Chapter 15: Lines You Don't Cross
1465 Words
As Julia stood there silently processing everything In had just said, I could see the weight of it settling over her in real time. Every answer had only created more questions, and neither my presence nor Kyle’s was making any of it easier.
“She needs a moment,” I said.
I didn’t wait for Kyle's compliance before turning toward the door.
The office door closed behind us with a soft click.
The hallway beyond was empty.
Good.
Because the irritation I had kept carefully contained inside that room wasn’t contained anymore.
“Kyle.”
He stood a few feet away, calm as ever, hands slipping into his pockets like this conversation was already predictable to him.
Nothing ever seemed to surprise him.
At first, he didn’t speak, which I also had expected.
“You were out of line,” I spoke, stating the obvious fact, but as he looked at me, there was no sign of remorse.
Instead, Kyle leaned slightly against the wall, deliberately relaxed. “I was efficient.”
“You threatened her.” I countered, as there was a short pause.
Not from denial. Not even surprise that I was angry about it.
“It got her here,” he replied evenly.
“That doesn’t justify it,” I continued, as his posture slightly changed.
“It does if the alternative creates a larger problem,” he replied, as I stared at him in disbelief before stepping forward again.
“You do not threaten someone on my behalf without clearing it with me first,” I warned him, which finally shifted something.
Not from concern, but assessment, as his gaze sharpened slightly. “Interesting wording.”
“She walked into that room already defensive because of you,” I pointed out, ignoring his other comment.
“She walked into that room because of me,” he corrected calmly, making my jaw tighten.
“She’s eighteen.”
“And capable of making very damaging decisions if she panics,” he replied immediately.
“She’s not irrational.”
“I wouldn’t say irrational.” His voice stayed level. “But she is rather emotional.”
The word bothered me more than it should have.
“Threatening her wasn’t necessary.”
Kyle studied me for a second too long before answering.
“No,” he said calmly. “It was the only way to get her to understand...”
“It got a reaction,” I interrupted coldly. “Not understanding.”
“You’re making a distinction that doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
The silence that followed was brief, but noticeable, because I didn’t usually say things like that.
Not in these kinds of conversations, and Kyle knew that.
His eyes narrowed slightly, not with suspicion exactly, but with recognition.
“She’s not the problem,” I continued.
“No,” he agreed. “She’s the risk.”
“Not in the way you’re treating her.”
“In exactly the way I’m treating her.”
I exhaled slowly through my nose, forcing the irritation back under control.
“You don’t know her.”
“And you do?”
The question came quickly.
Sharply.
I didn’t answer immediately.
Because no, I didn't, not really.
One night. A handful of conversations. A series of reactions under pressure.
Objectively, that wasn’t enough, but that didn’t make his approach acceptable.
“She’s not going to ruin anything,” I said instead.
Kyle’s expression remained unreadable, but something in his eyes sharpened.
“You’re already compromising your judgment.”
“I’m assessing the situation.”
“You’re protecting her.”
The words landed too cleanly, but I kept my expression neutral.
“She doesn’t need to be handled like that.”
“She absolutely does.”
The silence between us tightened instantly.
“She just went through a public betrayal,” Kyle continued. “Humiliation. Emotional fallout. Then she ends up attached to you in the middle of it.”
“She’s not attached to me.”
Kyle ignored the interruption entirely.
“You think that won’t affect how she interprets this situation?”
“She’s more rational than you’re giving her credit for.”
“She trusted you within hours.”
I felt my expression still slightly.
I didn’t like where he was going with it.
“That isn’t stability,” he continued. “That’s attachment formed under stress.”
“That’s human.”
“It’s exploitable.”
Something cold settled in my chest.
“Watch your wording.” I warned him, but Kyle didn’t react.
“If she realizes what kind of position she’s in,” he said, “what leverage proximity to you actually gives her—”
“She won’t use it.” I interrupted him, as he looked at me for a second before he once again spoke.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“No,” he said flatly. “You want that to be true.”
His words hit something, because part of me recognized the possibility immediately, but I rejected it just as quickly. Not because it was illogical, but because it felt wrong.
“She’s not manipulative,” I said.
“Not intentionally, maybe,” Kyle replied. “But intention doesn’t change the outcome.”
I stepped closer, more deliberate this time.
“She’s not like that.”
Kyle went quiet. Instead of arguing with me, he just observed me, before he spoke.
“Say that again,” he said, making me straighten my back, as my eyes narrowed slightly.
“She’s not like that.” I repeated, as there was another pause, before he let out a heavy sigh.
“You’re already involved.”
The words weren’t mocking, just factual.
“No,” I said immediately.
“Yes,” Kyle replied flatly, without a shred of doubt, and for the first time since this conversation started, I didn’t answer right away.
Because something uncomfortably precise had lodged itself in the back of my mind.
An inconsistent variable, I hadn’t accounted for properly, and I hated that he’d noticed it before I had.
“I’m not emotionally involved,” I said finally, each word controlled. “I’m managing a situation.”
Kyle’s expression didn’t change, but I could tell he was evaluating the response itself, and not just my words.
“She’s affecting your decision-making.”
“No,” I said evenly. “I’m adapting my strategy based on the individual involved. That’s not the same thing.”
“It becomes the same thing very quickly.”
I held his gaze.
“This arrangement only works if she trusts me,” I said. “Fear won't.”
Kyle folded his arms loosely. “Trust is harder to control.”
“Fear is unstable.”
That earned the faintest shift in his expression, because he knew I was right.
“She needs clarity,” I continued. “Structure. If she feels cornered, she becomes unpredictable, and then we actually have a problem.”
Kyle was silent for a moment.
Then he spoke quieter this time.
“You’re still factoring her in differently.”
“I’m factoring the situation.”
“No,” he said. “You’re factoring her.”
The words settled heavily between us, because he wasn’t entirely wrong.
.
I glanced back toward the office door before I could stop myself, and Kyle noticed it immediately.
“There it is,” he said quietly, as I looked back at him, with a blank expression.
“You’re getting attached.”
“No.” I denied it instantly.
It came out firm and certain, it had to be.
This wasn’t personal, it couldn’t be.
“She is useful,” I said evenly. “That’s all. The situation benefits both of us if handled correctly.”
I elaborated, but Kyle didn't say anything.
“She gets protection from the fallout surrounding her ex,” I continued. “I stabilize the speculation surrounding me. The arrangement is practical, temporary, and controlled.”
“You keep repeating those words,” he pointed out.
“Because it matters.”
A moment passed.
Then I added, colder now—
“And unlike you, I understand that coercion creates liabilities.”
Kyle held my gaze for a long moment, before he finally nodded once.
Not with agreement, but acknowledgment.
“She’s still a risk,” he said.
“Yes,” I replied calmly, because that part was true.
Then Kyle pushed off the wall. “Just make sure you remember that.”
I looked back toward the office door again, my hand settling briefly against the handle.
Because despite everything I had just said about logic, strategy and control, something about it already felt less contained than it should have, more dangerous, but I opened the door anyway.
- Writer
