Page 60 of Obeying

He looks up from his desk. He's got his glasses on, a coffee in his hand, and papers spread out in front of him. The second he sees my face, something shifts in his expression. He knows why I'm here.

"Is it true?" I close the door behind me. "Did you go see Miguel?"

"Yes."

My stomach drops. "Why?"

"Because I saw those photos and I wasn't going to just⁠—"

"I thought we agreed to do this together, Logan." My voice is sharper than I want it to be, but I can't pull it back. "I thought we were going to work together to stop him. Not you going behind my back and barging into his office on your own. Don't you realize that's exactly what he wants?"

He stands. "What? You expected me to sit there and do nothing?"

"I expected you to stay calm and use that brain you're always so proud of." My hands are shaking, but my voice isn't. "I showed you those photos so we could figure out how to handle them. Together. Not so you could go off and give him more ammunition."

"He was stalking you, Kristen. Someone followed you home and took pictures of you. What was I supposed to do? Make a spreadsheet about it?"

"Yes! You were supposed to make a spreadsheet or a plan. Or anything that didn't involve walking into his office and giving him exactly what he needed. Do you know what he did after your little visit?" I pull my phone out of my bag. "He texted me. Last night. Told me you showed up making threats." My voice is rising, and it's getting harder to control it. "He twisted every single thing you said, and he turned it into proof that I'm just going from one controlling man to another."

Logan's face goes pale. "That's not what I said to him. He's lying."

"I know he's lying! That's not the point! The point is, you gave him the conversation to twist. You walked right into his territory and handed him material on a silver platter. You gave him what he wanted. I never thought you'd do something this reckless."

"I'm not." He says it sharply. "But I couldn't just let him sit there and think that what he did to you was okay."

"It doesn't matter what he thinks. What matters is how we react."

"Well, it matters to me, Kristen. I was trying to protect you. You don't understand how people like him think. You don't know what they can do to you. So why can't you just trust me on this?"

The room goes very still. My blood goes cold.

Those words. So familiar it aches.

"You sound just like him."

Logan's face drops. Like I've hit him with something he wasn't prepared for. He takes a step back from the desk as if the words had physically pushed him. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. The shock across his features is real and raw.

"He used to tell me I was smart but naive," I say. My voice is shaking. "That I didn't understand how the world really worked. That he knew better. That he was just trying to protect me." I swallow hard. "That's how it started, Logan. Every time. He was just trying to protect me. And then one day I looked up, and I had no friends, no freedom, no voice, and the man who was protecting me was the same man I needed protection from."

"Kristen, I didn't mean…I'm not like him."

"I know that." And I do. I know Logan is nothing like Miguel. They're completely different people. But that's not what scares me right now. What scares me is that somehow I'm in the same position again—a man decided what was best for me without asking. A man went and fought my battles because he thought I couldn't handle it myself. The intentions are different, but the result is the same: me standing here, the woman who needs saving. And I'm so tired of being that woman.

And I can't stop wondering if maybe that's just who I am now. The kind of person who always needs protecting—if that's all anyone sees when they look at me. Not the surgeon. Not the woman who fought her way back into medicine. Just someone who can't handle her own life.

"I'm not fragile," I say, and my voice breaks on not. "I know I look like it right now. I know I spent years making myself small. I hid, I lost my confidence, I lost my fire. But I'm not weak. I lost years of my life because I chose to take care of my father. I'm not weak. I'm not someone who needs to be managed." Something wet slides down my cheek, and I wipe it away.

"Of course you're not." He says it immediately. No hesitation. "Kristen, I have never once thought you were weak. Not for a second. Not ever." He takes his glasses off and sets them on the desk. "I'm sorry. I should have talked to you first. I was angry, and I acted on it, and that was wrong."

He means it. I can see it in his face, in the way he's standing there with his hands open at his sides, not defending himself, not arguing, just apologizing. And the anger drains out of me. What's left is something messier. The words I just said weren't really for him. They were for Miguel—for every time he made me feel small and I believed it. For every version of myself that accepted being managed because I thought that's what I deserved.

Logan just stepped on the same wound, and it opened before I could stop it.

But I can't sort through that right now. Not here, not in front of him.

"I need a minute," I mutter.

He nods. He doesn't follow me when I leave.