My voice cracked, the sound scraping out of a throat that felt forgotten, unused. It echoed too loud in the quiet room, fragile and wrong.
He stopped mid-step. Turned slowly. A small smile touched his lips—not amused, not mocking. Understanding. Like he already knew how broken that name was for me. He tilted his head slightly.
"No," he said gently. "I'm Aaron."
Aaron.
The name hung between us, unfamiliar and steady. Not a ghost. Not a memory.
"Nice to meet you," he added, his voice low and smooth, velvet dragged lightly over steel. "I've heard so much about you."
My body reacted before my mind could catch up. I pulled my hand back fast, clutching the blanket to my chest. Fear buzzed under my skin, sharp and alive.
"W-what have you heard?" I whispered. My voice came out small, shaky. "Who are you?"
He didn't reach for me again. Didn't flinch. He simply moved to the chair beside the bed and sat, unhurried. He leaned forward just a little, elbows resting on his knees, close enough to show interest but far enough to give me space. His eyes stayed on mine—warm, steady, unafraid.
"I'm Cynthia's cousin," he said calmly. "I came into the city for work. I'll be here for a while. She asked me to sit with you until you woke up. She didn't want you alone."
"Cynthia's cousin"? That's new.
He wasn't from the office, the mansion.
Not associated with the poisoned tea or chiming bells, he's not a whispered threat dressed up as concern.
Relief washed through me, sudden and almost dizzying. My shoulders sagged as if I'd been holding myself tight for days.
"Finally"
Someone safe. Someone outside the web of secrets and lies.
Someone… gorgeous.
I let myself really look at him then, his appearance was striking, he had high cheekbones, sharp but not cruel. Long lashes that cast shadows when he blinked. A straight, strong nose. Dark stubble roughening his jaw—the kind that begged to scrape skin. His chest was broad beneath his shirt, solid, reassuring. And his hands…
God.
So big, his vein was visible beneath the skin, his fingers long and steady. Hands that looked like they knew exactly what they were doing—to a body, to a mind.
Heat pooled low in my stomach so suddenly and unexpectedly, but this wasn't a mistake.
A distraction.
God, I needed one.
"I heard you've been sick," he said softly. "A bad episode I hear, everyone was worried."
I nodded slowly and carefully, like my head might split open if I moved too fast. My throat tightened around everything I couldn't say.
He smiled again—different this time.
"I'm a therapist, by the way. If you ever need to talk , I'm here."
A therapist.
Handsome, calm and offering help like it didn't cost anything.
I almost said no.
Almost.
But my life felt poisoned—real or imagined, I couldn't tell anymore. Obsession gnawed at me, hollowing me out from the inside. Victor haunted every thought, every breath. Elena's smile followed me into my dreams, sharp and knowing, twisting into something ugly when I woke. I was losing my grip on what was real, what was fear, what was desire.
I needed help.
I needed to get my head straight before I shattered completely.
And therapy from him?
This man who made my skin hum just by looking at me?
Who looked like he could fix me—or ruin me beautifully?
"Yes," I whispered, I managed a small, fragile smile. "I'd… be glad to."
His eyes warmed instantly. "Good. Whenever you're ready."
Then we started talking
It started light, easy, like stepping into sunlight after a long illness. He asked careful questions, never pushing, never prying. I answered what I could. I asked about Cynthia, and his mouth curved with fondness as he shared old stories.
He laughed low when he told me about her at twelve, trying to sneak out to a concert, getting caught halfway down a drainpipe with their mother waiting below, arms crossed, unimpressed.
I laughed too.
A real laugh.
The sound startled me. It felt rusty, like a muscle I hadn't used in years. But it felt good. Safe.
His voice was calm, deep, soothing, the kind that smoothed rough edges just by existing. His eyes stayed on me like he actually saw me—not the mess, not the rumors, not the woman losing her mind over her sister's husband.
Just Alyssa.
Time blurred. Minutes slipped into something softer, quieter. He teased Cynthia gently—her disastrous cooking phase, the first terrible boyfriend she'd sworn was "the one." I laughed until my sides ached, until tears gathered in my eyes.
For a moment, I felt normal.
Human…
Not the woman unraveling over forbidden desire.
Not the one slowly convinced she was being poisoned.
Just me. Talking. Laughing. Breathing.
Safe.
Wanted.
Then I felt a movement
A flicker of shadow behind the glass panel of the door. Something shifted in the air, sharp and wrong.
I looked up.
Victor.
Standing there with his hands shoved deep into his pockets looking so tense. Watching us
His eyes locked onto us. Onto Aaron's hand resting too close to mine. Onto my smile, still lingering. Onto the sound of my laughter, fading too slowly.
Jealousy radiated off him in waves, it was raw, violent, unmistakable. It slammed into me like a physical thing as heat crawled up my spine.
He didn't move, he just stared possessively.
And in that stare, something cold and certain settled in my bones. He wasn't letting go of me. Not ever
Aaron leaned a little closer, unaware or unbothered, his voice dropping. "You have a beautiful laugh, Alyssa."
Victor's fist clenched.
I saw it clearly. The tendons in his hand went white as the glass fogged with his breath.
Then a taught crossed my mind
Three years ago, in my own house, Victor had beaten a man bloody for wanting me then walked away like I wasn't his. I called it protection or love ,I wasn't certain but it only made me want him more.
The door handle turned slowly.
And I knew—Victor hadn't come to watch this time.
VICTOR'S- POV
Alyssa thinks silence means safety.
It doesn't.
I watch her laugh like nothing in the world has ever cost her. The man beside her leans in—close enough to forget himself.
Weeks ago, Robert made that mistake by fucking her and i fixed it.
I love my wife.
Elena has my name, my loyalty, my restraint.
Alyssa has something older.
I met her first.
I open the door.
She goes still. Exactly as she should.
I married her sister—but Alyssa was claimed long before vows ever mattered.
And men who reach for what's mine don't do it twice.