He's Fighting For Control
1089 Words
The knock came again.
Firm. Unhurried. Like whoever stood on the other side already knew I would open the door.
My phone vibrated once more in my hand, Vincent’s name glowing like a threat I couldn’t swipe away. My pulse thudded so loudly it drowned out the city noise beyond the window. I stayed frozen, breath shallow, fingers pressed hard against the screen until it dimmed.
Another knock.
I crossed the apartment on legs that didn’t feel like mine and peered through the peephole.
Alex.
Relief hit first sharp, dizzying followed by something dangerously close to disappointment. I unlocked the door anyway.
He stood there in a charcoal coat, tie loosened, hair damp with evening rain. His eyes swept over me in one quick glance, lingering on my face as if he were checking for cracks. “You didn’t answer your phone.”
“I didn’t hear it,” I lied, stepping aside.
He didn’t call me on it. He rarely did.
The door clicked shut behind him, sealing us into the small space. The apartment smelled faintly of chamomile tea and rain-soaked pavement drifting in from the open window. Alex shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the chair like he belonged there.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded too quickly. My phone buzzed again. This time, Alex saw it.
Vincent.
The name lit his face in cold blue light.
Alex’s jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly. “Who’s that?”
“My husband,” I said, the word tasted wrong in my mouth.
Silence stretched. Alex moved closer, not touching me, but close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. “He knows where you are?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But he knows I’m alive.”
Another knock this one louder, sharper rattled the door.
My breath hitched.
Alex stepped in front of me without thinking, his body a solid barrier. “Stay back,” he murmured.
The knock came again, followed by a voice that slid under the door like smoke.
“Open up.”
Vincent.
My stomach twisted violently, instinctively protective, instinctively afraid. I pressed a hand to my abdomen, nails digging into skin through fabric.
Alex noticed.
Something dark flickered through his eyes.
“I’ll handle this,” he said.
“You can’t,” I replied, my voice breaking. “He won’t listen to you.”
The lock turned anyway.
Vincent filled the doorway like a memory I’d tried to drown. Tailored coat. Perfect hair. That familiar smile—too practiced, too sharp curling at his lips when he saw me.
“There you are, he said softly, goodness, you look… thinner.”
Alex didn’t move aside. “You need to leave.”
Vincent’s gaze flicked to him, dismissive. “And you are?”
“Someone who knows when to arrest trespass with the police,” Alex said evenly.
Vincent laughed, low and incredulous. “This is between my wife and me.”
“I’m not your wife.” I said.
The words came out louder than I expected. Vincent’s smile faltered, just a fraction.
He stepped inside anyway.
Alex’s hand shot out, gripping Vincent’s chest, stopping him cold. The air between them crackled.
The room went dead silent.
Vincent’s eyes snapped to me. Slowly, deliberately, they drifted down to my stomach. Then back up.
The smile returned but twisted now. Possessive. Hungry,
“You are carrying my child” right? he said
“No”, Alex said at the same time I said, “Yes.”
The word burned my throat.
Vincent exhaled, almost reverent. He stepped back, hands raised.
“You hit me,” I said.
His brows drew together in mock confusion. “You ran into the road.”
Alex moved again, placing himself between us, his voice deadly calm. “Get out.”
Vincent studied him for a long moment, then chuckled. So that’s it. “You replaced me already?”
Alex didn’t rise to it. “Leave, Now,”
Vincent’s gaze slid back to me.
“This isn’t over,” he said quietly.
“You don’t get to disappear with my child.”
He turned and walked out before I could answer, the door slamming behind him hard enough to rattle the walls.
My knees gave out.
Alex caught me before I hit the floor, his arms firm, steady, anchoring me to the present. My forehead pressed against his chest as the sob tore free, violent and unstoppable.
“I’m here,” he said into my hair. “I’ve got you.”
I cried until my ribs ached, until the fear bled out of me in broken gasps. Alex didn’t rush me. His hand rested warm against my back, his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek.
When the storm passed, he helped me to the couch and knelt in front of me, eyes level with mine. “He won’t hurt you,” he said. “Not again.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can promise I won’t let him try.”
Something in his voice quiet, unwavering made my chest ache.
“-”
Days later, l adjusted the strap of her bag as the elevator snapped her out into the hallway of Alexander’s office.
cleared his throat and slid a folder across the table. “Your résumé speaks for itself,” he said evenly. “We need someone with your skills on the marketing team. You’d report to the department lead, not me.”
I opened the folder, scanning the offer letter.
My nerves softened into focus. “I appreciate thiz,” she replied. “I want this to be professional.”
“That’s the plan,” Alex said with a small, respectful smile.
She nodded, feeling a quiet sense of accomplishment.
This wasn’t a favor it was an opportunity l’d earned.
Two days later, the fallout began.
Calls I didn’t answer. Messages that grew sharper, more desperate. Then lawyers. Papers slid across my desk at work, Vincent’s name stamped neatly at the bottom.
Custody.
Alex watched me read them, his face unreadable.
“He’s fighting for control,” I said.
Alex nodded, “then we fight back.” he said sitting on the edge of the table, eyes alert.
I clutched his sleeve. “Don’t leave.”
“I won't”. He said
I didn’t pull away.
The dawn crept in so quickly, outside the city stirred, unaware that a war had just been declared.
And this time, I wasn’t facing it alone.
- Writer
