys looked at me like he was barely holding himself together, like one wrong word would shatter whatever fragile control he'd managed to maintain.
I'd never seen him like this—not distant, not withdrawn, but burning with something too volatile to name.
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of his shirt still clinging to my skin.
"He's wrong." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "About what he said. About you."
Rhys went absolutely still. The kind of stillness that made me afraid to breathe, afraid to move, afraid that any small sound might break whatever held him in place.
When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, scraped raw.
"No." He looked at me then—really looked—and what I saw in his eyes made my chest ache. "He's not."
The words hit like a physical blow. I shook my head, denial automatic and desperate.
"Rhys—"
"He's right." He cut me off, jaw tight, every muscle in his body coiled with restraint.
"I am too old for you. I did wait. I did prey on your vulnerability.
" His hands clenched at his sides. "I told myself I was protecting you, but all I've done is take advantage of the fact that you don't know any better. "
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" Something broke in his expression—pain mixing with self-loathing so sharp it made my throat close. "You came to me because you had nowhere else to go. Because you needed safety, and I gave you this instead."
"I wanted this." The words burst out fierce and trembling. "I wanted you."
He flinched like I'd struck him.
"You don't know what you want," he said quietly. "You're too young to understand—"
"Stop." My voice cracked. "Stop saying that. Stop acting like I'm a child who can't make her own choices."
"You deserve better." His voice came out rough, scraped raw. "Especially since I can't let you go."
I went completely still.
"I'm too old for you." He spoke like each word cost him something. "I knew you when you were a child. I saved you once and now I'm—" His jaw clenched. "I'm taking advantage of everything you've been through. Your fear. Your isolation. Your need for protection."
My breath caught, but he kept going.
"I told myself I could stay away. That I could be professional. That I could protect you without..." He dragged a hand through his hair, the gesture violent and frustrated. "But I failed. Every rule I set for myself, I broke. Every line I drew, I crossed."
"Rhys—"
"I'm wretched." The word came out bitter, self-directed. "I hate myself for wanting you. For touching you. For not being strong enough to walk away when I should have." His eyes burned into mine. "But even knowing all of this—knowing how wrong I am for you—I can't pull away."
Something in my chest cracked open.
"The thought of someone else..." His voice dropped dangerously low. "Some better man being with you. Touching you. Making you laugh." His hands clenched into fists. "It enrages me."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.
"You belong to me, Olivia." The words came out possessive, absolute, terrible in their certainty. "There's no way out. Not for either of us."
I swallowed hard, heart hammering against my ribs.
The silence stretched between us—heavy, suffocating, electric. He looked at me like I was both his salvation and his damnation, like he hated himself for wanting me and would destroy anyone who tried to take me away.
Finally, he straightened. His expression shifted into something I recognized—cold determination masking everything else underneath.
"You need to pack your things." His voice went flat, controlled. "You're moving in with me."
The words didn't register at first. When they did, shock jolted through me.
"What? No. I can't—"
"I wasn't asking."
The command in his voice made my breath hitch. Not cruel. Not angry. Just absolute. Final. The same tone he used on the ice when players questioned his authority—the one that said the decision had already been made and arguing would accomplish nothing.
"Rhys, that's—"
"This apartment isn't safe." He cut me off, gesturing sharply at the door. "That lock is worthless. Your father knows where you live. He'll come back."
"I can handle—"
"No." One word. Definitive. "You can't. Not alone." His eyes burned into mine. "And I'm done pretending I can leave you here."
My pulse thundered in my ears. This was happening too fast—everything spinning out of control, my carefully maintained independence crumbling with every word he spoke.
"I have a job. I have—"
"You'll still have your job." His expression softened fractionally. "Nothing changes except where you sleep at night." He paused, jaw tight. "Where I can protect you."
The possessiveness in those last words sent heat flooding through me despite everything.
"This is insane," I whispered.
"I know." Something dark flickered in his eyes. "But I told you—there's no way out."
He stepped closer, and I couldn't make myself back away.
"Pack what you need tonight," he said quietly. "We'll get the rest tomorrow."