Chapter Nineteen: Gravity
1004 Words
I was still staring at the empty chair across from me when the café door opened.
The chatter died.
The barista froze mid-pour. A couple at the corner table held their sandwiches mid-air.
I looked up and saw Frank walking in like the room had been waiting for him. Like the air itself had been holding its breath.
Darius behind him. Two men flanked him. Another lingered a few paces back. No raised voices. No visible weapons. Just the authority of people who’d never needed to announce themselves.
Every person in the café felt it. I felt it in my chest, pressing down like an invisible hand, like someone had slammed the lid on a coffin over my ribs.
Frank’s eyes found me. He stopped at my table and scanned the empty chair across from me like he already knew who or what should be there. Then my face.
His jaw tightened.
“Who was sitting there?”
“Nobody,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Jane.”
“I said nobody, Frank.”
Before I realized what was happening, his shoulder slid under my ribs, pressing just enough to lift me clean off the chair. My feet left the floor like someone had pulled the world out from under me.
Air hissed past my lungs. My fingers clawed at the table, but it was useless he had me fully, completely. My hair brushed his coat. My body felt weightless, suspended in his hold.
He carried me with the calm inevitability of a man moving a piece of furniture, yet every inch of him radiated authority and danger.
The café went silent, not a whisper, not a fork dropped. Like the air itself had frozen around us.
“Put me down.” My voice came out muffled against his chest.
He walked toward the door.
“Frank. Put me down. I swear if you don’t—”
“You’ll what?” His voice didn’t rise. The calm in it made the warning sharper than a shout. There was no room to argue.
“I will make the rest of your life genuinely difficult.”
“You already do.”
The door opened. Darius held it, motionless. Frank carried me out and placed me in the backseat with the efficiency of a man returning something that had always belonged to him.
I shoved my hair out of my face with both hands and turned to face him.
"That was humiliating."
"Who was sitting across from you."
"Nobody."
He turned his head slowly, watching me like I was a problem to dismantle.
"Nobody," I said again.
"Darius." Frank said, still focused on me.
“The café’s under surveillance. The footage confirmed a male,” Darius said from the front.
The air went out of me.
Frank watched my face lose the argument in real time.
"Who." His voice dropped. "Was sitting. In that chair.”
"Magnus," I said.
The car went so quiet I could hear my own pulse.
“I didn’t arrange it. He was already there. I sat down, and he appeared. But I handled it.”
"Don't." His eyes locked on mine, his posture rigid. The sound was soft, but the command moved through me like a punch.
"Don't say that again."
"I'm not a child."
"I know you're not a child." He turned back to me, and whatever he had been containing was closer to the surface now.
"He didn't touch me. He gave me information—"
"He gave you what he wanted you to have. That's not information. That's a leash."
"He told you exactly enough to make you doubt me," Frank said. “And it worked. Didn't it?"
My jaw tightened.
"Didn't it, Jane?”
“You don't have to decide for me. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I can t protect myself.’
"I know what you're capable of, Jane. But you just walked into a trap and called it independence.”
The car stopped.
We were back.
Frank got out, grabbed my wrist, not hard, just enough to redirect and pulled me behind him.
He shoved his office door open and stepped inside, dragging me with him. Kicked the door shut behind us.
I pulled my wrist back.
Before I could react, one hand shot out, gripping me by the neck. The other slammed against the wall behind me, pinning me in place.
My back hit the cold plaster, the impact making my breath hitch. His chest pressed close, just enough that I could feel the warmth of him.
“You think you can run from me?” His voice was low, controlled, almost amused.
My eyes darted, searching for escape. There was none. Just him. His fingers dug into my neck, steady, firm. Not crushing yet.
“You don’t understand what happens when someone crosses me.” He leaned closer. "You sat across from him. You listened to him. You let him put things in your head about me.”
"Say something," he murmured against my ear. "Tell me again that you handled it”
My heart pounded, loud enough that I thought he might hear it. A tremor ran through my arms through my legs, but I didn’t move.
"You want to be angry at me." His thumb moved against my throat slowly. "Fine. Be angry. I said things I can't take back and I'll answer for them."
He didn't move his hand. Didn't step back. "But don't you ever walk into his hands again."
"You told me to leave. You said, "Get out."
"I know what I said."
"Then you don't get to—”
"And I have been out of my mind since the second you walked through that door.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered, his lips brushing my ear.
"I don't need you to protect me, I can—"
"I'm not protecting you because you can't protect yourself."
His thumb pressed once against my pulse.
"I'm protecting you because you're mine.”
- Writer
