His chest tightened. “He withdrew. Stopped attending public events. Stopped touching my mother in public. Eventually stopped touching her at all, except when he was absolutely certain he had control.” The memories rose, bitter and sharp. “I remember watching them. The careful distance. The way she’d reach for him sometimes and he’d step away. She never said anything. Never complained. But I could see it hurt her.”
She set down her sandwich and shifted closer. “That must have been hard to watch.”
“It taught me what love looked like in our family. Careful. Controlled. Distant.” He met her eyes. “I don’t want that for you.”
“So instead you’re choosing to keep me at a distance preemptively?” Her hand found his, her fingers threading through his. “Victor, that’s not protection. That’s just fear.”
Her touch sent electricity up his arm. Hyde surged forward, and he felt his hand grow in hers—fingers lengthening, palm widening.
He tried to pull away. “Chloe?—”
“Don’t.” She held on, her smaller hand wrapped around his transforming one. “I’m not afraid.”
“You should be.” But he couldn’t make himself break the contact, not when her skin was warm against his and she was looking at him like he was something worth keeping instead of something to fear.
“I read the journal too,” she said softly. “Your great-grandfather talked about how suppression created pressure. How the more he tried to control his Hyde, the more dangerous it became. But when he learned to integrate—when he stopped fighting and started listening—the guardian became protective instead of destructive.”
“Thaddeus didn’t have my father’s history.”
“No. He had his own history. His own fears.” She squeezed his hand—still enlarged, still half-Hyde. “But he chose trust over control. And according to the journal, it worked.”
He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that the warmth in her eyes wasn’t naive hope but legitimate possibility, but the fear was too deeply rooted.
“I can’t risk it,” he said quietly. “I can’t risk hurting you.”
“Then don’t.” She lifted his hand to her cheek, pressing his palm against her skin. “Stop fighting Hyde. Stop treating him like a threat. And start trusting that maybe he knows what he’s doing.”
His hand was fully Hyde now -massive and clawed, capable of terrible damage. And she was holding it against her face like it was precious.
See?Hyde’s voice was smug.She knows.
Knows what?
That we’d never hurt her. That we’d die before letting anything happen to her or the baby.
The baby. Who wasn’t his. Who he had no claim to.
But Hyde didn’t care about biology. In his black-and-white worldview, Chloe was theirs, which made the baby theirs, and which made protecting them both non-negotiable.
“Victor.” Her voice pulled him back. “Are you listening to Hyde right now?”
“How did you?—”
“Your eyes are glowing. And you get this look. Like you’re having an argument with yourself.” She smiled. “What’s he saying?”
He hesitated, then said carefully, “That you’re ours. That the baby’s ours. That protecting you is more important than anything else.”
“Sounds reasonable to me.”
“Chloe—”
“I know the baby isn’t yours biologically. I know this whole situation is complicated. But if Hyde wants to protect us?” She shrugged. “I’m not going to complain.”
His hand was shrinking again, returning to human proportions. He watched it happen with a mixture of relief and disappointment.
“You make it sound simple.”
“Maybe it is.” She let go of his hand and picked up her sandwich again. “You’re the one making it complicated with all your protocols and fear.”
