Chapter 37
VENUS
“Where were you?”
I stopped a step short of him and let the pause stretch. Not too long, just enough to make it deliberate. Let him feel it.
“Bathroom,” I said.
Flat. Boring. A closed door.
Aaron’s eyes narrowed. “That took longer than five minutes.”
“Did you time me?” I asked mildly. The kind of tone that dares someone to make a mistake.
Inside the room, George was already seated at the low table with the therapist, crayons scattered across the surface like spilled candy. The door remained open, a thin barrier between safety and fracture.
Aaron shifted, angling his body so he blocked my line of sight to the hallway. His voice dropped.
“You don’t disappear in places like this,” he said. “You know that.”
I shrugged and made to step past him toward the doorway.
He caught my arm.
Not rough. Not aggressive. Just firm enough to stop me.
“That’s not optional,” he added.
Something sharp twisted in my chest. I looked down at his hand, then slowly back up at his face.
“Let go,” I said.
His jaw flexed. For a moment, I thought he might argue-might tighten his grip and turn this into something else entirely. Instead, he released me.
The air between us went brittle.
“You’re being reckless,” he said quietly. “And you don’t get to pretend you don’t know that.”
I laughed once. Short and empty. “Reckless?” I echoed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
His brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” I said, keeping my voice smooth and measured, “that you confuse control with safety. You hover. You tighten your grip. And then you call it protection.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No,” I agreed too quickly. “It’s accurate.”
Something flickered across his face-hurt, then anger, then something more guarded. He glanced toward the
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room, toward George, then back to me.
“Not here,” he said.
“You’re right,” I replied. “Not here. Not anywhere. Because this-“I gestured vaguely between us, “–this conversation only exists when you decide it does.”
His eyes darkened. “I’m trying to keep my family safe. I’m trying to keep you
alive.”
“No,” I said, my voice edged with deliberate venom. “You’re trying to satisfy your own need for control. You’re not a partner, Aaron. You’re a high-end leash. And honestly? I’m starting to find the collar a bit tight.”
“That’s not-I’m the man who would die for you,” he said, the words barely audible, stripped of their usual force.
The honesty in them almost undid me.
Almost.
“Then go be a martyr somewhere else,” I said, cutting in before the silence could soften us. “Right now, you’re just a nuisance in a suit.”
The words landed harder than I intended. Harder than I let myself acknowledge.
Silence stretched between us.
From inside the room, the therapist’s calm voice drifted out, guiding George through something gentle and structured. The sound of it-the normalcy-made my throat ache.
Aaron’s shoulders shifted. Not squared. Not defensive.
Withdrawn.
“You don’t know what you’re doing anymore,” he said quietly.
The words stung. I let them.
Then I smiled.
“You’re wrong,” I said. “I know exactly what I’m doing. I just don’t need you to understand it.”
He studied my face like he was searching for a crack-for hesitation, regret, something he could still reach. I gave him nothing.
“If you keep shutting me out,” he said, “you’re going to get hurt.”
I leaned in just enough that only he could hear me.
“Then stop pretending you’re the reason I haven’t already.”
That did it.
He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t argue. Didn’t follow.
He recoiled-not physically, but emotionally, like a door closing somewhere deep inside him. His expression
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went still. Careful. Professional.
Gone.
For a split second, guilt surged-hot and immediate. I wanted to take it back. Wanted to reach for him, soften the blow, tell him I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.
But I didn’t move.
I straightened, smoothed an invisible wrinkle from my sleeve, and turned toward the room.
“George needs me,” I said coolly. “Try not to make this about you.”
I stepped inside before he could respond.
Behind me, I felt him remain where he was-silent, distant, already pulling back in ways that would take far longer to undo than anything I’d just said.
My chest burned. My hands trembled as I rested one on George’s shoulder, grounding myself in the warmth of him.
I didn’t look back.
Inside, where no one could see, the damage bloomed quietly-sharp, aching, and entirely my own.
For Iris.
For Iris.
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Ruby Walker is a rising voice in the world of romance and spicy fiction. With a gift for weaving deep emotions, sizzling chemistry, and unexpected twists, her stories are a blend of passion and drama that captivate readers from start to finish. Ruby’s writing style is bold and irresistible—perfect for those who crave intense, addictive love stories.

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