*Isabella's POV*
"Do you know the net worth of my executives in New York?" he asked, his eyes burning into mine. "Pick one executive. Tell me the bonus he received last financial year. I'm sure you know it. You know everything." His voice was laced with a dark irony. "And now tell me how many deals you helped me close last year." He leaned in closer, his face just inches from mine. "Tell me," he commanded.
"I... I don't know," I stuttered, my hands bracing against his chest, feeling the steady, rapid beat of his heart under my palms. My mind was a complete blank.
"That's right," he said, his voice softening slightly, but losing none of its intensity. "They got nothing. None. Zero. While you... you did. You were the main reason I closed at least three major deals." He paused, letting his words sink in, each one a hammer blow to my carefully constructed defences.
"So tell me why they deserve to earn enough to buy two condos like this one, and you don't." His grip on my waist tightened. "This is not a present for my girlfriend. It's not even a bonus for my assistant." He looked deep into my eyes, his gaze stripping me bare. "Because I don't think you're my assistant, Isabella. You're much more than that. You're my partner."
His partner. The words echoed in the suddenly silent room, bouncing off the walls and embedding themselves in my fucking brain. His partner. I didn't think my heart could beat so fast, ever. It was a frantic, wild rhythm against my ribs, a goddamn drum solo of shock. I just stared at him, my mouth probably hanging open like a fucking fish, unable to form a single coherent thought.
He must have seen the utter bewilderment on my face because he continued, his voice a low, persuasive rumble that seemed to go straight to my soul. "I did this because I know you value your independence," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "It's not like I don't love to have you living with me. Fuck, sometimes I feel like keeping you in my room forever, just to myself, but I can't be selfish."
The admission was raw, and it sent a jolt straight through me. "I can't have you depending on me. It's not who you are," he continued, his thumb stroking my hip. "You have to have somewhere you can go, if you ever feel me or Jacob are too much, or if you just need some space."
He was giving me an out. A fucking escape route. From him. From Jacob. From all the complicated, messy shit that my life had become. The thought was so overwhelming, so fucking... considerate, it made my head spin.
"This is your place," he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "It has your name on the papers." The finality of that statement hit me like a ton of bricks. This wasn't a loan. It wasn't a temporary gift. It was mine.
He dangled the keys in his right hand. "This is the key," he said. "It's yours." His other hand tightened around my waist, a possessive, grounding hold that was the only thing keeping me from sliding to the floor in a heap. I was trapped between a wall and a hard place, literally and figuratively, and for the first time, it didn't feel like a cage. It felt like a fucking anchor.
I felt tears stinging my eyes, a hot, prickling sensation that I tried to fucking blink away. Nobody, not a single soul in my entire life, had ever done something like this for me. And for all the right fucking reasons, none the less. This wasn't about control; it was about freedom. My freedom.
Yes, I needed my own place. Yes, a part of me fucking hated that I depended on him, that my life was so intertwined with his that I couldn't just pack a bag and leave if things went south. And I could see by the way he had me trapped against the wall, his eyes burning into mine, that he was possessive as hell. He'd already asked me not to hurt him, to be with him forever, a plea that had laid his soul bare.
And here he was, giving me the keys to my own escape route. I understood how hard this must be for him, to actually give me an option not to depend on him, to hand me the power to walk away. It was the most selfless, most loving thing anyone had ever done.
He understood me completely. The gesture meant more than a thousand fucking words. He saw the part of me that needed to stand on my own two feet, the part that was terrified of losing herself in someone else's shadow. He and I are the same. Both stubborn, both scared of getting hurt, both putting on a brave fucking face for the world. No wonder I have this peace of mind when I'm with him. He feels like home. Like I've finally, fucking finally, found where I belong.
My throat felt tight, a fucking lump of emotion lodged there, making it hard to breathe. My voice came out all shaky and pathetic when I finally managed to speak. "Say it again, please."
He looked down at me, a slight frown creasing his brow as he tried to understand. "Say what again?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
"The last thing you said," I said, my voice barely a whisper, my eyes locked on his, pleading.
Realisation dawned on his face, and his expression softened. "Oh," he said, a small, almost sad smile touching his lips. "You mean partner." He said the word again, his voice low, firm, and so fucking certain it left no room for doubt. "You're my partner, Isabella."
And that was it, my hands moved on their own, sliding from his chest, up to his neck, my fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. I pulled him down, crashing my lips against his. It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was a desperate, needy thing, a way of saying all the words I couldn't find, a way of showing him how much his gesture, his understanding, meant to me.
"Isabella," he groaned against my mouth, a sound of pure torture, and then he pulled back, his hands gripping my shoulders to hold me at arm's length.
"Us having sex right now," he said, his voice rough, strained, "it would just give substance to your words." He paused, his gaze searching mine. "I think it's wrong. I don't want you to feel like a sugar baby, Isabella."
"you're right, we should stop" i said and he nodded leading me out.
He was right. "You're right," I said, my voice quiet but steady. "We should stop."
He nodded, a flicker of relief in his eyes. He let go of my waist, but his hand found mine, lacing our fingers together. He didn't say another word, just gently led me out of the empty apartment.