Aubrey
Iarrive home with a split lip, my coat half-zipped, my bag sliding off my shoulder, and absolutely no patience left for anyone or anything.
Dora, the security agent Linden hired specifically to protect me, gets me through the keyed elevator vestibule without touching me, which I appreciate because I still feel raw.
The split is inside my lower lip and a little to the outside, where the man's elbow caught me.
Technically, it wasn't even a punch. Right now, I have no interest in explaining that distinction to Linden.
I remember his reaction when he saw what my sister's ex did.
Who knows what he'll do when he sees this?
And yet, a part of me wants to see that reaction... wants to see him enraged over me.
I know, silly right?
There's no avoiding him though. Linden stands in the inner doorway. He's in dark pants and a white shirt with the sleeves pushed up. No jacket. No shoes. His hair is flat on one side, like he's been dragging his hand through it and then remembering he hates mess.
He takes one look at my mouth and goes still. "Someone is going to die."
Dora speaks first. "Mr. Dunleavy—"
"Tell me who." he snarls.
Dora's chin lifts a fraction. "Mr. Dunleavy—"
"I'm talking to my fucking wife."
"I'm fine," I say.
Linden looks at Dora. "Name."
"Linden," I repeat.
His gaze snaps to mine. "Who the fuck was he?"
I sigh. "Someone's abusive partner. He followed her into the building.
He got through the first door before we locked the second.
Dora was outside the restricted line, because as you know, private security doesn't get to trail women into intake.
He shoved toward her, I stepped in, he swung his arm, and my face was in the way. "
His hand is clenched and I don't think I've ever seen his face so red. His voice is barely above a whisper. "Name."
"No," I insist.
"Aubrey," he says.
"No," I repeat.
Dora shifts half a step toward the service side, giving us privacy without leaving. "I'll log the arrival."
I glance sidelong at her. "Thank you."
Dora steps back out of the vestibule, and the lock clicks shut behind her.
Then it's just Linden standing between me and the rest of the apartment. His face is still red, his fist still clenched.
"Take off your coat," he says quietly.
"I'm fine," I reply.
He crosses the vestibule in three long steps. I hate that my body clocks the movement before my brain finishes being angry.
He stops short of touching me. Barely. His hands flex once at his sides, then go still. "Did he hit you anywhere else?"
"No," I tell him. "My ankle still sucks from before. My lip is new."
"Come to the kitchen," he says.
I move past him into the main room. The penthouse is dim except for the kitchen lights. The refrigerator hums.
Linden follows me into the kitchen.
"Sit," he says.
"I've been sitting in crisis chairs since eight," I reply. "I'm not a golden retriever."
"You're not going back tomorrow," he announces.
I laugh, which pulls the cut at my lip. Pain flashes across my mouth. "Ow. Also, excuse me?"
"You're taking a day off," he insists.
I fold my arms over my chest. "You don't get to decide my shifts."
He steps in, and for one insane second I think he's going to kiss me, which is deranged because I'm bleeding and furious and wearing a coat that smells like disinfectant wipes.
Instead, he bends, grips me under my thighs and at my side and lifts.
"Linden," I begin.
He sets me on the kitchen counter and my coat rides up. His hands are gone the second I'm steady. I hate that I notice.
"Absolutely not," I say.
"You need ice."
He goes to the fridge, hits the ice lever, and grabs one of the cubes that tumble out. He wraps it into a cloth and presses it to my lip. Cold stings through the cloth.
"Just want to clarify, he didn't come for me," I say against the cloth.
Linden shakes his head. "He hurt you."
"He hurt a lot of people before he ever reached the lobby. That's the point."
He pauses. "I can find him without your help..."
"No, you can find a shape," I counter. "A time. A door. A phone near a tower. A card swipe. A cab record. A cousin's account. A shared tablet. A woman's calendar invite because some court program told her to use one. You can build a net and tell yourself it only catches him."
He frowns. "I wouldn't expose her."
"You don't know that," I reply.
His head pulls back slightly.
I hate that I'm glad. He needs to hear it.
"I know my own systems," he says.
"And I know what happens when systems touch women who are trying to disappear," I insist.
He goes quiet. He lowers the ice. My lip pulses.
"You want names and timestamps and camera angles because you're scared," I say. "I get that. I do. But survivors are not data points for your revenge architecture."
"I'm not scared." His eyes close for half a second. "I'm angry."
"I know." The worst part is that I do know. It's care shaped like a locked door.
He looks at me then. The boardroom version is gone.
"I won't ask Dora for the feed," he says finally.
My throat tightens, rude and inconvenient.
"I won't pull exterior cameras without Lantern House counsel," he continues. "If there's a police report or a trespass order and Marnie or counsel requests support, I'll route it through them. Not through you. Not through me."
"Okay." It comes out small.
He hears it. Of course he hears it. "I hate that respecting your work means letting a man walk around tonight after splitting your lip."
"I know. But he may not actually be walking around. Dora called it in from outside the restricted line. The front cameras got enough for building safety. Marnie has the incident report. Nobody's pretending he's a misunderstood golden retriever."
He looks at the ring and then sets the ice cloth aside. "I don't want this to end as paperwork."
Not this again.
"I'm begging you not to make this a segway," I tell him. "I'm not ready for this conversation."
He ignores me. "I'm done pretending that what I want is just a stable board file." He steps closer, then stops himself. "I want you as my wife. My real wife. Not my temporary solution."
I want to say yes.
There. Fine.
I want him. I want the man who lifted me onto a counter because he was mad about my shift and still took his hands away the second I was safe.
I want him so much my mouth hurts in places that weren't injured .
So naturally, I say the worst thing. "We have fifteen days left?"
He goes still.
"The public window," I say. "Your mother's stability clause. The thirty-day notice right? The protected exit. The little door we built so I could survive this if it turned ugly."
He seems genuinely hurt. "You think... this is turning ugly?"
"No." My voice cracks and I feel the cut. I find the ice, press it back to my mouth. "No, Linden. But... I'm not ready."
He flinches. I hate that it helps. "Is it the money? Not enough...?"
I shake my head. "Not at all. This has nothing to do with the money. In fact, I could survive losing it, very easily. I could survive moving out of this apartment, losing the staff, the weird towels. I've survived worse with worse shoes."
His eyes stay on mine.
I finish: "But I can't survive feeling like I traded my principles for a man who never meant to let me choose freely."
He shakes his head. "Aubrey, I've never wanted to trap you. You're always free to choose."
I nod. "I believe you."
His mouth opens, then closes.
"I believe you," I say again. "And I'm telling you that wanting me past the deadline isn't the same as trusting my freedom inside this marriage. Can I ever really be free, married to you? That's what I'm not sure of."
He looks at my wedding band, then back at me.
"I want to you to be free," he says. "I want to learn how to make sure you're free. Always."
"I know." I say it and stay on the counter. The ice cloth is damp against my fingers. My ring is right there in front of both of us, and I still haven't told him no.
He looks at my hand, then back at my face. "Don't make this about ethics."
I almost laugh. It comes out wet and awful. "Dude, ethics are the only reason either of us is still standing. Wanting you isn't the brave part. Wanting you is easy. I'm mad about how easy."
His brow furrows. "Then what's the brave part?"
"Leaving the exits on the table and seeing whether you can keep wanting me without blocking them," I finish.
His hand starts up when I shift my weight, then stops.
I climb down from the counter without asking for help.
I set the ice cloth beside the sink, and then without a word more, retreat to my suite.