Under His Jurisdiction

CHAPTER EIGHT

Nyx

I tell myself I’m not doing this on purpose.

That I’m just restless.

That I’m tired of walking on invisible lines.

That I refuse to be managed by a man who claims he won’t touch me but watches me like restraint is a daily discipline.

All lies.

I choose my clothes carefully that evening.

Nothing scandalous. Nothing overt. Just a soft sweater that slips slightly off one shoulder if I move the wrong way, jeans that fit too well, boots that make me feel grounded and dangerous all at once.

If he’s pretending nothing is happening, I want to know how deep the lie goes.

The house is quieter than it’s been all week. Fewer guests. Less noise. The kind of stillness that amplifies every movement, every breath.

I find Alexander in the study.

The door is open. Light spills out in warm amber tones. He’s seated behind his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled—again—with papers spread neatly in front of him. Focused. Controlled.

Untouchable.

I knock once, softly.

“Yes?” he says without looking up.

“I need help,” I say.

That gets his attention.

He looks up immediately, gaze sharp. “With what?”

I step inside, closing the door behind me—not fully, just enough to make a point. My pulse quickens.

“I’m applying for a position,” I say. “A temporary one. I need a reference.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes tightens.

“A reference from me would carry weight,” he says carefully.

“That’s why I’m asking.”

“Where is the position?”

“Downtown. A consulting firm.”

He leans back slightly in his chair, studying me. “You didn’t mention this earlier.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d go through with it.”

“And now you are?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“You’re aware of how this looks,” he says.

“I am.”

“Then you should also be aware,” he continues, “that I don’t blur professional boundaries.”

I tilt my head. “You paid attention to my sleep patterns. That felt personal.”

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

“That was concern,” he says.

“And this?” I ask softly, stepping closer to the desk. “This is business.”

I stop a safe distance away. Close enough to feel the shift in him. Not close enough to give him an excuse.

He stands slowly.

The movement steals my breath.

“You’re testing me,” he says quietly.

“I’m asking for help.”

“You’re asking to see how far my restraint extends.”

I meet his gaze, refusing to look away. “And?”

“And you’re underestimating how carefully it’s being maintained.”

The air between us hums. Charged. Alive.

“I won’t write the reference,” he says.

Something sharp twists in my chest. “Why not?”

“Because you don’t need my name to prove your worth,” he replies. “And because you don’t actually want my help.”

I swallow. “What do I want, then?”

His gaze drops briefly—to my shoulder. My mouth. Gone in a heartbeat.

“You want to know whether I mean what I said,” he answers.

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

The word is firm. Absolute.

Silence stretches. My heartbeat pounds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.

“I should go,” I say.

“Yes,” he agrees.

I turn toward the door, hand on the handle.

“Nyx,” he says.

I pause, back to him.

“You don’t need to provoke me to be seen,” he continues quietly. “I already see you.”

My throat tightens.

I leave before I do something reckless.

In the hallway, my legs feel weak, my thoughts scattered.

I didn’t get what I came for.

And yet, I got exactly what I needed to know.

His control isn’t fragile.

It’s intentional.

Which means when it breaks…

It will be because one of us chooses it.