Under His Jurisdiction

CHAPTER TEN

Nyx

I don’t sleep.

Every time I close my eyes, I see the way Alexander stood between me and my past—not loud, not violent, just immovable. Like the outcome was never in doubt.

Like I was never in doubt.

I sit on the edge of my bed long after midnight, knees pulled to my chest, replaying every second. The warning in his voice. The certainty. The way he asked if he’d crossed my line.

And how easily I said no.

That’s the part that scares me most.

A knock sounds softly at my door.

I tense. “Yes?”

“I made tea,” Alexander says from the other side. “Chamomile. You looked like you might need it.”

I hesitate, then open the door.

He stands there holding a mug, no jacket, sleeves rolled down this time. Less armor. Still controlled.

“Thank you,” I say, taking it from him. Our fingers don’t touch. It still feels intimate.

“May I come in?” he asks.

The question matters.

“Yes.”

He steps inside, stopping well short of my bed. Keeps distance like it’s a discipline.

“I shouldn’t have handled it without telling you,” he says calmly. “But I won’t apologize for protecting you.”

I swallow. “You didn’t ask what I wanted.”

“I did,” he says gently. “You answered.”

I wrap my hands around the mug, grounding myself in the warmth. “You knew him.”

“I reviewed what was necessary,” he replies. “Enough to assess risk.”

The word settles heavy in my chest. “And what did you decide?”

“That he still believes he has access to you,” Alexander says. “Men like that confuse history with entitlement.”

My throat tightens. “You sound very sure.”

“I am.”

Silence stretches—not awkward, but loaded.

“You didn’t have to be so… final,” I murmur.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “I did.”

I look up at him. “Why?”

He holds my gaze for a long moment. Longer than he ever has.

“Because hesitation invites return,” he says. “And I won’t allow that.”

Something in his tone makes my breath hitch.

“You talk like you own the outcome,” I whisper.

“I take responsibility for what I intervene in,” he replies. “I don’t act casually.”

I shake my head slowly. “You’re dangerous.”

A corner of his mouth lifts—not amused. Acknowledging.

“Only to people who refuse to respect boundaries.”

“What about me?” I ask before I can stop myself.

The question hangs between us, fragile and reckless.

Alexander exhales slowly.

“You’re dangerous to me,” he admits. “Because you make restraint feel like a choice instead of a rule.”

My pulse stutters.

“That’s not fair,” I say.

“No,” he agrees. “It isn’t.”

I set the mug down, hands trembling slightly. “Then why stay so close?”

“Because distance doesn’t remove impact,” he answers. “It only delays it.”

I stand, heart racing, stopping several steps away from him. Close enough to feel his presence. Not close enough to touch.

“You could’ve told me to leave,” I say.

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

“Why?”

His gaze drops to my face, intense but unwavering.

“Because you’re not weak,” he says. “You’re healing. And I won’t punish that.”

My eyes burn.

“I don’t want to need you,” I whisper.

“You don’t,” he says. “You choose proximity. There’s a difference.”

That does it.

Tears spill over, silent and sudden. I turn away, embarrassed, angry at myself.

Alexander doesn’t move toward me.

But his voice softens.

“You’re safe here,” he says again. “And nothing will happen unless you want it to.”

I laugh weakly through tears. “You keep saying that like it’s reassuring.”

“It should be,” he replies. “Because wanting isn’t the same as acting.”

I wipe my face, breathing deeply.

“This changes things,” I say.

“Yes,” he agrees.

“Between us.”

“Yes.”

I turn back to him. “And you’re okay with that?”

His eyes darken slightly.

“I’m prepared for it.”

I nod slowly.

So am I.

I just don’t know yet what I’m preparing to lose.