Chapter 27 Dorian
DORIAN
Dorian hadn't slept. He'd spent the night pacing his apartment above the old bakery, replaying every word of his confrontation with Ivy, every moment when he could have made different choices. By dawn, he'd worn a path in the wooden floor and his panther was prowling restlessly.
The knock on his door came just after sunrise.
"It's open," he called, not bothering to look up from the cup of coffee he'd been staring at for the past hour.
Lucien entered without ceremony, his dark hair still damp from a shower and his expression carrying the kind of concern that only family was allowed to show. He took one look at Dorian's rumpled clothes and haunted eyes, then settled into the chair across from him.
"You look like hell."
"Feel worse."
"I heard about last night. The confrontation with Ivy."
Dorian's head snapped up. "From who?"
"Moira. Ivy's staying at the bookstore, and she needed someone to talk to." Lucien's voice was carefully neutral. "Want to tell me your side?"
"My side is that I'm an arrogant fool who thought I could protect her better than she could protect herself."
"That's not a side, that's self-flagellation. What actually happened?"
Dorian ran his hands through his hair, trying to find words for the mess he'd made. "She figured out I'd known Sebastian was in town. Called me out on keeping secrets about her own safety."
"And?"
"And she was right. I made decisions for her the same way Sebastian did, just with better intentions."
Lucien was silent for a moment, processing this. "Did you tell her that?"
"More or less."
"What did she say?"
"That she can't be with someone who thinks they know what's best for her." Dorian's voice cracked slightly. "That I betrayed her trust before she even knew she'd given it."
"Also true."
The blunt assessment made Dorian flinch. "Thanks for the support."
"You want support, call your mother. You want honesty, you come to family." Lucien leaned forward, his green eyes serious. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
"What can I do? She made it clear she doesn't want anything to do with me."
"Did she? Or did she make it clear she doesn't want to be controlled?"
"Same thing."
"Dorian." Lucien's tone carried the patience of someone explaining something obvious to a child. "It sounds like she wants agency. Choice. The ability to make her own decisions about her life and her relationships."
"She said she can't trust me."
"Can you blame her?"
"No."
"Then earn it back."
Dorian stared at his cousin. "How?"
"By proving you understand the differences between protection and control.
By showing her you respect her choices even when they're not what you'd choose for her.
" Lucien's expression softened slightly.
"By growing up and realizing that love isn't about keeping someone safe.
It's about standing beside them while they keep themselves safe. "
The word love made Dorian cough the small cold sip he had just taken. "I never said—"
"You didn't have to. It's written all over your face." Lucien stood and moved to the window, looking out at the town square below. "The question is whether you love her enough to let her make her own choices. Even if one of those choices is walking away from you."
"And if she chooses to walk away?"
"Then you let her go with grace and dignity, knowing you did everything you could to make it right."
"That's it? Let her go?"
"If that's what she chooses, yes." Lucien turned back to face him. "But first, you have to give her the chance to choose differently. You have to show her that you've learned from your mistakes."
"How do I do that when she won't even talk to me?"
"You start by respecting her request for space. You stop trying to fix everything with grand gestures and alpha posturing." Lucien's smile was sharp but not unkind. "You let her come to you when she's ready, if she's ready."
"And in the meantime?"
"In the meantime, you prove that you've changed.
You help with the Sebastian situation without steamrolling over her wishes.
You support her choices even when they're not what you'd prefer.
" Lucien headed for the door, then paused.
"And you prepare yourself for the possibility that earning back her trust might take longer than your patience wants to allow. "
After Lucien left, Dorian sat alone with his cooling coffee and the weight of his cousin's words. Fix it or let her go. The choice should have been easy, but the prospect of losing Ivy entirely made his chest tight with panic.
He decided that just showing up would seem too bold and imposing after last night. So, he pulled out his phone.
Can we talk? Coffee maybe, public or private. Your call.
He hit send and waited.
His phone buzzed quickly with a text message.
I need space. Time to figure out what I want without influence from you or anyone else. Please don't try to fix this. I need to do it myself.
A second message followed immediately.
And don't go all alpha and decide what's best for me about this either. I'll reach out when I'm ready.
The messages were clear, direct, and exactly what Lucien had predicted. Ivy was asking for the right to make her own choices about their relationship on her own timeline.
Every instinct Dorian possessed screamed at him to go to her, to explain, to convince her to give him another chance. His panther paced anxiously, demanding he claim what was his, protect what mattered.
But that was exactly the kind of thinking that had gotten him into this mess.
He typed and deleted a dozen responses before settling on something simple.
I understand. Take all the time you need.
It wasn't enough. It didn't express the depth of his regret or his desperate desire to make things right. But it was what she'd asked for, and respecting her wishes was the first step toward proving he'd learned from his mistakes.
The morning passed slowly. Dorian found himself gravitating toward the town square, ostensibly to check on festival cleanup but really to be close to where Ivy was staying without violating her request for space.
He could smell her scent faintly near the bookstore, could sense her presence like a constant ache under his skin. But he kept his distance, watching from across the square as Moira moved in and out of the shop, occasionally catching glimpses of copper hair through the windows.
"This is killing you," he muttered to himself, settling on a bench where he could see the bookstore without being obvious about it.
His panther snarled in agreement, frustrated by the restraint, demanding action.
"I know," he said quietly, earning a curious look from a passing vendor. "But we're going to do this her way. No matter how much it hurts."
The promise felt like swallowing glass, but it was the right choice. Maybe the first truly right choice he'd made since finding that black calling card in the shadows.
Ivy needed space, needed the freedom to make her own decisions without his influence. And if he truly cared about her the way he claimed to, he'd give her exactly that.
Even if it killed him.