"I can't."
"You can't or you won't?"
His nostrils flared. "It doesn't matter which."
"It matters to me." My voice climbed higher, sharper. Not quite yelling, but straining at the edges. "You don't get to walk in here and tell me to blow up my life without a reason."
"The reason is you're being watched."
"By who?"
Silence.
Heat flooded my face. My hands trembled, but I fisted them tighter, nails biting into my palms.
"You don't know anything about my life. You don't know what it took for me to get here, to have anything?—"
"I know more than you think."
The words came out too quiet. Too controlled. Like he was holding something back that wanted to explode.
My breath caught. "What does that mean?"
He didn't answer. Just stood there radiating tension, jaw locked so tight I thought his teeth might crack.
"This is exactly what everyone does," I whispered. The anger drained out of me, left something colder behind. "Judge my choices. Tell me I'm making mistakes. Decide what's best for me without asking?—"
"I'm trying to protect you."
"I don't need protecting."
"Yes, you do."
"From what?" My voice broke on the word. "You won't tell me anything. You just want me to trust you and quit my job and?—"
"Because you're not listening?—"
"Because you're not talking?—"
We were breathing hard now. The space between us had collapsed to nothing—inches, maybe less. I could feel the heat radiating off him, see his chest rising and falling too fast. His eyes burned into mine. Dark and dangerous and something else that made my stomach twist.
The air crackled. Electric. Suffocating.
I couldn't look away. Didn't want to. My pulse hammered against my ribs, loud enough I thought he might hear it. His hands flexed at his sides, like he was fighting not to reach for me.
The apartment shrank around us until nothing existed except this moment. This impossible, terrible space where everything I'd tried to keep buried clawed its way to the surface.
"Olivia." My name came out rough. Almost broken.
I stopped breathing. The silence hit like a punch. I acted before I thought—reached up, fisted my hands in his hoodie, and pulled him down to me.
Our mouths collided.
A soft, terrified sound escaped my throat. Part desperation, part need, part something I couldn't name. I kissed him like I was drowning and he was air. Like if I let go, I'd fall apart completely.
He froze. Went absolutely rigid under my hands. His breath caught sharp against my lips.
For one awful, mortifying second I thought he'd push me away. Thought he'd step back and look at me with pity or disgust or worse—nothing at all.
