Chapter 47
forty-seven
Elijah
I shouldn’t have looked.
That thought sits heavy in my chest as I stand in the kitchen, hands braced against the counter, staring at nothing while the image refuses to leave me alone.
Her. Under him.
Soft.
Open.
Alive.
The kind of alive I haven’t let myself touch.
My jaw tightens, something restless and sharp moving under my skin, because it isn’t just what I saw, it’s what it did to me.
The instinct that hit before anything else had a chance to follow.
The immediate, undeniable pull to cross the room, take her back, and remind her exactly who she belongs to.
The way I always have.
The way she responds to.
The way she needs.
My fingers flex against the counter before I force them still, dragging in a slow breath that doesn’t settle anything, because the second I let that instinct rise, something else hits just as hard.
Her on that floor.
Her going still in my arms.
The memory cuts through everything.
That’s what stops me.
That’s what has been stopping me.
Because I know what I become when I don’t hold that line. I know how far I go with her. And I don’t trust that version of me right now.
Not with her.
Not when she’s still healing. Not While she is carrying my child.
Not when there’s even the smallest chance I push too far and see something in her eyes that I won’t survive.
So I didn’t take what I wanted. I leaned down. I kissed her gently. I called her wife. And that hadn’t been accidental. That had been deliberate. A quiet claim wrapped in control.
A reminder.
To her. To them. To myself.
She is mine.
Even if I’m not touching her the way I want to. Even if holding myself back feels like it’s tearing something out of me.
Movement down the hallway pulls me out of it.
Soft.
Familiar.
I straighten without thinking, my focus snapping immediately as they come into view.
Zach first. Then her. And the difference in her hits me instantly. It’s subtle.
But it’s there.
The tension she’s been carrying since we brought her home is… lighter. Not gone, but loosened. There’s something in her again, something that had gone quiet.
Something that looks a hell of a lot like herself.
My chest tightens at the sight of it.
Because this is what I’ve been trying to give her back. And I wasn’t the one who did it.
Jackson looks up from the stove the second they walk in, already moving toward her like it’s instinct.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
His voice is soft, but there’s tension under it, something tightly wound that hasn’t settled.
He steps into her space, his hand coming up to cup her face before he kisses her.
And it’s not restrained. It’s not careful. It’s slow. Grounded. Claiming. The kind of kiss he used to give her before everything happened.
The kind that tells her exactly what she is to him without needing words.
I know that kiss. I know what it does to her. And I watch the way she leans into it, the way her body softens under his touch like she’s been waiting for it, like she needed it.
Something tight pulls low in my chest. Not anger. Recognition. Because I know exactly what that is. And I know why she needed it.
Zach doesn’t look away.
He watches it, calm, controlled, like he understands exactly what’s happening. Like he made space for it.
And I... I stay exactly where I am. Because I understand it too. Even if every part of me wants to step in and take that space back.
Jackson pulls away slowly, his thumb brushing over her cheek before he guides her toward the table.
“Sit,” he says lightly. “Before this burns.”
She glances at the plates and lets out a soft laugh.
“Nothing’s burnt?”
“I can cook when I need to,” he shoots back, a hint of something lighter breaking through.
Zach huffs a quiet laugh, grabbing plates and moving beside her, his hand brushing her back like it belongs there.
We settle into the table. For a second, it almost feels normal. Then Jackson puts his fork down.
“I want to have a discussion about the relationship.”
My attention snaps to him. Lia looks at him calmly.
“Okay. What’s the discussion?”
“I want to go public.”
“No.”
It comes out immediately. Flat. Final.
“Absolutely not.”
Jackson turns to me, something tightening in his expression.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“It’s not safe,” I say, my voice low and controlled. “Not right now. Not with everything that’s still unresolved.”
“You married her,” he snaps back. “You already have that claim. You already have the protection. That’s yours.”
My jaw tightens.
“But I don’t get to live like that,” he continues, his voice rougher now. “I’m being pushed back into the spotlight whether I like it or not. I don’t get to step away from it.”
His hand drags through his hair.
“And I’m doing that because she asked me to. Because I want to be there. But I’m not going to stand in front of cameras and pretend I’m not in a committed relationship.”
“It’s not safe,” I repeat.
Zach steps in before it escalates.
“It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.”
My gaze shifts to him.
“It’s not about putting her fully in the spotlight,” he continues. “It’s about not hiding her either.”
A beat.
“I’d like that too.”
And then... her voice.
“I would too.”
That stops me. Not them. Her.
I look at her fully.
“What about your past?” I ask. “Everything you went through. Are you comfortable putting yourself back into that?”
She exhales slowly.
“Not exactly,” she admits. “I don’t think I can handle my face being out there just yet.”
Then she steadies.
“But I don’t want to hide it forever either. I’m not ashamed of my relationship with the three of you.”
Silence settles. Then she looks at me.
“And if something goes wrong… I trust that you’ll handle it. I trust that you’ll keep me safe.”
That lands. Hard. Because I know exactly what she’s giving me. She’s placing that responsibility in my hands. She trusts me to control the fallout. To protect her. To make sure nothing touches her.
I feel it settle in my chest.
Heavy.
Absolute.
“This could work in our favour,” she continues.
“How?” I ask.
“The charity event next week. Evelyn’s event. For Zach’s foundation. I want to go.”
“No.”
“You can’t stop me from going,” she says calmly. “This matters. And I’m not going to stop living my life.”
My jaw tightens.
“We can use it,” she adds. “As the moment we go public.”
Silence stretches.
“And if something goes wrong,” she says again, softer now, “I trust you.”
That’s what shifts it. I exhale slowly.
“Fine.”
Jackson stills.
“But I handle security,” I continue. “Every detail. And the second something feels off, we leave.”
“I understand,” she says. “Thank you.”
I hate that she says that.
Jackson leans in, kissing her again, softer but no less certain.
“I can’t wait for people to know you’re mine.”
Then he looks at her again, more serious now.
“I have to start posting again,” he says. “Social media. They’re pushing it hard. I want to post something with you.”
She hesitates slightly.
“How much?”
“Not your face,” he says quickly. “I won’t put you through that. Not after everything.”
His hand finds hers on the table, thumb brushing over her knuckles.
“But… I need something. Something small. Even if it’s just our hands. Something that tells people I’m with someone.”
He pauses, his voice lowering.
“That I’m not available anymore.”
Her gaze softens slightly.
“That I’m yours,” he adds quietly.
Silence lingers between them.
“I don’t want to push you,” he continues, softer now. “But I need this, Lia. I need people to know I’m not that guy anymore.”
She studies him for a moment, then nods slowly.
“Okay,” she says. “But small. I’m not ready for more than that.”
Relief moves through him immediately.
“Small,” he agrees. “Only what you’re comfortable with.”
I lean back slightly, watching it all settle.
“Then we do this properly,” I say. “We plan it. We control it.”
She nods as the conversation ends.
But the tension doesn’t. Because when she glances at me, I see it.
The distance.
The hesitation.
The space I put there.
I want to close it. I want to take it back. I want to remind her exactly who she is to me.
But I don’t move. Because I still don’t trust myself. Not yet. Not until this is finished.
And as the silence settles again, heavier now, one thought locks into place.
I need to end this.
All of it.
Because the longer I hold myself back, the more I risk losing her in a way I won’t be able to fix.
And I’m not going to let that happen.