He braced both hands on the desk behind her, caging her in. His face lowered, so close she could feel the heat of his words.
"You think this is a game, Jemma? You think I don't lie awake at night, running through every way you might try to slip through my fingers again? I nearly buried you once—" his voice cracked for the briefest second, but he ground it down instantly, "—and you want to stand here and tell me I don't own you?"
Her throat tightened at the rawness in his words, but she forced her chin higher. "I'm not yours. Not now, not ever."
The denial hit him harder than he expected. Something in his chest tightened painfully, dangerously. For a heartbeat, he almost backed away, almost gave her the distance she demanded. But the thought of stepping back felt like surrender. And Xavier didn't surrender.
His hand came up, fingers gripping her jaw with just enough pressure to command her focus without hurting. His eyes burned into hers.
"Guardami," he ordered in Italian. (Meaning:Look at me)
She froze, stunned more by the foreign sharpness in his tone than the grip itself. Her heart pounded.
"You think defiance keeps you safe?" His voice was low, deadly calm now. "No, bella. It makes me reckless. And if I'm reckless, you don't get to breathe on your own terms. Capisci?" (Meaning:Do you understand?)
Her lips trembled, but instead of nodding, she spit the words back at him: "Then maybe you should let me die."
The silence that followed was absolute. His grip didn't loosen, but his breath did hitch, sharp and unsteady. She saw it, the fear flashing in his eyes before he crushed it beneath fury.
"You don't get to say that," he growled. "Not to me."
"Why not?" she demanded. "Because I scare you? Because I make you feel something you don't want to feel? You want control, Xavier, but you don't have it, not with me. That's why you're terrified."
Her words cut through him like a blade, not because they weren't true, but because they were too true. He hated her defiance, yet he craved it. It kept her alive in a way obedience never could. And it was killing him slowly.
For a moment, he pressed his forehead to hers, eyes shut tight, as though waging a silent war against himself. When he finally drew back, his face was carved from stone.
"You'll see, Jemma," he said softly, almost tenderly, and that was far more frightening than any threat. "You'll see how much I already own you. Even if you hate me for it."
She glared back, heart hammering. "Then prepare to hate me right back"
His lips curved into something sharp, something dangerous, but his eyes… they betrayed the storm still raging inside.
The study was suffocating when Xavier finally stepped back, his hand falling away from her jaw. Jemma pressed her back against the desk, chest heaving, her heart pounding in her ears. For once, it wasn't the asthma that stole her breath, it was him. The weight of his words. The intensity in his eyes.
Xavier turned away first. Not because she had won, but because if he looked at her one second longer, he wasn't sure what he might do. His fists curled at his sides, knuckles pale. He dragged in a deep breath, then another, as though forcing himself back into the calm, cold man everyone else knew him to be.
But Jemma wasn't everyone else.
She saw it. The fracture. The way he had let fear bleed through his fury. And for the first time since she'd been dragged into his world, she realized something terrifying, Xavier wasn't just keeping her because of power or pride. He was keeping her because letting her go felt like death to him.
That realization didn't make her feel safe. It made her furious.
Dinner had ended in silence. The servants quietly cleared the table while Xavier remained seated, his eyes sharp and watchful on Jemma. She hadn't uttered a word, hadn't even looked at him, and he noted every flicker of her expression, every subtle shift in posture. He didn't need her obedience right now, he needed acknowledgment. Even if it was the smallest, grudging concession.
Once the maids had left the dining room, Xavier stood without a word. His movements were calm, deliberate, almost casual, but there was an undeniable weight in the air, the kind that made Jemma tense despite herself. He didn't rush, didn't speak, yet she felt the gravity of his presence before she even realized he was there.
"You're moving," he said simply when they reached the threshold of her quarters. His voice carried the authority she had learned to recognize long ago. Not angered, not pleading, stating a fact.
She froze mid-step, fingers still brushing along the edge of her dresser. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," he said, his tone clipped. "Everything you own is coming with you. Tonight, you sleep in my room."
Her lips pressed into a hard line. "No," she said, flatly, almost proudly. "I'm not going anywhere."
Xavier's eyes narrowed, but there was no spike of anger. He leaned slightly closer, his calm aura amplifying the tension. "Don't try me, Jemma. I'm giving you one chance to step aside before I make it happen."
Her chest lifted defiantly. "I've stepped aside my entire life. I won't do it again. Not for you, not for anyone."
For a long moment, he simply studied her, the corners of his mouth tightening imperceptibly. There was no threat in his words this time, but his presence alone pressed down like a vice. He had been cautious in the past because of what had happened with her asthma. He didn't want to hurt her; he wanted control, but he was scared, terrified, even, of losing her. And she knew it.
"I've already ordered the maids to move your things," he said, finally breaking the quiet. "They'll be here in minutes."
Her eyes widened slightly, not with fear, but with irritation. She refused to move a muscle. "I don't care. I'll stay here. You can't force me."
Xavier's jaw flexed, but he didn't snap. He merely tilted his head, his eyes locking on hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. "I could," he said, his voice deceptively soft. "But that's not what this is about. This is about keeping you somewhere I know you're safe. Somewhere I can be sure—" He paused, the words heavy between them. "—that I won't lose you again."
Her resistance wavered for only a fraction of a second, enough for him to notice, but she masked it with a stubborn tilt of her chin. "Safe?" she scoffed. "You think keeping me in your room, next to you keeps me safe? I'm not a child, Xavier. And I don't belong to you."
He let out a slow breath, his eyes flicking toward the hallway, then back at her. "I don't care what you think you belong to. I care about what I can control, and right now, I can control this."
The first maid arrived, carrying a small box of her personal belongings. Jemma's eyes flared. "See? You're already dragging me around like I'm… like I'm yours."
Xavier didn't flinch. He simply gestured toward the room with a hand, his tone flat, immovable. "Step aside. Let it happen."