Page 213 of Fractured Loyalties
That word—possession—makes Mara shift like it stung her.
I look at Celeste. “It’s not possession when the threat is real. It’s survival.”
Alec exhales, sharp through his nose. “You’re twisting it.”
The words hang heavy. Everyone hears them, but it’s only Mara who reacts.
She finally finds her voice, fragile but edged. “I told you before, Elias. You don’t get to take my choice.”
I turn fully to her. My hand lifts, not touching, but close enough she feels it. “You think choice matters to men like Caleb? You think he’ll stop because you told him no in front of a lobby full of witnesses? He doesn’t hear you, Mara. He never did.”
Her eyes flicker, and I know I’ve hit the fracture. The part of her that remembers the locked doors, the silenced protests, the way he smothered her life piece by piece.
I don’t let up. “You walked out once. You thought that meant he was gone. He’s back, and he’s circling. And if you keepstanding here, pretending this building makes you untouchable, you’ll hand him the second chance he’s been waiting for.”
The silence that follows is jagged.
Mara’s grip loosens on the counter. One paper drifts from her hand to the floor. She doesn’t pick it up.
Celeste watches her, something unreadable passing across her face, but she doesn’t stop her. Alec starts to take a half-step forward, but Mara shakes her head. A tiny movement. Enough to halt him.
Her gaze locks on me again. “You’re not giving me much of a choice at all.”
I lean closer, my voice a cut between us. “I’m giving you the only one that keeps you alive.”
And that’s it. She lets the rest of the papers fall.
I take her arm—not harsh, but firm enough that everyone understands. Celeste’s jaw tightens, but she stays still. Alec’s fists flex, but he doesn’t move. They know they’ve lost this round.
I guide Mara toward the doors, her steps uneven but moving. Security glances up, unsure whether to intervene. They don’t. The weight in my stride tells them better.
The air outside slams colder. The SUV waits at the curb, engine still ticking from when I pulled up. I open the passenger door, positioning her in.
Her eyes flash up at me one more time, raw and accusing. “You don’t even see how much you’re taking from me.”
I lean down, caging her with one arm against the doorframe. “You think I’m taking. But one day you’ll understand. I’m the only thing standing between you and the dark. And I don’t lose.”
She swallows hard, but she gets in.
I close the door.
I move back to the driver’s side, scanning the street the way I always do—angles, corners, reflections in glass. I wait for a twitch, a shadow that doesn’t belong. Nothing. Too neat. Too quiet.
I drop into the seat, grip the wheel, and turn the key. The engine growls to life, steady and obedient, the way I expect everything to be.
The engine growls as I pull away from the curb. My hand grips the wheel, steady, while my other rests near the gearshift—close enough to her thigh that the space feels claimed even if I don’t touch her.
She presses herself against the door, chin lifted, eyes fixed on the blur of storefronts passing by. Her defiance is all surface. Underneath, she’s trembling; I can see it in the small tremors where her fingers twist the silver ring on her hand.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she says without turning.
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve already decided everything.” She pauses before adding, “Like you’ve won.”
Traffic parts for me as if it knows better. My mind replays how the scene at the clinic must’ve played out—the spray of panic in her eyes, Caleb’s face twisted in rage, I wasn’t there, but I can picture it anyway, too clearly. The thought of her face in that moment gnaws at me. She shouldn’t have been in that position to begin with.
And still, she insists on clinging to the illusion of choice, like it’s enough to keep her alive.
