Three weeks later, Isla's penthouse felt like neutral territory—not quite home, but no longer enemy ground.
She'd hired new security, vetted by three independent firms and Ryder himself. The entire apartment had been swept, debugged, renovated. New furniture. New paint. Erasing Adrian's contamination one room at a time.
Ryder had moved in. Not officially—his things were still at his apartment. But he slept in her bed every night, coffee mug on her counter every morning, presence woven into every corner of her life.
And it was driving her insane. Not because she didn't want him there. Because she wanted him too much, and he was suddenly, infuriatingly careful about maintaining boundaries.
'We should talk about this,' he said for the fifth time that week, pulling away from a kiss that was heading somewhere promising.
'Talk about what? How you're suddenly allergic to touching me outside of sleeping?' Isla didn't bother hiding her frustration.
'I'm not allergic. I'm being respectful of your recovery process.' Ryder's jaw was tight, his control clearly costing him. 'You've been through trauma. I don't want to take advantage—'
'You're not taking advantage! I'm literally begging you to take me to bed, and you're reciting therapy textbooks!' She threw a pillow at him. 'What happened to the man who made love to me like he was claiming me? Who said I was his?'
'That was during the crisis. When adrenaline and proximity blurred everything.' He caught the pillow, set it aside. 'Now we're back in the real world. You're Isla Thornton—heiress, businesswoman, Manhattan elite. And I'm a bodyguard with PTSD and a high school education. We need to be realistic about what this is.'
'What this is? What THIS is?' Fury ignited. 'You said you loved me. Was that the drugs talking? The adrenaline? Another blurred line?'
'I meant it then. I mean it now. But love doesn't erase reality.' Ryder stood, putting distance between them. 'Your father's right. Relationships born from trauma don't usually last. And when you're fully healed, when your life returns to normal, you might realize I was just... a phase. A coping mechanism.'
Isla wanted to throw something heavier than a pillow. 'Don't put words in my mouth. Don't decide how I feel or what I'll want in the future. I'm choosing you now, every day, completely sober and trauma-free. That should be enough.'
'Should be. But I've seen this before. Clients who swear they're in love, who promise forever, who forget all about it once the danger passes and they're back to their actual lives.' His voice was bleak. 'I won't survive being your temporary fascination, Isla. I'm too far gone already.'
The vulnerability beneath his words cracked her anger. He wasn't pulling away because he didn't want her. He was protecting himself from inevitable abandonment. From being left behind when she rejoined her real world.
She crossed to him, framing his face in her hands. 'I'm not going anywhere. And you're not a phase or a fascination or a coping mechanism. You're the man I love. The man I choose. Every single day.'
'You say that now—'
'I'll say it tomorrow. Next week. Next year.' She kissed him softly. 'However long it takes for you to believe me.'
His control cracked. He kissed her back fiercely, desperately, like a drowning man finding air. 'I want to believe you. God, I want to believe this is real.'
'Then believe it. Trust me the way I trust you.' She pulled him toward the bedroom. 'And stop overthinking everything. I'm not going anywhere, Ryder Kane. You're stuck with me.'
This time, he didn't pull away. Didn't recite boundaries or therapy mantras. He surrendered to what they both wanted, taking her to bed with reverent intensity, proving with his body what his words couldn't quite trust.
Later, wrapped in sheets and satisfaction, Isla broached the subject that had been brewing. 'Move in. Officially. Bring your things, clear out your apartment, make this home.'
Ryder tensed. 'That's fast.'
'We've been living together for a month. You're here every night anyway. What's the difference?'
'The difference is commitment. Permanence. Telling the world we're serious.' He rolled to face her. 'Your father will have opinions. So will the media, the board, everyone with a stake in your life. Are you ready for that scrutiny?'
'I stopped caring what other people think the night I shot my cousin to save you.' She met his eyes. 'This is my life. My choice. And I choose you. Publicly, permanently, whatever that means.'
'The media will crucify you. Heiress shacking up with her bodyguard? The tabloids will have a field day.'
'Let them. I'm done living for other people's approval.' She traced the scar on his shoulder—the one from protecting her. 'Move in. Please. I want to wake up knowing all your things are here. That you're not keeping one foot out the door waiting for me to come to my senses.'
'I don't deserve you.' But his voice was softer, hope creeping in.
'You deserve everything. And I'm everything you're getting. So deal with it.' She kissed him. 'I love you. Move in with me. Let's build something real.'
He pulled her close, his answer whispered against her hair. 'Okay. Yes. I'll move in. But Isla—if this goes wrong, if you change your mind—'
'I won't.' She was absolutely certain. 'You're mine now. No take-backs.'
The promise hung between them, fragile and fierce. They'd survived stalkers and bullets and betrayal. Surely they could survive the real world. Surely love was enough.
Isla chose to believe it was. And slowly, gradually, Ryder started believing too.