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CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

SHE SAT ON the edge of the bed, silent. Her spine was straight, shoulders level, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her head bowed slightly, dark lashes lowered just enough to keep me from seeing what lived behind her eyes. She knew better than to let me see too much. She was still, composed, careful. Everything I expected her to be.

Everything she had once been, and I was going to make damn sure she remembered exactly what that meant.

The room was thick with quiet. Only the buzzing of the overhead light filled the space as I shut the door behind me, the soft click of the lock a sound I’d grown to love. No windows. No clocks. No exits. Just us, like it was always meant to be.

She didn’t move as my boots struck the hardwood floor, each step deliberate, heavy enough to fill the silence. I took my time crossing the room, letting the tension build in the air between us. Her body didn’t flinch, but I could sense the static underneath her skin, the effort it took for her to remain composed, knowing I was watching her from behind.

“You’re such a good girl.”

The words came easy, rolling off my tongue like smoke, curling slow and thick around the space between us. I watched the way her shoulders didn’t twitch, the way her jaw didn’t clench. She was trying. I’d give her that.

Still, something was off. A coolness. A barrier.

She was here, but not all the way.

I stepped in closer, the heat of my presence folding over her like a second skin. My fingers slid into her hair, combing it back gently so I could see the soft line of her jaw. She still wore the scent I remembered, lavender, faint warmth, something uniquely her. But now it was tainted. Beneath it lingered something else.

Was it a trace of him? That scarred fucker?

I let my hand trail down her cheek, savoring the feel of her skin. Warm. Steady. Too steady.

“I know this isn’t easy,” I said, voice even, too calm. “It’s an adjustment, I get that. But this—us—this isn’t new. This is just you… remembering what you forgot.”

Her head dipped slightly in acknowledgment. Not too slow, not too quick. Just right.

But I’d heard her.

That night, after I brought her back, when she’d finally passed out in my bed, I stood in the doorway and watched her sleep. The light from the hallway cast her face in pale gold. Her lips parted. Her body relaxed into the sheets like it had always belonged there.

And then… she said it.

His name.

Mystic.

Barely a whisper. Barely a breath.

But it made me furious.

She didn’t even know she said it, but I’d heard it, and I wasn’t about to forget.

That was when I knew, this wasn’t just about her running. It was about something worse. She’d let him in. She’d let him touch something inside her.

And now, I was going to take it back.

I turned away just long enough to unzip my cut and toss it onto the chair in the corner. Then I poured myself a drink, the bite of whiskey grounding me as I stared at her from across the room. She didn’t look up. Didn’t dare. She knew I was pissed about something.

She remembered the rules. She’d always remembered. She just forgot how good she had it.

I moved back to the bed and sat beside her, letting my thigh press against hers, letting the warmth of my body push into the space she tried to keep. Her breath barely changed. But I felt it, that flicker. That pull of resistance buried under the surface.

I reached for her chin, fingers curling gently until her face tilted toward mine. She didn’t resist. Her gaze lifted, soft and blank. Trying too hard to look natural.

“You’re not thinking of leaving me again… are you?” I asked.

Her voice was steady, cool. “No.”

It was the right answer. The right tone. But it was wrong.

She hadn’t leaned into me. Hadn’t softened. Hadn’t given me what she used to give so easily.

That cold, distant thing between us, it wasn’t going away.

“You need to remember,” I said, thumb brushing along her lower lip, letting the words settle between us like a promise I intended to keep. “I’ll never let you go.”

She nodded again, slow and mechanical, and I let my hand drop to her collarbone, tracing it slowly. Down her arm. Over her wrist. Redrawing the edges of her body with my touch like I was mapping stolen territory.

“I gave you everything,” I whispered. “Pulled you out of the fire and gave you something no one else could. That club—those bastards—they don’t know what it means to protect a woman like you.”

I pressed my lips to the inside of her wrist, slow and deliberate, feeling the pulse that betrayed her. It was steady. Too steady. Like she’d trained herself not to feel anything at all.

“You said his name in your sleep,” I murmured, trying to hold my temper.

Her breath caught. “What name?”

“That fucking freak Mystic,” I snarled, holding her wrist tighter. “Why the fuck would you say his name?”

“I don’t know,” she said, lowering her eyes. “He was always around so that must be why.”

She was lying.

My jaw clenched. My blood turned cold. He was somehow there. Under her skin. Behind her eyes. She might’ve come back with her body, but I hadn’t reclaimed the rest.

Not yet.

My hand slid from her face down to her collarbone, then lower. My voice dropped lower as I leaned in, my breath grazing her ear. “But he doesn’t know what we have. What we’ve always had.”

She didn’t move.

Didn’t fight.

But I felt the tension humming through her like a live wire.

And still, I kissed her wrist—slow, deliberate—and said, “Do you know what you do to me, Zeynep?”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

“No other woman could ever replace you,” I reminded her as I stood, reaching for the lamp, clicking it off with a flick of my fingers. The room dropped into shadows, the soft glow replaced by thick, quiet dark. “And no other man will ever replace me.”

I stretched out on the bed and pulled her into my arms. This was how I’d remind her. This was how I’d erase that freak from her memory.

I wouldn’t hurt her. She meant too much to me to ever lay a violent hand on her. But she’d remember the difference between being looked at—and being claimed.

And by morning, there wouldn’t be a trace of Mystic left on her.