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And suddenly, the idea of being allowed to want—to rest, to be held, to try on a dress because it made me feel like something other than tired—was too much.
I buried my face in my hands and sobbed like the little girl who once taped her broken ballet slippers back together with hope and electrical tape.
And Elias?
He stayed there on the floor beside me, fingers brushing over my leg in slow, steady circles.
Saying nothing.
But everything.
20
ELIAS
Vivi’s sobs cut me open. Each one a blade, slashing something raw in my chest.
She was crumpled on the boutique’s velvet couch. Silk gown pooling like moonlight around her trembling frame. Hands pressed to her face, hiding the grief spilling out.
I knelt before her. Hand on her knee. Steady but helpless. Shock rooted me.
This wasn’t Vivi. Not the woman who’d fucked me like she defied death. Who climbed bridges, laughed at danger.
This was a girl. Broken. Exposed. Her fire doused.
It lit something in me. A fierce, possessive need. Not to fuck her, but to hold her together.
My demon was stunned. Its hunger gone. Replaced by a primal urge to shield her.
The boutique’s opulence mocked us. Designer racks, champagne flutes, strawberries on marble. Hollow against her tears.
I’d thought I could give her everything. But this—her unraveling—was uncharted territory.
I slid onto the couch. Careful not to crowd her. Hand still on her knee, thumb brushing slow circles.
Her sobs slowed. She stayed curled tight. A fortress of grief.
“Vivi,” I said, voice low, rough. Barely a whisper.
She didn’t move. Didn’t look at me. Breath hitching.
The demon was quiet. I didn’t know what to do. So I did the only thing I could.
I wrapped my arms around her. Pulled her close, her body small against mine.
She didn’t resist. Just sank into me. Her face pressed to my chest, tears soaking my shirt.
I held her. Tight. Like I could absorb her pain. Make her feel safe.
Her body shook. Silent now, but heavy. I didn’t let go.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Time blurred in the warmth of her against me.
Her breathing steadied. Slow, ragged, but calmer. Still, I held her.
Possessiveness burned. Not for her body, but her soul. I wanted to protect her. From the world. From herself.
The boutique’s glow faded. Harbor lights twinkled outside, indifferent to her pain.