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Days passed, but his jealousy never faded. If anything, it sharpened.
A lingering glance, a polite smile, even a harmless kindness from others toward me was enough to set something off inside him. I found myself chuckling at his behavior sometimes, amused despite myself. He was becoming so possessive it bordered on obsession. Maybe it already had crossed that line.
That morning, I was heading to the university with Cheryl when a boy stopped me near the gate.
"Hey," he said, awkward but polite. "Could I get your phone number?"
Before I could answer, instinct made me look past him.
Ren.
He had stopped walking.
His expression had gone completely still, the kind of stillness that came right before a storm.
Oh shit.
He's angry. And he's going to do something.
I opened my mouth to refuse, but I was too late.
Ren strode toward us, fast and purposeful. He grabbed the boy by the shoulder and shoved him aside. The boy stumbled, crashing into a parked bicycle, the metal clattering loudly as it hit the ground.
Gasps echoed around us.
Before anyone could react, Ren's entire demeanor changed. His shoulders slumped slightly, his voice softened, and he immediately helped the boy up, apologizing with practiced concern. He looked every bit like the guilty one, like someone who had acted out of clumsiness rather than fury.
It was terrifying how convincing he was.
Then he turned to me.
He leaned in just enough that only I could hear him.
"Amor," he said quietly, his voice calm but lethal, "get your ass back home right now. I don't care how â just do it."
My spine tingled.
He straightened, resuming his role effortlessly, apologizing again to the boy and drawing attention away from himself. No one questioned him. No one suspected a thing.
I swallowed, forced a smile, and turned to Cheryl.
"I just remembered I left something important at home," I lied smoothly. "I'll catch up later."
She hesitated but nodded.
I didn't look back as I walked away.
I knew he would follow.
And he did.
His footsteps were unhurried, confident, as if my obedience was already guaranteed.
And the most disturbing part?
I hadn't even tried to resist.
I walked faster than usual, my bag clutched tight against my side. My heart was still racing, not from fear exactly, but from the way the air around him had shifted. Ren followed a few steps behind me, silent. That silence was heavier than any shout.
The door clicked shut behind us.
I turned around slowly.
He was standing there, jaw tight, eyes dark, watching me like I might disappear if he blinked.
"You enjoyed that," he said calmly.
I raised a brow. "Enjoyed what?"
"That you looked at me," he continued, stepping closer. "You wanted to see if I'd react."
I, "Maybe I was curious."
That was the wrong answer.
His hand hit the wall beside my head. Not touching me. Just close enough to remind me he could.
My smile faltered, but I didn't step back.
"Don't test me in public," he said quietly. "Not again."
I tilted my head, studying him like a puzzle. "You're jealous of everything lately. Even people breathing near me."
His lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Because you don't belong to the world."
My chest tightened.
That wasn't sweet. That wasn't love.
That was something darker.
"And what if I don't like being locked away?" I asked, voice steady even though my pulse betrayed me.
For a second, something unreadable crossed his face. Control. Conflict. Possession wrestling with restraint.
He stepped back.
"Then you'll stop looking at me like you enjoy provoking a storm," he said. "And I'll stop imagining how easily I could ruin someone for daring to ask for your number."
The room fell silent.
I exhaled slowly, then smiled again, softer this time. "You're exhausting, Ren."
He looked at me, eyes lingering far too long.
"And you," he replied, "are dangerous to me."
Neither of us moved.
The tension stayed â unresolved, coiled, waiting.
"And you," he replied, "are dangerous to me."
Neither of us moved.
The tension stayed â unresolved, coiled, waiting.
The clock on the wall ticked once.
Twice.
Ren exhaled slowly, as if forcing himself back into control. He turned away first, walking toward the window where the evening light filtered through the heavy curtains. Outside, the university bell rang faintly in the distance, its echo carrying through the quiet street like a warning.
"Do you know what I hate the most?" he asked, not looking at me.
I stayed silent.
"That you don't even notice them," he continued. "The way they watch you. The way they imagine you're something they can reach."
His fingers tightened around the curtain fabric. Not enough to tear it â just enough to show restraint.
"They think because you smile, because you're polite, you're available."
He finally turned back to me, eyes sharp. "And you let them."
I crossed my arms. "I didn't give him my number."
"But you didn't shut him down fast enough."
The room felt smaller. Bookshelves towered over us, lined with medical texts and old journals, the scent of paper and ink thick in the air. This was the house his parents left behind â orderly, academic, disciplined. And yet the atmosphere was anything but calm.
"I don't like being watched like I'm prey," I said quietly.
Something dark flickered in his expression.
"Prey?" he repeated. "No. You're the variable they don't understand."
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, stopping just short of my space.
"They look at you and think they're brave," he said. "I look at you and calculate how many ways the day could have gone wrong."
My heartbeat thudded in my ears.
"You pushed him," I said. "In public."
"And I fixed it," he replied immediately. "No one questioned me. No one blamed you."
That was the part that unsettled me most â not the anger, but the precision.
His voice dropped. "You didn't even hesitate when I told you to come home."
I lifted my chin. "You didn't give me a choice."
A sharp smile appeared on his lips, brief and humorless.
"Exactly."
Silence wrapped around us again.
Then he straightened, smoothing his shirt, reclaiming his composure like armor.
"From now on," he said calmly, "you don't walk alone on campus. You don't linger. And if someone speaks to youâ"
"I'm not your possession," I cut in.
His eyes snapped to mine.
"No," he agreed slowly. "You're my responsibility."
The words landed heavier than a confession.
Outside, the bell rang again â lower, deeper â as if marking something inevitable.
And for the first time, I realized his jealousy wasn't loud anymore.
It was disciplined.
Calculated.
And far more dangerous.
And something inside me shifted.
It wasn't fear.
It wasn't resistance.
It was recognition.
I watched him stand there â composed, brilliant, simmering with restrained fury â and the thought crept in uninvited, sweet and poisonous.
His possession is mine.
The way his jaw tightened when someone spoke to me.
The way his anger sharpened into focus instead of chaos.
The way his world narrowed until it revolved around my existence alone.
All of it.
Mine.
He thought he was controlling the situation, drawing lines, setting rules. He didn't see the irony â that every order, every jealous glance, every calculated move bound him tighter to me.
He looked at me like I was the danger.
But he never questioned why.
I stepped closer, slow, deliberate, invading the space he'd been so careful to guard. For the first time that evening, he stiffened.
"Ren," I said softly.
He met my eyes instantly.
"Yes?"
There it was.
Immediate. Absolute.
I smiled.
"You're angry," I observed, tilting my head. "But you won't do anything reckless. You never do."
His brow furrowed. "Don't psychoanalyze me."
"But I'm right," I continued calmly. "You like control too much."
Silence.
Then, quietly, "You shouldn't provoke me."
I let out a soft laugh. "You already said that."
His gaze dropped for half a second â not weakness, just calculation. The kind that belonged in lecture halls and libraries, not in feelings.
And yet.
You're mine, I thought, the realization settling like ink into paper.
Not as an object.
As a choice he kept making, over and over again.
My toy to play with for the rest of my life?
No.
Something far more dangerous.
Because toys break.
And Ren?
Ren would ruin the world for me â and call it reason.
Ren's eyes widened, a flicker of pure surprise cutting through his usual restraint.
"Akari."
The way he said my name wasn't a warning this time.
It was wonder.
I hadn't even realized I was smiling until his gaze lingered on my lips.
"Uhâ" I started, the sound barely forming.
His lips curled upward slowly, something like amusement settling into his expression. Not sharp. Not cruel. Almost reverent.
"You finally laugh," he said softly. "Laugh for me."
The room felt impossibly quiet. Even the ticking clock seemed to pause, as if listening.
I let out a breath that turned into a low, unguarded laugh â not mocking, not shy. Honest.
His reaction was immediate.
Something dark and pleased crossed his face, like he'd been waiting for that sound without knowing it. Like he'd won something he hadn't realized he was competing for.
"There," he murmured. "That."
He stepped closer, not crowding me, but close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, the tension he carried so carefully beneath his composure.
"You don't laugh like that for them," he said. It wasn't a question.
I met his gaze. "No."
His jaw tightened â not with anger this time, but with satisfaction.
"Good," he replied quietly.
For the first time since we'd come home, his jealousy didn't burn outward. It folded inward instead, controlled, claimed.
And I understood then.
This wasn't about possession anymoreâŠ.