"You think running away protects her?"
I froze.
Because for a second—
I didn't know.
His hand tightened slightly around my wrists, lifting them just enough to keep me still.
Completely still.
"You still don't understand," he murmured.
His free hand slid to my jaw, tilting my face up again—forcing me to meet his gaze.
That choice was never yours."
My breath trembled.
"You don't get to decide when to leave me."
His thumb brushed against my lower lip—slow, deliberate—making my heart stutter painfully.
"Especially not now."
I shook my head, trying to pull away again, but his grip held firm.
Unyielding.
"You're insane," I whispered.
Maybe I meant it.
Maybe I didn't.
A faint smile touched his lips again—
that same one-sided, unsettling curve.
"Maybe."
Then suddenly—
he pulled me forward.
Not rough.
But impossible to resist.
My body collided with his, my trapped hands pressed between us.
"Then stop looking at me like you're going to come back anyway."
My breath caught.
Because he saw it.
Even now.
Even like this.
And that was the worst part.
His forehead rested briefly against mine, his grip finally loosening—just a little.
Just enough to test me.
To see if I'd run again.
But I didn't move.
Couldn't.
His fingers slid from my wrists—slowly—down to my hands, holding them instead.
Not trapping.
But not letting go either.
A different kind of hold.
Equally dangerous.
"You can try again," he whispered.
A pause.
His thumb brushed over my knuckles, almost absent-minded.
"But next time…"
His eyes darkened slightly.
"…I won't stop at the door."
My heart dropped.
Because that didn't sound like a warning.
It sounded like a promise.