Chapter 12 - Nico
898 Words
I knew she would try.
Not immediately. Not recklessly.
That’s not who she is.
Isla doesn’t waste movement. She waits. Watches. Thinks.
Then she acts.
She always has.
Which is exactly why I didn’t follow her when I left the room. I didn’t stand outside her door. I didn’t need to.
I gave her space.
On purpose.
Because people like her don’t stay still when they’re given it.
They use it.
And I wanted to see how she would.
The bond made it easy.
Not in direction—not exactly—but in awareness. A constant pull. A shift in pressure that sharpened the closer she got, subtle but precise enough that I didn’t need to guess.
I felt the moment she moved.
The hesitation.
The decision.
Then—
The shift.
Closer.
Not toward the main door.
Toward me.
Of course.
I pushed off the wall slowly, already moving before she touched the handle, not rushing, not reacting—just stepping into place like I had always intended to be there.
By the time the door opened—
I was already where I needed to be.
---
She freezes the second she sees me.
Not dramatic. Not loud.
Just still.
Like her body stopped before her mind could catch up.
Good.
That means she understands.
She walked into this.
The bond tightens immediately, sharper now with nothing separating us, more direct, more present in a way that makes ignoring it impossible.
I feel it.
So does she.
But I don’t let it show.
My gaze stays on hers, steady and unmoved.
“You’re predictable.”
The words come out calm, not mocking, not harsh.
Just fact.
Her expression shifts instantly—frustration first, then anger, something sharper underneath that she doesn’t want me to see.
“I was trying to leave,” she says.
I know.
“You were trying to go through me.”
Because that’s what this is.
There is no version of this where she leaves without dealing with me first.
Her jaw tightens.
“I’m not staying here.”
The repetition doesn’t change anything.
So I don’t acknowledge it.
Instead, I step forward.
Not fast. Not threatening.
Just enough.
The shift is immediate. The bond reacts first, tightening in response to proximity, pulling her awareness toward me before anything else has the chance to interfere.
Then her body follows.
Her breath changes.
Her shoulders tense.
She doesn’t step back right away.
That’s new.
I stop just short of closing the space completely.
Close enough.
Not touching.
Not yet.
“You’re not leaving.”
Again.
Not because I need to convince her.
Because she still hasn’t accepted it.
Her eyes flash.
“That doesn’t make it true.”
“It does here.”
Simple.
Direct.
Unavoidable.
This is my territory.
My floor.
My control.
Her gaze flickers for half a second, something shifting behind it before she forces it back into place. She’s thinking again, looking for another angle, another way to move around something that doesn’t move.
I let her.
Because there isn’t one.
The silence stretches, heavy with everything we’re not saying, everything that doesn’t need to be said.
Then—
She moves.
Not away.
Not toward me.
Just enough to test the space between us.
To see if I’ll stop her again.
I don’t.
Not immediately.
I watch.
Let her believe there’s a gap.
Let her feel like she has a choice.
Then I step in.
Closing the distance fully this time.
Not aggressive.
Not forceful.
Just… there.
Her breath catches.
There it is.
Uncontrolled.
Honest.
The bond pulls tighter instantly, the proximity stripping away whatever distance she thought she had left. It presses harder, sharper, demanding attention whether either of us wants to give it.
I feel it.
Every part of it.
The way it pulls.
The way it tries to settle into something more.
I shut it down.
Immediately.
Because that doesn’t matter.
Not now.
Not like this.
My hand lifts slightly, stopping just short of touching her.
I don’t need to.
Not to make the point.
“You don’t get to test this,” I say quietly.
Her eyes don’t leave mine.
“Why?”
There’s something different in it now.
Less defiance.
More awareness.
“Because the result doesn’t change.”
She exhales slowly, trying to steady herself, trying to find control in something that isn’t giving it back to her.
“This isn’t how bonds work,” she says.
“They do when I’m involved.”
The words land the way they’re meant to.
Not louder.
Not harsher.
Just certain.
She feels it.
I see it in the way her posture shifts, in the way the resistance doesn’t disappear—but adjusts.
For the first time since she walked in here—
She stops pushing.
Not completely.
But enough.
Enough to understand this isn’t something she can outmaneuver.
Not tonight.
Not like this.
I hold her gaze for a second longer before stepping back just enough to break the edge of it—not releasing it, not giving her distance, just easing the pressure.
Control.
Always control.
“Go back to your room.”
She doesn’t move immediately.
Of course she doesn’t.
But she will.
Because she understands now.
This isn’t a gap she can slip through.
This isn’t something she can work around.
I don’t leave things unfinished. This time—I decide when this ends.
- Writer
