HIS POV
I watched her.
For the first time in a week, the corners of her mouth weren't tight with a hidden flinch. She was looking out the window, watching the city wake up, and she was smiling. It wasn't a big, performative grin—it was a small, private thing, a tiny victory over the shadows I'd spent the last few days clearing out of her path.
The sight of it did something to my chest that I couldn't quite calculate. It felt like a glitch in the system.
I stood up and walked into the kitchen, my movements silenced by years of training. I stopped right behind her. She didn't jump; she knew my scent by now, knew the specific way the air changed when I was near. I could see the soft hairs at the nape of her neck, the way her shoulders had finally dropped from their defensive height.
I wanted to reach out.
I wanted to wrap my arms around her, to pull her back against my chest and let her feel the sheer solidity of the wall I had built around her. I wanted to anchor her, to show her that she didn't have to hold herself up anymore because I was there to take the weight.
But I didn't. My hands stayed at my sides, fingers twitching slightly against the fabric of my trousers.
I couldn't.
Not because I didn't want to, but because I knew the value of the space she was finally breathing in. If I touched her now, it might feel like another claim. Another man putting his hands on her life before she had a chance to decide who she was without the fear.
I was a man of boundaries. And right now, the most important boundary was the one I had to keep between my own desires and her recovery.
"The sun is finally out," she said, her voice a soft vibration in the small space.
"It is," I replied, my voice sounding like gravel compared to hers.
"You're very close," she whispered, not moving away.
"I'm exactly where I need to be."
I stayed there, a shadow standing guard behind her light, letting the heat of my body be a silent promise. I wouldn't touch her—not yet. I would wait until she was the one to close the final inch of distance.
Until then, I would simply be the gravity that kept her world from spinning out of control.I stayed there, a silent shadow standing guard behind her light. The air between us was thick, humming with the kind of tension that didn't require words. I could hear the catch in her breath, the soft, rhythmic sound of her heart beating in the quiet of the kitchen.
She didn't move away. Instead, she leaned back—just a fraction—until the back of her head brushed against my chest. It was a tiny movement, but it hit me harder than any blow I'd ever taken.
"I can feel you thinking," she whispered, her eyes still on the morning sky. "Stop calculating for a second. Just be here."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Slowly, I raised my hands. I didn't grab her. I let my palms hover just an inch from her waist before finally, tentatively, settling them there. She was warm. So much warmer than the cold world I lived in.
I leaned down, my face near her ear. "I am here, Riya. I'm nowhere else."
She turned in the circle of my arms, her movement fluid and trusting. She looked up at me, and the smile was still there, but it had changed. It was softer now, focused entirely on me. Her hands came up to rest on my chest, her fingers curling into my shirt, anchoring me.
"You're always so heavy," she murmured, searching my eyes. "The way you look at the door. The way you watch the street. Put it down. Just for a minute."
I looked down at her, and for the first time in my life, the "moves ahead" didn't matter. The bank accounts, the shadows in the street, the men in the sedan—it all faded into white noise.
I tilted my head, my gaze dropping to her lips. I waited, giving her every second she needed to pull away, to realize who I was and what I was capable of.
She didn't pull away. She stood on her tiptoes, closing the gap herself.
When my lips met hers, it wasn't the hard, possessive kiss of a man claiming a prize. It was soft. A question asked in the dark. It tasted like the coffee we'd shared and the morning air, but mostly, it tasted like a beginning.
I pulled her closer then, my arms wrapping fully around her, shielding her from the rest of the world. My hand moved to the back of her head, my fingers tangling in her hair as I deepened the kiss, pouring every unspoken promise into it.
I wouldn't just protect her. I would cherish her.
As I pulled back just an inch, my forehead resting against hers, I realized the calculation had changed. I wasn't just ending his world anymore.
I was building a new one with her.
"Better?" she whispered, her eyes fluttering open.
"Necessary," I corrected, my voice a rough growl.
The sun was fully up now, flooding the kitchen with gold, and for the first time in a week, I didn't feel like a sentry. I felt like a man who had finally found something worth coming home to.
One second, I was lost in the scent of her hair and the warmth of her breath. The next, she was pulling away, her face flushing a deep, panicked crimson.
"Wait, no—no, shit," she stammered.
My body went into an immediate state of high alert. My hand dropped to the small of her back, eyes scanning her face, then the room. "What? What happened?"
I was looking for a threat—a shadow in the window, a sound I'd missed. I was ready to draw my weapon, ready to move her to the panic room. Instead, she looked down at the floor, her voice a tiny, mortified thread of sound.
"I'm on my period," she whispered, her hands knotting together. "I... I don't have a pad here. I didn't think... with everything happening, I lost track of the days."
The Pivot
I blinked. My brain, which was currently calibrated for high-speed chases and hand-to-hand combat, had to perform a violent U-turn.
I wasn't a doctor, and I certainly wasn't an expert on women's health, but I was a man of logistics. A problem had been identified. A solution was required.
"Riya," I said, my voice dropping back into that steady, low tone I used to keep her calm. "Look at me."
She peeked up, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
"It's a biological function, not a security breach," I said firmly. I reached out, placing my hands on her shoulders. "Go to the bathroom. Use what you can for now. I'll be back in ten minutes."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm already gone."
The Extraction
I didn't just walk out; I moved with a purpose that probably terrified the cashier at the local pharmacy. I strode down the "Personal Care" aisle with the same intensity I used to scout a target's perimeter.
I didn't know brands. I didn't know "flow." So, I applied my usual strategy: over-prepare.
The Supplies: I grabbed three different boxes. Wings, no wings, overnight—I didn't care. I took them all.
The Support: I remembered my sister complaining about cramps years ago. I grabbed a box of extra-strength pain relief and one of those chemical heating patches.
The Moral Support: I detoured to the candy aisle and grabbed a bar of dark chocolate and a bottle of high-end electrolyte water.
The Return...