The invitation arrived that afternoon, laid neatly on the marble coffee table—a thick black card embossed with gold lettering. The Devano Corporation's annual gala. An event for those who thrived under the spotlight but stayed forever just out of reach.
"I forgot to mention," Evelyn said lightly. "You're coming tonight."
I stared at the card. "As...?"
"As family," she replied quickly, like it was the safest answer.
The word hung in the air. Family.
Alaric stood by the window, scrolling his phone. He didn't look up when Evelyn spoke, but I knew he was listening. He always was.
"Your dress is ready," she added. "In your room."
I nodded. No point refusing without raising questions. And I was too tired to lie.
Night fell fast in Avernon City. Lights blazed, streets crawled with gleaming black cars. The dress Evelyn had chosen was simple—clean lines, dark fabric, no excess embellishments. Elegant. Safe.
When I stepped out of my room, Alaric was waiting in the hall. His black suit was impeccable, his face calm, but his gaze lingered a fraction too long.
"That dress... suits you," he said. Not a compliment. A fact.
We left together. In the car, the space between us felt narrower than usual. His hand rested on the seatback, close to me but not touching. His presence was heavy—like something deliberately held in check.
The venue hummed with voices, laughter, the flash of jewelry.
Devano's name dropped constantly. People shook Alaric's hand with calculated smiles. Evelyn played her part flawlessly—poised wife, unshakable.
I stood at their side, aware of the glances starting to drift my way. Not because I drew eyes, but because of my position—too close for a guest, too distant for the center.
A man approached, smile friendly. "Evelyn's sister?"
"Yes," I said.
"Pleasure to finally meet you." He glanced at Alaric. "Your family... always intriguing."
Alaric's smile was thin. Then—without touching me—he shifted half a step forward. Enough to reposition. Enough to make it clear.
"She's under my watch tonight," he said evenly.
Not harsh. Not loud. But it shut down the conversation.
The man nodded, backed off. I looked at Alaric, startled. "That wasn't necessary."
"It was," he replied curtly.
We stood side by side, facing the room together. For the first time, something strange settled over me—safe, but tethered. Protected, at a cost we never named.
On the balcony, the night air bit colder. The party's noise faded behind glass doors. I exhaled, steadying myself.
"You shouldn't have said that," I told him, not turning.
"I know." His voice came from behind me. "I'd say it again anyway."
I faced him. "Why?"
He stepped closer—once more, just one step. "Because I saw how they looked at you."
"And that bothers you?"
"No." His tone softened. "It reminds me."
"Of what?"
His shoulders tensed. "That this world doesn't leave room for good intentions."
Silence filled the gap between us. City lights bounced off the glass, overlapping our shadows.
"I didn't ask you to protect me," I said.
"I know." He paused. "That's why I do it."
The words pressed against my chest—not for their meaning, but the way he said them. As if the choice was made long before I ever set foot in Avernon City.
The balcony door slid open. Evelyn called Alaric's name, her voice bright, flawless. The world snapped back into place.
He retreated a step. "We should go back."
Inside, roles realigned neatly. But something had shifted. I felt it in how Alaric stood closer. In how people stopped staring too long—then chose to look away.
~~~
On the drive home, the city blurred past the window. I watched my reflection. Calm outside. Stormy within.
"Alaric," I said quietly.
"Hm?"
"If I ever decided to leave this house... would you stop me?"
He went still for a long beat. The car hummed on.
"I wouldn't hold you back," he said finally. "But I won't pretend it changes nothing."
I nodded. Honest. And dangerous for it.
That night, back at the mansion, I went straight to my room without looking back. Behind the closed door, one simple, terrifying truth hit me. In public, he shielded me without a touch. In private, that distance was the hardest to keep.
And obsession—I knew now—didn't always show as desire. Sometimes it came as responsibility taken too far.
~~~
The Devano mansion never truly slept. Even with lights dimmed and halls silent, it breathed—slow, steady, guarding all the things its occupants couldn't say.
I lay awake longer than usual that night. The gala dress hung neatly, my hair loose, Avernon's cold glow seeping through the walls. I tried reading, then set the book aside. The words wouldn't stick. My mind was too full.
A soft knock at the door. Deliberate. Unhurried. My pulse spiked.
I opened it. Alaric stood there, jacket off, black shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His face was calm—too calm for a man visiting his sister-in-law so late.
"I won't stay long," he said, voice low.
I stepped aside. The door clicked shut behind him—like a decision.
He kept a few paces back. As always. "You asked something in the car," he said. "I didn't answer fully."
"I didn't ask you to come."
"I know." His gaze locked on. "I came because I can't ignore it."
Silence stretched between us. Not awkward—charged. Like standing on the edge of something too deep.
"You have to stop protecting me in public," I said softly. "People notice."
"I notice too." He stepped closer. One step. Now near enough to feel each other's breath. He stopped—again—just short of contact.
"What do you want, Alaric?"
He held my eyes too long. Weighing his whole life in that space between us.
"An honest answer," I whispered, "not a proper one."
"Give me honest."
His jaw tightened. "I want to stop pretending you're just... safe here." He drew a breath. "I want to stop measuring the distance.
"The words shook me harder than any touch. "And Evelyn?" I asked quietly.
Her name landed like shattered glass.
"I won't betray her with lies," he said. "That's why I'm fighting it."
"Fighting it," I echoed.
"Yes." His gaze flicked to my lips—brief—then back to my eyes. "Fighting."
I moved first. Not closer. Not away. Just lifted a hand, fingers brushing his shirt—light, quick, testing if he was real.
He held his breath. His hand rose, hesitant—then settled on my waist. The grip firm. Restrained with effort.
"If we go further," he murmured, "there's no coming back."
I met his eyes. "I know."
The line broke in the next heartbeat. The kiss wasn't rushed. Wasn't rough. But loaded—like two people who'd held back too long. His lips met mine with control on the verge of cracking, offering one last out.
I didn't take it. I kissed back—slow, certain. And in that moment, Alaric lost the one thing he'd always guarded. Distance.
His hands tightened on my waist. Our breaths mingled. The world shrank to heartbeats and pent-up heat. No clothes shed. No words spoken. Just silent admission.
He pulled back first. Foreheads touching. His breathing ragged.
"We stop," he said—not a command, but a final grasp at control.
I nodded, chest still pounding. "We stop."
He stepped back. One pace. Two. Letting distance reform—fragile, essential.
He looked at me once more. No hesitation left. "From now on," he said quietly, "we can't pretend this didn't happen."
"I don't want to pretend," I said truthfully.
He nodded. Turned, opened the door, and left—without a backward glance.
I stood there long after. Touched my lips and faced the truth we couldn't undo. The line was crossed. All that remained was living with what came next.
In the hall, his footsteps faded—precise, controlled. But for the first time since knowing him, I knew. Control wasn't entirely his anymore.