Chapter 8 Vince
Vince
The first girl I ever liked, and I nearly killed her with food. Me. Not one of the thousand enemies who’d wanted my blood since I was sixteen.
Fucking peanuts.
And there was nothing I could do except hold her and hope to god the injector worked. That wasn’t control. That was failure. Because of it I hadn’t slept.
Instead, I’d pulled every food product from my penthouse cabinets, reading labels, researching allergens, scanning for possible cross-contaminations like I was prepping for war.
Because I was.
I was going to erase peanuts from this city.
Fuck those who enjoyed it. It threatened the life of someone I liked, for that it was gone. At least from my city. If I could push it to regional. I fucking would.
Every Crow owned restaurant, bar, supplier, distributor, if they stocked or served anything with peanut traces, they were done. I’d blacklist them personally. If Nik pushed back, I’d push harder. I was good at doing impossible things.
And I’d already nearly lost her once.
I wasn’t going to risk it again because someone wanted to garnish a plate.
The sound of sheets shifting caught my ear. I froze mid-reach for the oat milk carton. I dropped what I was doing.
She was sitting up. Fuck. Thank fucking god. She was okay. I brought a drink over and crouched beside the bed.
She blinked at me. I held it out slowly.
“It’s for recovery. Helps with the side effects. I looked it up while you slept.”
Her fingers brushed mine as she took the glass.
“I’m sorry,”
Because no matter how hard I tried to fix everything now, I’d still taken her there. I’d still watched her nearly die.
“Thank you,” she rasped, voice rough from the reaction. “For, last night. And this.”
“Don’t talk. You shouldn’t strain—”
“I want to. I just, I don’t want to be alone in my head right now.”
That hit deeper than I was ready for. I nodded once. She took another sip, then set the glass on the nightstand and looked up at me.
“I’m not trying to be dramatic. I just…I really thought I was going to die.”
My throat closed. Now was not the time to say she nearly did. She reached for the edge of the blanket and pulled it tighter around herself.
“Can you, would you just lie here for a bit?”
I didn’t move. Because I wasn’t used to someone asking me for comfort like that. Fuck. I wasn’t used to being wanted just for my presence.
She shifted to one side, tugging the blankets. I sat down beside her, then laid back slowly, but I kept a respectful gap.
She noticed.
“Do you know about love languages?” She asked.
I glanced at her. “No.”
“It’s a thing. Psychology or pop science or something. Just, ways people understand love. How they give it and feel it.”
“And yours is?”
She looked up at me. “Touch. Physical touch.”
Of course it was.
I closed the space. Carefully, I reached for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. Then slid closer, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her against my chest. She curled into me like she’d done in the elevator. But this time it wasn’t pure fear driving her to my arms.
I stared at the ceiling for a long time, one hand stroking slowly along her spine.
Pretending this was normal. It wasn’t. She was tucked against me, her cheek resting just under my collarbone, her fingers tangled gently through the fabric of my shirt.
Every so often, I felt her thumb graze along the stitching like she was grounding herself.
It was so cute and I found it oddly relaxing.
I kept stroking her back. Had no idea if I was doing it right. But the silence wasn’t awkward. That had to be a good thing.
“I didn’t tell you the other ones,” her fingers traced my necklace. “Love languages, I mean.”
I looked down. “There’s more?”
She nodded lightly against my chest. “Five, total. Physical touch. Words of affirmation. Acts of service. Gifts. And quality time.”
I hummed, processing them.
She tipped her chin slightly so she could look up at me. “What do you think yours is?”
No one had ever asked me something like that nor had anyone ever tried to understand me.
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”
She gave me a soft smile. “You don’t have to pick one now. It’s not a test.”
Touch had never felt safe for me. Words were dangerous, I’d been taught that early. Gifts felt transactional. Time was currency in the empire. Service, maybe, but not the way most people meant it.
But I liked holding her like this, protectively, letting her breathe against me after I almost lost her.
“I like words too,” she added. “But not compliments. I mean I like when someone says they’re proud of me. Or tells me I made something easier.”
“That makes you feel loved?”
She gave a soft hum. “Safe, mostly. Like I’m not invisible.”
That did something sharp in my chest.
She took a deep breath.
“And acts of service. Like when someone remembers something small and just, handles it. Without making me feel like a burden. Gifts don’t matter unless they’re personal. Like you actually noticed something about me. Not because of the price.”
That made me think of the shoes. She never asked for either.
“And quality time?” I asked.
She smiled against my chest.
“That one’s dangerous. Because if I let you into my space, and you give me yours, I’ll fall.”
I looked down at her. “That’s a lot of languages,”
“Yeah. Turns out I’m high maintenance.”
I shook my head once, brushing her hair back from her cheek. “No. You’re just fluent.” I traced her side, finding it calming.
“I never said thank you,” she nestled higher against my chest. “For last night. For saving my life.” I swallowed hard, but before I could answer, she whispered, “Starting to become a habit, isn’t it? You rescuing me from things.”
Her fingers brushed along the edge of my shirt. “First the elevator, now this.”
I shook my head slowly.
“That’s not the same. That was fear. You weren’t in real danger.” My chest tightened. “This was your life. You scared the hell out of me. Your reaction came on too fast.”
The same tight helpless feeling floods me. I hated being helpless.
She nodded against my chest. “I didn’t taste it. Just… felt it. Right after I swallowed.”
“It won’t happen again,”
“You can’t control everything.”
“Watch me.”
“It’s okay, Vince. It was an accident.”
And then she did something that hit harder than any words could. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to the center of my chest. Just like in the elevator.
And I forgot how to breathe. What the fuck is wrong with me.
I kept my arm around her waist.
“I should’ve prepared better. I thought I covered everything. I banned the ingredient. I had the kitchen warned. But I didn’t… I didn’t realize the labeling system hadn’t been updated. I didn’t think to check the registry myself.”
Her thumb brushed under my cheekbone.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Madeline. I should’ve known. I should’ve—” I broke off. Swallowed hard. “I’ve never done this before.”
Her brows pulled slightly. “Done what?”
“Dated. Had a girlfriend. Any of it. I don’t know the rules.”
She leaned in and kissed my cheek so gently it nearly split me open.
“Most heirs would’ve called for staff and stood back. Or just walked away and blamed it on someone else. But you didn’t. You acted. You stayed.” She stroked my temple once. “And I’m really glad… it happened with you.”
My throat went tight. I couldn’t speak for a moment.
“I think I know my love language now.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded, my heart beating too fast.
“This. You. Laying on me. Telling me I’m enough. Not walking away when I don’t know how to do this.”
Her face softened completely.
“And if you ever use that against me,” I muttered, “I swear I’ll have to exile you.”
She giggled, actually giggled, and moved closer. My thumb traced her mouth.
“Noted. But for the record, I’ll always be the high-maintenance one in this dynamic.”
“You really will. You’re exhausting.”
Her smile was smug. “And beautiful.”
I moved her hair over her shoulder, “Very beautiful.” I kissed her slow, holding the side of her head. “You’re going to destroy me,” I murmured.
“Maybe,” she kissed me back, slower. “But I’ll do it gently.”
The next morning. The day started quiet. Madeline lay half draped across me, cheek pressed to my chest, one of her legs hooked lazily over mine.
I hadn’t moved in ten minutes because I didn’t want to risk shifting her away. The way her mouth parted just slightly.
The little crease between her brows that made me want to kiss it smooth. I’d never woken up with someone like this.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, gently tracing her cheek. “You nearly died last night, I think your body’s allowed to demand pancakes.”
She peeked up at me. “You have pancakes?”
I tilted my head. “I have people who can bring pancakes.”
She made a dramatic show of thinking it over. “Tempting. What’s the catch?”
“No catch.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’ll even let you pick the toppings.”
She narrowed her eyes like I was negotiating a dynasty merger. “Real fruit? Not the fake syrup kind?”
“Strawberries, blueberries, real maple syrup. Maybe even chocolate chips if you ask nicely.”
Her smile broke through before she could stop it.
“You’re going to spoil me,” she whispered.
“Someone should.”
I kissed her forehead once, then shifted carefully out from under her. She watched me cross the room. I pulled on a black tee and grabbed the datapad.
“Do they know not to kill me this time?”
“They do now,” I muttered, scrolling through the kitchen override list. “No nuts. No soy. No seed oils. No cross-contaminants. Nothing processed without a full trace report.”
Because last night put the fear of god in me.
She blinked. Almost looking stunned. “Are you sure you’re not the high-maintenance one?”
I came back to the bed, handed her a bottle of water, remote control, and slid in beside her again. She propped herself up against the headboard, flipping through options.
“I’ve corrupted you,” she scrolled through the options. “You, Vincent Crow, are voluntarily watching television.”