Chapter 11
The sound of the doorbell yanked Victor from the medical journal he’d been reading for the third time without retaining a single word.
Chloe. He knew who it was before he reached the door.
He could feel her presence, warm and insistent, pulling at something deep in his chest. Hyde surged toward the surface, eager and possessive.
Ours. She came to us. He forced Hyde back down, straightening his shoulders and schooling his expression into careful neutrality before opening the door.
She stood on his porch looking nervous and determined, one hand clutching her bag, the other pressed protectively over her stomach. The setting sun caught in her dark brown hair, turning it golden at the edges, and her warm brown eyes met his with an openness that made his chest ache.
“Hi. I’m sorry to just show up. I tried to call but—” She stopped herself, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “First of all, thank you for the coat. And the furniture.”
Hyde purred, pleased to have provided for her, but he forced himself to nod coolly.
“Since you insisted on working under those conditions, I wanted to make sure you were as comfortable as possible.”
Irritation flashed in her eyes for a moment before she shook her head.
“As a result of those conditions, I found something. Something that belongs to you, or your family.”
That was… unexpected. He’d assumed her visit had something to do with the kiss or the three days of careful distance he’d maintained. He told himself he wasn’t disappointed.
“Would you like to come in?” The words emerged before he could prevent them.
“If I’m not interrupting.”
“You’re not.” He stepped back, painfully aware of her subtle vanilla scent and the way her coat brushed against his arm. Hyde growled appreciatively, but he did his best to shut him down.
“Come into my office,” he said politely. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Water?” He closed the door, maintaining careful distance between them.
“I’m fine, thank you.” She pulled a worn leather journal from her bag.
“I found this while organizing the archives. It was with a bunch of other medical records from the 1800s, but this one…” She held it out.
“It’s your great-grandfather’s journal. Personal entries about his work and his… guardian.”
The air left his lungs. Thaddeus Jackson’s journal.
He’d read everything his father had left him, and there had been nothing in it to give him hope, but by all accounts Thaddeus had not struggled the same way. Hyde pushed forward, curious and hungry for knowledge, and his own hands felt numb as he reached for it.
“You read it,” he said flatly.
“I did.” Her chin came up, defiant. “I’m sorry if that was an invasion of privacy, but it was filed with public records. I didn’t realize what it was until I’d already started reading.”
He opened the journal to a random page, his heart stuttering at the precise handwriting, so like his own.
The guardian emerged during the mill fire.
I have no memory of the event, but witnesses say I pulled twelve people from the burning structure with impossible strength.
My hands bore no burns despite grasping red-hot metal.
Most curious: the sense of rightness afterward, as if two halves had temporarily aligned for a greater purpose.
His throat tightened. Not shame or horror, but rightness. He flipped through more pages, his eyes catching on phrases that contradicted everything his father had taught him.
I had to learn to listen rather than suppress.
Tonight I felt both sides working in harmony for the first time. It was glorious.
His hands trembled, and he closed the journal before he could read more, before hope could take root and grow into something dangerous.
“I didn’t know this existed,” he said quietly, fighting to keep his voice level. “My father never mentioned it.”
“Maybe he didn’t know either. It looked like it had been misfiled decades ago.”
His hands tightened on the journal. When he looked up, he forced himself to meet her eyes, to see the gentle concern there and harden himself against it.
“Thank you for returning it. It was kind of you to make a special trip.”
The words came out as a cold dismissal, exactly as he intended, and he immediately wanted to take them back. Her face changed, shifting from concern to anger.
“Is that it?” Her voice had an edge he’d never heard before.
“You kiss me like the world is ending and then apologize. You avoid me for three days. And now I show up with something that might actually help you understand yourself better and you’re just going to—what? Thank me politely and send me away?”
The accusation struck home. He straightened, falling back on the only defense he had. “I apologized because my behavior was unprofessional and inappropriate. You’re my patient—”
“Was. I was your patient. You referred me to someone else, remember?” She took a step closer, and he could feel Hyde rising in response to her nearness. “And don’t hide behind professional ethics. That’s not why you’re pushing me away.”
“You don’t know—”
“You’re afraid.” She cut him off, and the simple truth of it made him flinch.
“I get it. I’m afraid too. My ex offered me money to sign away his parental rights because being a father was too inconvenient for him.
I moved to a town where I didn’t know anybody, and I’m about to raise a child completely alone. Fear is my constant companion.”
Someone had hurt her and left her alone and vulnerable. Hyde snarled with rage. Ours to protect, Hyde insisted. Ours to keep safe.
His hands clenched around the journal. “It’s not the same—”
“You’re right. It’s not.” She closed the distance between them, and her vanilla scent wrapped around him, sweet and intoxicating. “Because I’m trying to be brave anyway. I’m showing up even when it’s scary. I’m taking chances.”
His control slipped, and his eyes flashed green.
“Chloe—” Her name came out strained, half-warning, half-plea.
“And maybe I’m being stupid. Maybe you really don’t want this and I’m making a fool of myself.
But I don’t think I am.” She looked up at him, her freckled face open and honest and so beautiful it hurt.
“I think you’re just as terrified as I am.
And I think you’re using noble excuses to avoid taking a risk. ”
His hands clenched so tightly that the leather of the journal creaked under his grip. “I’m not—this isn’t about being noble. I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“From what? From you?” She laughed, sharp and frustrated, and the sound made his chest tight. “Victor, I’ve met Hyde. I’ve seen your eyes glow. I’ve felt how gentle you are even when you’re fighting for control. And I’m still here. Still wanting—”
She stopped herself, breathing hard. His heart was racing equally fast, and Hyde pressed against his control like water against a dam, demanding release.
“Wanting what?” His voice had gone rough, dangerous. Control was slipping through his fingers like sand.
Her breath caught, but she didn’t step back.
“You,” she said simply. “I still want you.”
His carefully constructed wall cracked, and every argument he’d made to himself crumbled. Because she was standing in his lonely house with her hand pressed over her baby bump, looking at him with warmth and desire and fearless determination, and she wanted him.
Both sides of him.
“You should go.” The words felt like they were being dragged out of his chest with hooks. “Before I… Before we… This is a mistake.”
Hyde roared in protest. No mistake. She’s ours. OURS.
“Says who?” She held her ground, her chin up defiantly. “Your father? People who don’t know you? Or are you just so committed to being alone that you can’t imagine another way?”
“You don’t understand—”
“Then explain it to me!” Her voice rose with emotion, and he could see the frustration and hurt bleeding through.
“Stop hiding behind vague warnings and actually talk to me. Tell me why you kissed me like that if you didn’t mean it.
Tell me why your eyes are glowing green right now if Hyde is so dangerous. Tell me—”
“Because I want you so much it terrifies me!” The truth ripped out of him, breaking through years of control.
“Because every instinct I have—human and Hyde both—says you’re mine and I should claim you and protect you and keep you safe.
And that need is so strong I can barely control it.
That’s the danger, Chloe. Not violence, not rage, but need so desperate I don’t trust myself not to—”
He cut himself off, chest heaving, realizing he’d said too much.
She stared at him, her eyes wide. “Not to what?”
The truth lodged in his throat. “Not to hurt you by holding on too tight. Not to suffocate you with protection. Not to become my father—loving someone so much that it twists into something damaging.”
His father’s face flashed in his memory.
The carefully controlled expression that had hidden so much rage and fear.
The way his mother had learned to move quietly, to speak softly, to never provoke his Hyde.
Love twisted into prison and protection transformed into control. That was the legacy he carried.
“Oh, Victor,” she said gently, and she reached out, setting her small hand on his arm.
The contact burned through his shirt, and Hyde surged forward, desperate to touch her back, to gather her close. His muscles jumped under her palm.
“Don’t you see?” she continued. “The very fact that you’re afraid means you won’t do those things.”
She stepped closer, close enough that he had to tilt his head down to see her face properly.
Close enough that he could count the light freckles across her nose.
“Read the journal. Your great-grandfather figured out how to balance both sides, and how to be whole instead of fractured. Maybe you can too.”