You don't get to say no
1038 Words
ðĪchapter Three: You Donât Get to Say No
The cafÃĐ felt smaller that night.
Haven noticed it the moment she stepped in, like the walls had moved closer while she was gone. The air was thicker, harder to breathe, as if something unseen had settled into the space and refused to leave.
Or maybeâĶ it wasnât the cafÃĐ.
Maybe it was her.
She tied her apron with slightly unsteady hands, trying to ignore the restless feeling sitting low in her chest.
He didnât come yesterday.
The thought shouldnât have lingered.
It shouldnât have mattered.
But it did.
And she didnât like that.
The night moved slowly. Too slowly. Every time the door chimed, her head lifted before she could stop herselfâonly to feel a flicker of something she refused to name when it wasnât him.
Annoyance.
Thatâs all it was.
It had to be.
By the time the cafÃĐ began to empty, Haven told herself he wasnât coming back.
That this was over.
That whatever strange moment had existed between them had ended the second he walked out that door.
Good.
Thatâs how it should be.
The bell chimed.
Her heart betrayed her.
She looked up.
And there he was.
Damien.
Like he had stepped out of her thoughts and into reality without permission.
Havenâs stomach tightened.
This time, he didnât pause at the door.
He didnât observe.
He walked straight toward her.
Faster than before.
Purpose in every step.
Something in her chest shifted.
âCoffee?â she asked quickly, the word coming out before she could stop it.
A weak attempt at normal.
At control.
He didnât answer.
He stopped on the other side of the counter, close enough that she could feel the weight of his presence without him touching her.
âYouâve been expecting me.â
Her breath caught.
âI havenât.â
A lie.
Again.
His gaze didnât waver.
âYou looked at the door every time it opened.â
Heat rushed to her face. âThatâs my job.â
âNo,â he said quietly.
âItâs not.â
Silence fell between them.
But it wasnât empty.
It was thick. Heavy. Charged with something neither of them said out loud.
Haven forced herself to move, turning slightly to reach for a cupâanything to break the tension building between them.
But before she couldâ
His hand caught her wrist.
Not rough.
Not gentle.
Just firm enough to stop her.
Her breath hitched.
The world seemed to narrow to that single point of contact.
âDonât,â he said.
The word was low.
Controlled.
Her pulse jumped. âLet go.â
She meant it to sound strong.
It didnât.
His thumb shifted slightly against her skinânot a caress, not quiteâbut enough to make her aware of every nerve beneath it.
âYou keep trying to pretend this is normal,â he murmured.
âIt is,â she shot back, though her voice was thinner now. âYouâre just a customerââ
âIâm not.â
The interruption was immediate.
Certain.
Her heart raced.
âThen what are you?â she demanded.
A dangerous question.
One she shouldnât have asked.
His grip didnât tighten.
But it didnât loosen either.
âSomeone who doesnât get told no.â
A chill slid down her spine.
âYou donât get to decide that,â she said, though the words lacked the strength she wanted them to carry.
His gaze darkened slightly.
Not anger.
Something deeper.
Something more certain.
âI already have.â
The air between them shifted.
Something unspoken settled in.
Ownership.
Control.
Haven pulled her wrist back.
This time, he let her.
But the absence of his touch didnât feel like relief.
It felt like something had just started.
âYou need to leave,â she said, stepping back, putting space between them.
Distance.
Safety.
âIâm working.â
He didnât move.
âI know.â
Her brows pulled together. âThen go.â
A pause.
Then, slowly:
âNo.â
The word landed like a weight.
Heavy.
Final.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. âYou canât just stay hereââ
âI can stay wherever I want.â
His tone wasnât loud.
But it didnât need to be.
It carried authority.
The kind that didnât come from words alone.
Haven shook her head, trying to ground herself, trying to push back against the strange pull she didnât understand.
âYou donât scare me.â
The lie was weaker this time.
He stepped closer.
Closing the space she had created.
âYouâre shaking.â
Her breath caught.
She hadnât even noticed.
âIâm not,â she whispered.
His gaze dropped brieflyâto her hands, to the slight tremor she couldnât controlâbefore returning to her face.
âLying doesnât suit you.â
Something in her snapped.
Frustration. Fear. Something else.
âWhy me?â she demanded.
The question came out sharper than she expected.
More desperate.
His expression shifted.
Just slightly.
But enough.
âBecause you didnât look away,â he said.
Her chest tightened.
âYou should have.â
The words were softer now.
AlmostâĶ warning.
Before she could respond, a loud voice cut through the tension.
âHaven! You closing soon?â
She flinched, turning toward the sound.
Distraction.
Relief.
When she looked backâ
He was already moving away.
Just like that.
Like nothing had happened.
Like he hadnât just turned her entire world sideways.
He stopped at the door, his hand resting briefly on the handle.
For a moment, she thought he would leave without another word.
But thenâ
âYouâre going to stop pretending soon.â
His voice carried across the room.
Low.
Certain.
Final.
âBecause Iâm not.â
The door opened.
Closed.
And he was gone.
Again.
Haven stood there, her heart racing, her thoughts tangled.
Her wrist still tingled where he had touched her.
And no matter how hard she tried to ignore itâĶ
She knew one thing.
This wasnât just a coincidence anymore.
It wasnât just a strange encounter.
It was something else.
Something she couldnât control.
Something that was slowly pulling her inâ
Whether she wanted it or not.
- Writer
