Alyssa."
The voice came from the other side of the door.
Aaron's voice.
My breath caught instantly, relief and panic colliding so hard it made me dizzy.
"It's Aaron," he said gently. "The gatekeeper led me here."
For one brief second, my body relaxed on instinct. Aaron meant calm. Aaron meant safety. Aaron meant the promise of something clean and uncomplicated.
Then reality crashed back in.
I was very aware of everything—my bare skin, the heat still clinging to me, the unmistakable presence behind me.
"Can I come in?" Aaron asked.
Of course you can't come in, I thought wildly. Not like this. Not now.
"Give me a minute!" I shouted, louder than I meant to.
Silence followed. Polite. Patient.
I turned slowly.
Victor stood near the bathroom doorway, water already running in the shower behind him. His expression was dark and unreadable, his jaw was tight, his eyes sharp, watching me like I might disappear if he looked away.
Fury simmered just beneath his calm.
He said nothing.
Did nothing.
Just looked at me.
"How long are we going to keep doing this?" I asked quietly, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
He didn't answer.
The sound of water filled the space between us. Steam curled lazily into the room, softening the edges of everything except the tension.
"I really need this," I added, my voice barely steady. "This time I actually need him."
Victor's gaze flickered. Just once.
I swallowed. "Just… be mine," I almost begged. The words tasted desperate, humiliating. "Stop doing this to me
For a moment, I thought he might say something. Anything.
Instead, he exhaled slowly, then lifted his hand—two fingers extended in a small, controlled gesture toward my clothes.
Get dressed.
Then he tilted his head toward the bathroom.
Leave first.
So no one gets suspicious.
The familiar pattern wrapped around me like a chain. Controlled. Silent. Efficient.
I hated how easily I understood him.
I dressed quickly, hands shaking, pulling myself together while my mind unraveled. This had to stop. It had to. I was betraying Elena. Betraying myself.
But another thought cut in sharp and possessive, unwelcome and undeniable.
Victor is mine.
The thought scared me more than anything else.
I stepped into the hallway.
Aaron was waiting in the parlor corridor, standing when he saw me, his face lighting up instantly.
"Alyssa," he said warmly, smiling as he approached. "How have you been?"
I froze for half a second.
How have I been?
The answer came unbidden, reckless, vivid.
Wet.
The word almost slipped past my lips.
"Sorry?" Aaron asked, brows lifting slightly.
"I—no," I said quickly, heat rushing to my face. "I mean… good. I've been good. Really."
A lie so thin it embarrassed me.
Aaron studied me carefully—not suspicious, just attentive. The way therapists look when they're already listening to what you're not saying.
"It's nice to see you again," he said softly.
"You too," I replied, forcing a smile.
Behind my calm exterior, everything was chaos. My body was still humming with the aftermath of Victor's touch. My mind was a mess of guilt and longing and fear.
Aaron gestured toward the sitting area. "Shall we?"
I nodded and followed him, every step heavier than the last.
I sat down across from Aaron, folding my hands in my lap, grounding myself with the pressure.
This time, I told myself, I wouldn't lie.
This time, I would stop fighting what I needed.
But even as Aaron began to speak, even as his voice settled into that steady, reassuring rhythm—
I felt Victor's presence like a shadow under my skin.
And I knew, with a sick twist in my chest, that leaving him behind would be the hardest thing I'd ever try to do.
Aaron didn't look like a man who enjoyed silence.
But he didn't rush to fill it either.
The room was softer today. Late afternoon light spilled through the high windows, laying pale gold across the rug between us.
The air conditioner hummed faintly. Calm. Neutral. Safe.
I didn't feel safe.
I felt exposed.
Aaron sat across from me in the same chair as before, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, a notebook resting closed on his lap, I wasn't sure if that made me more comfortable or more cautious.
"How are you feeling today?" he asked gently.
Such a simple question.
I almost laughed.
"Functional," I said.
One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "That wasn't what I asked."
"I know."
Silence again.
Not heavy. Just patient.
I shifted in my seat. My body still remembered things I didn't want it to. The warmth of Victor's hands. The sound of his voice low against my neck. The way I had folded back into him like muscle memory.
I hated that it felt like relief…
"I've been sleeping," I finally offered. "That's progress, right?"
"It can be," Aaron said. "Are you sleeping peacefully?"
No.
But I shrugged. "Enough."
He studied me for a moment — not intensely, just carefully. Like he was watching a glass he suspected might crack if handled too firmly.
"You look tired," he said softly.
Heat crept into my face. Not from embarrassment.
From being noticed.
"I'm fine," I replied quickly.
His gaze didn't harden. Didn't challenge me. It just stayed steady.
"Okay," he said.
That was it.
No pushing. No dissecting the lie.
And somehow that restraint unsettled me more than confrontation would have.
I leaned back slightly, crossing my arms. "You're not going to ask what's wrong?"
"I could," he said calmly. "But you'd decide whether to answer."
The way he said it made it sound like he trusted me to choose honesty.
That was dangerous.
"I don't always make good choices," I muttered.
"That's different from not having them."
My fingers tightened against my sleeve.
There was something about the way he spoke — not dramatic, not theatrical — just precise. Like he had weighed every word before releasing it.
Victor spoke like he owned the room.
Aaron spoke like he was careful not to disturb it.
"I don't want to talk about… recent things," I said quietly.
He nodded once. "Then we won't."
Relief slipped through me before I could stop it.
"But," he added gently, "patterns don't begin recently."
My eyes flicked to him.
He wasn't accusing.
He wasn't even implying.
He was inviting.
And I hated how badly I wanted to step toward that invitation.
"What do you mean?" I asked, though I already knew.
He leaned back slightly, resting one ankle over his knee, posture relaxed but attentive.
"Sometimes," he said slowly, "when we're drawn to intensity… it isn't about the person in front of us. It's about something much older."
My throat tightened.
I looked away first.
The word older echoed in my head.
Older.
Like Elena.
Like childhood.
Like being small and watching someone else shine.
"I don't chase intensity," I said carefully.
"No?"
The softness of the question made it impossible to take offense.
I shook my head. "I just… respond to it."
His brow lifted slightly. "And what does it give you?"
I swallowed.
I didn't want to say it.
I didn't want to name it.
"It makes me feel chosen."
The confession slipped out before I could cage it.
The room felt very still.
Aaron didn't speak for several seconds.
And in that pause, I became hyperaware of everything — the way my pulse tapped at my throat, the faint ticking of the wall clock, the way his gaze hadn't left me.
"Chosen," he repeated quietly.
I nodded, staring at the floor.
"Is that something you didn't feel growing up?" he asked.
There it was.
Direct.
But gentle.
I stiffened slightly.
"That's a loaded question."
He gave a faint, almost apologetic smile. "It is."
I studied him carefully then.
Trying to see if this was a strategy.
If this was manipulation.
If this was him trying to guide me somewhere I didn't want to go.
But his expression wasn't sharp.
It was… curious.
Concerned.
And something else I couldn't quite name.
"You don't talk much about yourself," I said suddenly.
The shift was deliberate.
He didn't seem surprised.
"This isn't about me."
"That's convenient," I murmured.
A flicker of amusement touched his eyes. "Deflection?"
"Observation."
Silence again.
But different this time.
Less guarded.
"I grew up with one sibling," he finally offered. "Older brother."
The fact that he volunteered that much felt intentional.
Balanced.
Fair.
"Did you compete?" I asked before I could stop myself.
"All siblings compete," he said lightly. "It's natural."
Natural.
The word scraped against something raw inside me.
"I wasn't good at competing," I said quietly.
His head tilted slightly. "What makes you think that?"
Because I always lose.
Because she was always better.
Because even when I tried to be louder, brighter, harder to ignore — it only made me look desperate.
I didn't say any of that.
Instead I said, "I wasn't subtle."
Aaron's gaze sharpened almost imperceptibly.
"And she was?" he asked.
The question landed gently.
But it landed.
I inhaled slowly.
The air felt thinner.
"She was perfect," I said before I could stop myself.
The words felt rehearsed. Old. Automatic.
"Perfect how?" he asked.
I hesitated.
My heart was beating faster now.
And I wasn't sure why.
Because talking about Elena felt dangerous.
More dangerous than talking about Victor.
"She didn't need to ask for love," I said carefully. "It just… came to her."
Aaron didn't interrupt.
Didn't soothe.
Didn't correct.
He simply watched me like he was waiting for the rest.
I didn't realize I was gripping the arm of the chair until my fingers started to ache.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Quieter.
As if it were holding its breath with me.
Aaron leaned forward slightly then — not invading, just closing distance enough to matter.
"Alyssa," he said softly.
My name sounded different in his voice.
Less possession.
More… grounding.
"What was your childhood like?"
And just like that —
I couldn't breathe.