AURORA #3
"I'm okay," I say again, slower this time. "You protected me. You kept me safe."
Something in his expression shifts. The wild terror receding slightly, replaced by something I can't identify.
He pulls his hands from mine and cups my face instead. His thumbs brush across my cheekbones, tracing the tear tracks I didn't realize were there.
"I'm sorry," he whispers.
"For what?"
"For not killing him."
The words should horrify me. Should make me pull away, should remind me that Evander Laurent is dangerous, violent, capable of terrible things.
Instead, they make something dark and twisted coil in my stomach.
Because he means it. He's genuinely apologizing for leaving my father alive. For showing restraint he clearly didn't want to show.
And God help me, some fucked-up part of me appreciates it.
"Come on." I stand up, pulling him with me. "We need to leave."
He follows. Mechanical. Still watching me like I might disappear if he looks away.
The driver opens the back door without a word. We slide into the leather interior—shivering violently, covered in blood, tracking gray slush across expensive upholstery.
The driver gets in. Pulls away from the curb. Leaves my unconscious father bleeding on the pavement for someone else to deal with.
The partition between the front and back is up. Giving us privacy.
Evander still hasn't let go of me. His hand is wrapped around mine, grip tight enough to hurt, like he's physically tethering me to him.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He turns to look at me. "For what?"
"For stopping him. For—" I gesture vaguely at his bloodied knuckles. "For that."
"He put his hands on you." His voice is flat. Final. "There's no version of reality where I let that stand."
"He's my father."
"He's a piece of shit who doesn't deserve the air he breathes." Evander's jaw clenches. "And if I ever see him near you again, I will kill him. Not a threat. Not hyperbole. I will actually end his life."
I should argue. Should tell him that's not okay, that violence isn't the answer, that my father is still my father even if he's a terrible human being.
I don't.
Because watching Evander Laurent beat my father unconscious for daring to touch me was the most visceral demonstration of protection I've ever experienced. And some dark, damaged part of me that I don't want to acknowledge needed to see it.
Needed to know that someone would fight for me. Would hurt for me. Would cross lines and break bones and risk everything just to keep me safe.
Even if that someone is the same person who's trapped me. Who manipulates me. Who owns pieces of my life I'll never get back.
The car pulls onto the highway, heading toward the airport.
Frost streaks across the windows, turning the outside world into blurred lights and shadow.
Evander is still holding my hand. Still watching me with those intense blue eyes that see too much.
"I'm not sorry," he says quietly. "For what I did. For what I'll do if anyone ever tries to hurt you again."
"I know."
"Does that scare you?"
I think about it. Really think about it. About whether I should be terrified of the violence he's capable of, the lines he's willing to cross.
"No," I finally say. And I realize it's true. "It doesn't scare me."
His thumb strokes across my knuckles. Gentle. Possessive.
"Good," he murmurs. "Because I'm not going to stop. Not protecting you. Not keeping you close. Not making sure nothing and no one can hurt you."
"Even when you're the one hurting me?"
The question hangs between us. Heavy. Unavoidable.
He's quiet for a long moment. Then: "Especially then."
I don't know what to say to that. Don't know how to reconcile the man who beats people unconscious for touching me with the man who bought my father's debts to trap me. Who manipulates my life. Who controls me.
They're the same person. Both versions true. Both versions dangerous.
And I'm starting to realize that I don't want to reconcile them. Don't want to choose which Evander Laurent is real.
Because they both are. And some fucked-up part of me is responding to both.
Flakes of snow keep falling. The car keeps moving. And Evander keeps holding my hand like I might vanish if he lets go.
We ride in silence all the way to the airport.
To the private jet. To the expensive leather seats and polished wood and the pilot who doesn't ask about the blood.
And when we're airborne again—heading back to Ardencrest, back to the cage he's built around me—I lean my head on his shoulder.
Not because I forgive him. Not because any of this is okay.
But because right now, in this moment, with my throat still aching and my father's words still echoing in my head—I need someone to lean on.
Even if that someone is the architect of my personal hell.
Evander's arm comes around my shoulders. Pulls me closer.
And I let him.
Because tonight proved something I didn't want to admit.
He'll hurt me. Control me. Trap me.
But he'll also protect me. Fight for me. Destroy anyone who tries to harm me.
And I don't know which version scares me more.
Or which version I'm starting to need.