Chapter Twelve - Lukin
I wake before she does, lying perfectly still, my eyes half open, watching the soft light of dawn creep across the room in faint lines. The glow of it hits the floor, stretching slowly toward the bed, and I watch the light play across Zoe’s skin, her body still tangled in the sheets beside me.
She’s beautiful like this. Soft. Vulnerable. It’s not the same as the fire she carries in her when she’s awake, when she’s fighting me, when she’s pulling away, or when she’s writhing beneath me like she did last night, begging me to give her the pleasure I generously gave.
Right now, she looks calm, almost peaceful, her breath even, her skin flushed from the night.
But there’s something wrong in the stillness. Something that doesn’t sit right with me. It should feel like control—like I’ve gotten exactly what I wanted. I’ve claimed her, marked her in every way possible. She’s mine.
But the tight coil in my chest doesn’t loosen. It only tightens.
She’ll leave. She always does. Every time. Without fail.
She’s been rejecting me at every turn, fighting me at every moment, and I can feel it in the way she moves. She wants me, but she’s scared of what it means.
I know this. I’ve seen it in every glance, every touch, every hesitation.
Still, part of me waits, just to see what she’ll do this time.
Zoe finally stirs beside me, a soft sound escaping her lips as she wakes.
I stay still, pretending to be asleep, my eyes barely open, watching her through the sliver of vision I allow myself.
I want to see what she does. I want to see if she’ll pull away, if she’ll leave without a word like I know she would.
She turns to look at me, her gaze flickering over my face, her eyes still heavy with sleep. I don’t move, don’t make a sound. I stay perfectly still, waiting for her to make her move.
She studies me for a moment, her breath catching as she examines my features, probably wondering if I’m awake, if I’m faking sleep.
Her gaze softens just a little, and for a brief second, I feel something like relief. She’s not running. Not yet.
But the relief is only temporary.
I don’t move as Zoe slips out of bed. The sheets rustle softly as she pulls herself from the warmth of the bed, and I keep my eyes on her, not saying a word.
She’s careful as she stands, wrapping the sheet around herself like armor, her movements slow and deliberate. The way she holds it so tightly against her body tells me everything I need to know. She’s trying to protect herself from me, from what happened between us.
I watch her fingers tremble slightly as she reaches for her clothes. She’s doing everything she can to avoid looking at me, avoiding whatever this is between us. I can sense the conflict in her—the fear and the desire, the walls she’s desperately trying to rebuild after everything that’s happened.
She’s not ready for this. She never was. But I know she’s not done with me. Not yet.
I stay still, watching her pull her clothes on, my eyes tracing every movement, every subtle shift in her body.
She’s pretending like she’s unaffected, like I didn’t just make her feel things she wasn’t prepared for.
But I can see it—the way she flinches when her fingers touch the fabric, the way her breath quickens, like she’s trying to shake off what’s still inside her.
When she walks into the living room, I can hear her footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor, and that’s when I move. I push myself up, my muscles tense from the stillness, and follow her into the other room.
I don’t hurry. I don’t need to. I’m not chasing her. Not yet. I’m letting her make the first move. But she’s already made it, hasn’t she? She’s leaving. She’s fucking leaving.
She’s almost at the door when I step into the living room.
The sight of her, moving so deliberately, trying to keep her distance, stirs something inside me that I can’t quite control. I don’t speak. I just watch her, my eyes fixed on her every movement, every gesture.
I clear my throat softly and she turns to look at me, arms crossed tightly in front of her chest, her posture defensive, like she’s preparing for a fight. I don’t need to hear the words to know what’s coming. I’ve seen this before. The rejection. The withdrawal. The escape.
Her voice is clipped, controlled, but there’s an edge to it, something raw that she’s hiding behind her words. “This is not right,” she says, her gaze unwavering. “I’ve already decided. This won’t happen again.”
Her words don’t surprise me, but they hit me harder than I want to admit. They’re a punch to the gut, and I feel it deep in my chest. I know she’s trying to put distance between us, to claim some semblance of control, but it’s too late for that.
I don’t argue. There’s no point. She’s made up her mind, and I know it. I’ve seen her run before.
But this time, I’m not going to let her run without a consequence.
I watch her, my jaw tight, my hands clenched at my sides. “You want to leave?” I say, my voice like ice. “Then go.”
She doesn’t flinch. She just looks at me, waiting for something more, something I’m not going to give her. Not today.
“If that’s what you want,” I add, the words slow, deliberate, each one landing with cold finality. “Then walk out. And don’t come back.”
She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t move. But I can see it—the way her body tenses. I don’t take back my words because if I attempt to, there’ll be a lot of things I’ll take back with it.
I’m giving her exactly what she wants. A clean exit.
Except… I can’t let her leave without saying it—the words burning deep in my chest.
I take a step toward her, my eyes never leaving hers, the distance between us closing, but this time, I don’t reach for her. I don’t touch her. I speak, my voice barely above a whisper but heavy with intent.
“Better make sure our paths don’t cross next time. If I see you again—” I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in. “—I won’t let you go.”
It’s not a threat. It’s a line drawn in blood.
Because next time, I won’t let her pretend it meant nothing. Not when I’ve claimed her—not when she’s mine.
At my words, she glares and whirls to face the door. Every part of me wants to stop her, but I keep still, watching her leave. Before she reaches the door, we hear footsteps in the hall outside and Zoe turns to me with panicked eyes.
“Are you expecting anyone here?”
But before I can respond, the door swings open.
Maria walks in, her presence instantly changing the dynamic in the room. She stops short when she sees us, her eyes flickering between Zoe and me, confusion clouding her expression.
“What are you doing here?” Maria demands from Zoe, her voice cutting through the thick silence.
Zoe freezes mid-step, caught between me and the door, and I can feel the tension in her body, the tight coil of fear and confusion.
I don’t say anything. I stay silent, my eyes locked on Zoe, watching her struggle to find the words.
I know it’s cruel that I don’t step in to help, but I want to see what she’ll say, and how she plans to get herself out of this.
She opens her mouth to speak, her voice shaking just a little, and then she says it.
“I… I got into some trouble last night at the club. Some guy was messing with me. Lukin—your dad—helped me and brought me here for the night so I could feel safe.”
I feel the weight of her words hit me like a slap, and for a brief moment, I want to say something. To correct her. To say it’s more than that—because it is. But I hold back.
Maria nods, her face pulling into a mask. “Are you okay now?”
“Yes.” Zoe nods.
Maria doesn’t press further. She switches topics, and suddenly her mood shifts. “By the way,” she says, her excitement returning, “I got some news. It’s fortunate that you’re both here. I’m leaving soon. I got accepted for an exchange year in France! Can you believe it?”
I watch Zoe’s face carefully, her expression flickering for a second—relief, maybe. But the facade fades quickly, replaced by excitement for her best friend.
“That’s amazing, Maria! Congratulations,” Zoe says, her voice soft, too soft for my liking. She’s trying to sound happy, but the weight of the situation is still too much.
Maria grins, oblivious to anything but her excitement. “Thanks! I’m so excited. I’m leaving in about two weeks. You’ll be okay, right?”
“Yeah,” Zoe says, still avoiding my gaze. “I’ll be fine.”
They hug for a few seconds until Zoe pulls away.
“I have some clients to attend to this morning,” she says, hurriedly walking to the door. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
Maria nods, watching her leave. When she shuts the door behind her, Maria turns to me with a frown.
“Do we need to talk about something?”
I know what she wants to talk about. Seeing your father shirtless in his living room with your anxious best friend is breeding ground for serious conversation, but I’m not in the mood for that right now. I turn to walk back into the bedroom and Maria follows.
“Yes. Let’s talk about you applying for an exchange year even after I told you I don’t like it.”
She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Dad. It’s for a year.”
I lay on the bed, thinking it’s probably for the best that Maria leaves. I need time and space to hunt Zoe, and I can’t do that if Maria is hovering around. I’ll miss my daughter, but she’s a big girl.
“There’s no point arguing. It’s done, isn’t it?” I smile at her. “What do you need to make this transition smooth?”