HIS POV
The door closed behind me with a final, deliberate click.
I didn't rush down the stairs.
Rushing was for people who reacted.
I calculated.
The hallway camera fed live to my phone. Clean. No one waiting. No shadow where there shouldn't be one. The building's security log showed the alarm trigger—external sensor, perimeter breach attempt, aborted the moment it hit resistance.
Sloppy.
That already told me enough.
Outside, the city moved like it always did—loud, careless, oblivious to how close it sometimes came to violence. I walked three blocks before stopping, letting distance create clarity. My hand slid into my coat, fingers brushing the familiar weight there. Not reassurance. Habit.
The call came before I made it.
"Talk," I said.
"He sent a feeler," the voice on the other end replied. "Didn't cross the door. Wanted to see if you were still breathing."
"And now?"
A pause. Respectful. Careful.
"He knows."
Good.
I ended the call and leaned against the cold brick of a shuttered shop, eyes scanning reflections in the dark glass. I wasn't angry.
Anger was loud. Predictable.
This was quieter.
The kind of focus that stripped things down to priorities.
Riya was at the top of that list.
Not because she needed saving.
Because someone had mistaken her survival for permission.
My phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
I answered without speaking.
"You're interfering," a voice said. Smug. Familiar in the worst way. "She's not yours."
I almost smiled.
"You're right," I replied evenly. "She isn't."
A beat.
"She doesn't belong to anyone," I continued. "Which is why this ends now."
A laugh crackled through the line. "You think standing near her makes you dangerous?"
"No," I said. "What makes me dangerous is that I don't need to stand near you at all."
Silence.
Then the line went dead.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and pushed off the wall. The situation was contained—for today. Restraining orders would follow. Pressure in the right places. Doors closing that he didn't even know existed.
Escalation didn't always look like violence.
Sometimes it looked like inevitability.
When I headed back, the building felt different. Quieter. As if it had decided to cooperate.
I paused outside the apartment door.
Listened.
Two heartbeats inside now. One familiar. One new. Support.
Good.
I checked my messages.
You okay? I'd asked.
Her reply came moments later.
I am. Take your time.
I exhaled.
Not relief.
Approval.
That sentence told me more than any breakdown ever could.
She wasn't clinging.
She wasn't shrinking.
She was choosing.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside without announcing myself. Not to surprise—just to remain consistent.
She looked up from the couch. Her sister beside her. Tea on the table. Color back in her face.
Alive. Present.
Safe.
I gave a single nod. Nothing dramatic. Nothing possessive.
"I'm back," I said.
And for the first time in a long while, the words didn't feel like a promise forged in threat.
They felt like a decision.No one spoke right away.
That was fine. Silence didn't make me uncomfortable. It made room for observation.
Riya's shoulders were still tense, but not curled inward anymore. Her hands were wrapped around the mug, not clutched—warming, not bracing. Her sister sat close without crowding, one leg tucked beneath her, eyes sharp in a way that told me she'd already decided where she stood.
Good. Riya needed people who chose her without asking permission.
"I'll make this quick," I said, mostly to her sister. "There's no immediate threat. Police were notified automatically. That part's done."
Her sister studied me for a second longer than necessary. Measuring. Then she nodded. "Thank you."
I inclined my head once. Gratitude accepted. No debt created.
I turned back to Riya. "I stepped out so they wouldn't find you alone."
Her eyes widened slightly. Not fear—understanding.
"They came," she said.
"I know."
"You planned that."
"Yes."
She absorbed that quietly. No accusation in her face. Just processing.
"I didn't lie," she added. "I told them someone threatened me. Just… not here."
A corner of my mouth lifted, barely. "That was the right call."
Her sister exhaled. "I'm going to stay a bit longer," she said, already standing. "But I'll give you space."
Riya looked torn for half a second—then nodded. Choice. Again.
After the door closed behind her sister, the apartment settled into a different kind of stillness. Not fragile. Intentional.
I didn't sit.
I leaned against the counter, arms loose at my sides. Open posture. Non-invasive.
"You escalated," Riya said quietly.
"Yes."
"Without asking me."
I waited. Let her finish.
"And somehow," she continued, voice steadier now, "it doesn't feel like you took control away from me."
"That's because I didn't."
She met my eyes. Searching for the catch.
"I handled the external threat," I said. "The internal decisions are still yours."
"What if I decide to leave?" she asked.
The question was calm. A test, not a plea.
"Then I make sure you leave safely," I answered immediately. "And I step back."
No hesitation. No bargaining.
Something in her expression shifted. The last defensive wall, lowering—not collapsing, just no longer needed.
"You don't fight fair," she said softly.
"I don't fight," I corrected. "I end things."
She huffed out a quiet laugh. "That's… worse."
"Effective," I replied.
Another silence stretched between us. This one felt earned.
"I'm tired," she said finally. "Not scared-tired. Just… done."
"Then rest," I said. "I'll stay in the other room."
She nodded. "Thank you—for not hovering."
I pushed off the counter and paused near the doorway. "Riya."
She looked up.
"You did well today," I said. "Not because you didn't break. But because you noticed when you didn't."
Her throat worked. She didn't look away.
"I'll be here," I added, "until you decide otherwise."
I left her with that—no pressure attached.
In the other room, I stood by the window, eyes on the street below. My phone vibrated again. A confirmation. Assets moving. Pressure applied.
He wouldn't come near her again.
Not because I'd threatened him.
Because the world he relied on was quietly closing its doors.
Behind me, the apartment remained still.
Not silent.
Steady.
And for now—
That was enough.