Chapter Twenty-Four: The Reclaiming
Writer's POV - Age 20
Fabiola was making dinner when her apartment door opened.
She didn't hear a knock. Didn't hear anything until footsteps echoed in her tiny entryway.
Her heart stopped.
Only one person walked into places like he owned them.
"Fabiola." Evan's voice, rough and dark, sent shivers down her spine.
She turned from the stove, spatula in hand, and there he was filling her doorway, wearing dark jeans and a black t-shirt, his hair longer than she remembered, falling into those storm-gray eyes.
He looked terrible. Thinner. Shadows under his eyes like bruises. But still beautiful in that devastating way that made her chest ache.
"How did you..." She stopped. "I didn't give you a key."
"Your landlord remembered me." His eyes swept the apartment, cataloging everything. "You left the Harlow estate money on the table. Paid six months rent."
Of course he had.
"You can't just walk in here..."
"Fabiola?" Marcos emerged from the bathroom, drying his hands. "Do you want me to..."
He stopped when he saw Evan.
The air went deadly still.
Evan's eyes locked on Marcos, and Fabiola watched something dangerous flicker across his face. Something cold and possessive and feral.
"Who are you?" Evan's voice was deceptively calm.
"I'm..." Marcos looked at Fabiola uncertainly. "I'm Marcos. Fabiola's.."
"Friend," Fabiola said quickly. Too quickly. "We're just friends now."
"Now?" Evan's attention snapped back to her. "Meaning you weren't before."
Heat flooded her cheeks. "That's none of your business."
"Everything about you is my business."
"You left me Evan. You don't get to..."
"Leave." Evan's gaze cut back to Marcos. The single word was quiet but absolute.
Marcos straightened. "Excuse me?"
"I said leave." Evan stepped further into the apartment, and Fabiola felt the temperature drop. "Now."
"Fabiola invited me..."
"I don't care." Evan's voice was ice. "Leave."
"You can't just..."
Evan moved fast. One moment he was by the door, the next he was inches from Marcos, towering over him despite only being slightly taller. The violence radiating from him was palpable.
"Leave," he repeated, voice dropping to something dangerous. "Or I'll make you leave."
Marcos looked at Fabiola, silently asking if she was okay, if she wanted him to stay.
Part of her wanted to say yes. Wanted to tell Evan to go to hell, that he couldn't just barge in and start making demands after abandoning her.
But a darker part the part that had been waiting, aching, starving for him wanted Marcos gone.
Wanted to be alone with Evan.
Wanted to see what would happen next.
"It's okay," she heard herself say. "You should go."
Betrayal flashed across Marcos's face. But he nodded, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door.
He paused in the doorway. "If you need anything..."
"She won't," Evan said flatly.
Marcos left.
The door clicked shut.
Silence.
Then Fabiola exploded.
"How dare you!" She threw the spatula at him. He caught it without looking. "You don't get to show up here after a year of silence and start ordering people around! You don't get to walk into my apartment like you own it! You don't get to.."
"Breathe," Evan said quietly.
"...tell me who I can see or who I can.."
"Fabiola. Breathe."
"..you left me! You destroyed me! And now you think you can just.."
Evan crossed the space between them in two strides and grabbed her.
Not gently.
He pulled her against him with bruising force, one hand sliding into her hair, the other wrapping around her waist, and buried his face in her neck.
And scented her.
Deep, desperate inhales like a man surfacing from underwater. His nose pressed to her pulse point, his lips grazing her skin, his whole body shuddering.
"Evan..." Her anger faltered.
"You smell different," he murmured against her throat. "New shampoo. Different lotion. But underneath.." He breathed deeper. "Underneath you're still you. Still warm. Still alive. Still mine."
"I'm not.."
"Yes, you are." He pulled back just enough to look at her, and his eyes were wild, dark, desperate. "You're mine, Fabiola. You've always been mine. And I don't care if I left. I don't care if you dated someone else. I don't care if you hate me." His grip tightened. "You're mine and I'm not letting you go again."
"You don't own me," Fabiola said, but her voice shook.
"Yes, I do." His hand slid from her hair to cup her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I own you the same way you own me. Completely. Irrevocably. Whether we like it or not."
"That's not how it works..."
"Isn't it?" His thumb traced her bottom lip. "Tell me you didn't think about me every day. Tell me you didn't compare him to me. Tell me when he touched you, you didn't wish it was me instead."
Fabiola's breath caught.
Because he was right.
Every terrible, possessive word was right.
"I tried to move on," she whispered.
"I know." His forehead pressed to hers. "I tried too. It didn't work, did it?"
"No."
"Because we're not made for other people, Fabiola. We're made for each other. Broken pieces that only fit together." His eyes searched hers. "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I hurt you. But I'm here now. And I'm not leaving again. Not ever."
"You can't promise that.."
"I can. I will." His hands framed her face. "I dropped out of Yale. I'm not going back. I'm staying here. With you. For as long as you'll have me."
"You dropped out, so you weren't lying?" Shock cut through her anger. "Evan, your future.."
"My future is you." He said it with absolute certainty. "Nothing else matters. Not the company, not the legacy, not any of it. Just you."
Fabiola stared at him, seeing the truth in his eyes.
He meant it.
God help her, he actually meant it.
"You're insane," she whispered.
"I know." He kissed her forehead. "But I'm yours. If you still want me."
"I shouldn't want you. You left me. You broke my heart."
"I know."
"You're possessive and jealous and you just threw my friend out of my apartment."
"I know."
"This is toxic. We're toxic."
"I know." His lips moved to her temple. "But do you want me anyway?"
Fabiola closed her eyes.
She should say no. Should protect herself. Should choose the safe, healthy path.
But she'd tried safe.
And it felt like nothing.
"Yes," she whispered. "God help me, yes."
Evan's arms crushed her against him.
And he scented her again neck, jaw, hair, collarbone like he was reclaiming territory he'd abandoned.
"Mine," he growled against her skin.
"Yours," she admitted.
And knew, with absolute certainty, that she'd just sealed her fate.
For better or worse.
Probably worse.
But she didn't care anymore.
She was drowning.
And if she was going down, at least she'd drown with him.