“And maybe I’m being stupid. Maybe you really don’t want this and I’m making a fool of myself. But I don’t think I am.” She looked up at him, her freckled face open and honest and so beautiful it hurt. “I think you’re just as terrified as I am. And I think you’re using noble excuses to avoid taking a risk.”
His hands clenched so tightly that the leather of the journal creaked under his grip. “I’m not—this isn’t about being noble. I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“From what? From you?” She laughed, sharp and frustrated, and the sound made his chest tight. “Victor, I’ve met Hyde. I’ve seen your eyes glow. I’ve felt how gentle you are even when you’re fighting for control. And I’m still here. Still wanting?—”
She stopped herself, breathing hard. His heart was racing equally fast, and Hyde pressed against his control like water against a dam, demanding release.
“Wanting what?” His voice had gone rough, dangerous. Control was slipping through his fingers like sand.
Her breath caught, but she didn’t step back.
“You,” she said simply. “I still want you.”
His carefully constructed wall cracked, and every argument he’d made to himself crumbled. Because she was standing in his lonely house with her hand pressed over her baby bump, looking at him with warmth and desire and fearless determination, and she wanted him.
Both sides of him.
“You should go.” The words felt like they were being dragged out of his chest with hooks. “Before I… Before we… This is a mistake.”
Hyde roared in protest.No mistake. She’s ours. OURS.
“Says who?” She held her ground, her chin up defiantly. “Your father? People who don’t know you? Or are you just so committed to being alone that you can’t imagine another way?”
“You don’t understand?—”
“Then explain it to me!” Her voice rose with emotion, and he could see the frustration and hurt bleeding through. “Stop hiding behind vague warnings and actually talk to me. Tell me why you kissed me like that if you didn’t mean it. Tell me why your eyes are glowing green right now if Hyde is so dangerous. Tell me?—”
“Because I want you so much it terrifies me!” The truth ripped out of him, breaking through years of control. “Because every instinct I have—human and Hyde both—says you’re mine and Ishould claim you and protect you and keep you safe. And that need is so strong I can barely control it. That’s the danger, Chloe. Not violence, not rage, but need so desperate I don’t trust myself not to?—”
He cut himself off, chest heaving, realizing he’d said too much.
She stared at him, her eyes wide. “Not to what?”
The truth lodged in his throat. “Not to hurt you by holding on too tight. Not to suffocate you with protection. Not to become my father—loving someone so much that it twists into something damaging.”
His father’s face flashed in his memory. The carefully controlled expression that had hidden so much rage and fear. The way his mother had learned to move quietly, to speak softly, to never provoke his Hyde. Love twisted into prison and protection transformed into control. That was the legacy he carried.
“Oh, Victor,” she said gently, and she reached out, setting her small hand on his arm.
The contact burned through his shirt, and Hyde surged forward, desperate to touch her back, to gather her close. His muscles jumped under her palm.
“Don’t you see?” she continued. “The very fact that you’re afraid means you won’t do those things.”
She stepped closer, close enough that he had to tilt his head down to see her face properly. Close enough that he could count the light freckles across her nose. “Read the journal. Your great-grandfather figured out how to balance both sides, and how to be whole instead of fractured. Maybe you can too.”
His free hand came up without conscious thought, hovering near her face. He wanted to touch her so badly his fingers trembled. He wanted to trace the curve of her cheek, tangle his hands in her hair, pull her against him and never let go, but such wants were dangerous.
“What if I can’t?” The question came out broken. “What if the journal is wrong and I’m right and?—”
“What if you’re not?” she interrupted gently. Her hand was still on his arm, warm and steady and anchoring. “What if all this control and suppression is actually making things worse? What if trust is the answer instead of fear?”
Hyde pushed harder.Yes. Trust. Let us protect her properly. Let us love her.
His eyes blazed fully green now, and he could feel the shift happening, his hands growing slightly larger, his senses sharpening.
“You’re asking me to risk your safety on a what-if.”
“I’m asking you to trust that I know my own mind. That I can make my own choices about what risks I’m willing to take.” She took his hovering hand in hers, and deliberately guided it to her cheek.
