Chapter 19 Dove #2
I look around the area, seeing the double glass doors that led into the woods, feeling the freedom of not being bound, the shackles were no longer tying me down and his soft words were giving me a choice: stay or go.
If he would have asked me this question months ago, I would have run through that door and happily gone home, putting this whole ordeal behind me and leaving Ashton right where he belonged—in the darkness.
As I look into his eyes, I’m just not sure.
The decision should be an easy one, but it’s not.
When I think of walking away from him, something piercing hurts my chest. It’s like the pull he has on me would be broken and maybe deep down.
I didn’t want that. I didn’t want it to be broken.
Somewhere in this fucked up world he had created, I had found something I didn’t even know I was searching for—a home.
How could I walk away when this was the first time in eight years that I truly felt safe? Maybe I was just far too damaged to realise this was toxic, but if that’s what it was, I’d take it over not existing.
He just watches me as I wrestle with the thoughts in my head. It’s like he’s waiting with bated breath for a response to his question. Would I break his heart or complete his dark world?
There is no pressure, no force. He’s really letting me decide my future.
I haven’t been given the choice to decide how my life goes since I could remember.
Not only was he letting me choose my fate, he was giving me my voice back.
So strange to think that the monster who hid buried in the woods had shown me more kindness than those that would have you believe they were ‘good people’.
“I can see it’s a hard decision.” He smirks, rousing me from my thoughts.
“It’s not—it’s just—.”
“Hold that thought. Don’t give me an answer yet.” I raise my brows in his direction. “I have a surprise for you.” He whispers.
“Do you trust me?” He asks me and I don’t even have to think before I speak.
“Yes.” I whisper.
I feel him bind dark silk across my eyes and then the light is gone and all I can see is darkness.
This should terrify me, but it doesn’t. Listening to his heavy breathing as his hands crawl down my arms, sending electric currents to pierce my body, he leans in.
“I’ve been wanting to show you this since you arrived. ” He breathes into my skin.
With his hands guiding me, he leads me down a hallway, our footsteps soft on the thick carpet beneath us.
The air feels different here, somehow warmer, carrying a faint scent of old books, leather, and polished wood.
We stop in front of large, ornately carved double doors that feel massive even from behind my blindfold.
His fingers slide over mine, squeezing gently before he removes the silk covering my eyes. I blink into the low golden light that floods from the room ahead.
The library is vast, sprawling across two levels, with towering mahogany shelves stretching up to a painted ceiling that seems to touch the heavens.
The ceiling is a masterpiece—rich murals that depict scenes of mythical landscapes, painted with the detail of a thousand careful strokes.
Softly glowing chandeliers hang from above, illuminating the figures in the clouds and casting a warm, almost sacred light over the room.
Dark wooden ladders run along tracks at each row, inviting you to explore every towering shelf and hidden corner.
The walls are lined with intricate woodwork, and there’s a wrought-iron spiral staircase leading to the upper balcony, which wraps around the room like a protective embrace.
Rich leather armchairs sit in cozy clusters, as if inviting you to lose yourself in a story, and a grand stone fireplace rests at the far end, its quiet crackle adding to the warm, intimate atmosphere.
“This…” I whisper, unable to finish as I take it all in.
He steps closer behind me, his breath warm against my neck. “I had a feeling you’d appreciate it,” he murmurs, his voice reverent yet possessive, like he’s unveiling a secret meant only for me.
He steps closer, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. “I built this for you,” he whispers, his voice a low rumble that resonates through me. “Every shelf, every stone, every inch of it… for you.”
I turn to look at him, my eyes wide. “You built this?”
He nods, his gaze intense. “When I first saw you, tucked away in the corner of that little bookstore, lost in a story… you didn’t even notice me.
You had no idea that I’d already decided you were mine.
” His fingers trace slowly along my collarbone, sending warmth through my body.
“I watched you… how you’d get so absorbed, the way your lips would twitch when you read something funny, how your brows furrowed with every twist. I wanted to give you a place where you could lose yourself completely. ”
He pulls me even closer, his eyes dark as they hold mine. “You deserve more than a dim bookstore corner, Dove. Here, you can read in silence, with no one watching… except me.”
The heat of his words, the possessiveness woven through them, both thrills and unnerves me.
There’s no denying the careful thought he put into this—his eyes search mine, waiting, watching for any trace of surrender.
And yet, in this room he built for me, he’s left me surrounded by beauty and history, by a kind of intimacy that feels as unsettling as it is seductive.
I feel his fingers trail down my arm, gentle but insistent, and his grip tightens, grounding me in his presence.
“You see,” he murmurs, his voice a warm breath against my ear, “I wanted to create a place where you wouldn’t want to leave…
where every part of you felt like it belonged to me.
Here, you’re surrounded by everything that makes you feel safe, makes you feel seen.
Every page, every shelf, is a part of you—and now a part of me. ”
He reaches up, and with a brush of his fingertips, he turns my chin to face the shelves.
“Look around,” he says softly, the barest hint of pride in his voice.
“This library is endless. You could spend days here, weeks, and still not uncover every story, every hidden secret. Each book, each word, is here for you.”
My breath catches as I take it all in—the rich smell of old pages, the faint aroma of polished wood, and the feel of his body behind mine, a constant reminder of his silent claim on me. His hands slide over my shoulders, a tender yet possessive touch that speaks louder than any words he could say.
“You wanted me to have this…” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
He turns me slowly, his gaze dark and unwavering.
“I want you to need this. To need me,” he says, and there’s a dangerous edge to his words, something raw and possessive that seizes hold of me, pulling me under.
“In this room, you’re mine entirely. Not just to keep, but to protect, to surround with everything you’ve ever wanted but never dared to ask for. ”
His hands trace down my arms, his fingers lacing through mine, his touch both possessive and reassuring. “So stay here, Dove. Find yourself in these pages. Just know that I’ll be here… waiting for you to come back to me.”
As his words settle over me, I realize that he’s crafted more than just a library; he’s given me a world where I can lose myself, a place I never want to leave… even if I could.
The library stretches before me, a labyrinth of rich mahogany and shadows, each shelf bursting with leather-bound volumes, their spines glinting faintly in the warm, amber light spilling from the chandelier above.
The room feels alive, as if each book holds its own heartbeat, its own story waiting to be shared.
There’s an old-world elegance here, a touch of magic.
I feel like I’ve stepped into a place that time itself has forgotten.
I trail my fingers along the edge of a shelf, feeling the smooth, polished wood beneath my fingertips, breathing in the faint, intoxicating scent of old paper and leather—a smell that feels oddly familiar, comforting.
I can feel Ashton’s gaze on me from across the room, intense and unyielding, but I can’t bring myself to look back at him just yet.
Not here. Not now. This space feels too intimate, too close to something I can’t quite define.
Ahead of me, the shelves climb to impossible heights, a rolling ladder tucked beside them as if waiting for me to glide along, plucking novels and histories and mysteries from places I can barely reach.
I’ve only seen libraries like this in books—vast, sprawling rooms filled with knowledge and secrets.
It’s overwhelming and beautiful, as if I’ve stepped into a dream.
I notice a small reading nook by the window, and it draws me in.
The window is a massive stained glass creation, casting fractured light in shades of deep violet, emerald green, and burnished gold onto the plush armchair and ottoman nestled there.
Sunlight filters through, painting the room in muted, shifting colors, as though the whole space has been bathed in watercolor.
I reach out, grazing my hand along the armrest of the chair, the fabric soft and worn in just the right way, inviting me to sit and lose myself here.