CHAPTER 86: BELONG TO YOU

The door had barely stopped swinging when Ella finally found her voice again.

"Nicholas—"

He flinched.

It wasn’t obvious. Just a twitch of his jaw, a slight shift of his shoulders. But she’d been with him long enough to read the small tells beneath the polished armor he wore like second skin. He’d always been that way with her—steady, contained, a fortress made of elegance and sharp intelligence—but now there were cracks.

He wasn’t angry.

No—anger would’ve been easier. She knew how to handle anger, could’ve weathered his fury like rain against the glass.

This?

This was worse.

He looked... betrayed.

"I wasn’t going to kiss him," she said hoarsely, stepping forward despite the weight pressing down on her limbs, her hands trembling. "I swear to you—I wasn’t—I didn’t even know he was going to—"

But Nicholas shook his head once, sharply, like he couldn’t bear the sound of her excuses.

"Don’t," he said softly. "Don’t lie to me."

That broke something in her chest, because it wasn’t a command. It wasn’t even an accusation.

It was a plea.

"I’m not lying," she whispered, blinking fast, hot tears prickling behind her eyes, panic flooding her veins. "I swear on everything—I didn’t want him to—he just showed up—"

"I know who he is," Nicholas cut in, his voice low, steady, controlled—but barely.

"Adrian Richard. First love. The one who left you when you needed him."

His jaw flexed, sharp as a guillotine beneath his skin.

"And then dated your stepsister."

Ella’s breath hitched, shame curling like smoke around her heart. Of course he knew. Of course he knew. Nicholas always knew. He was careful, deliberate. The kind of man who studied battlefields before stepping onto them. He knew what Adrian was. Probably knew things she didn’t yet.

But that didn’t make this better.

That didn’t make her heart stop clawing against her ribs with panic, didn’t stop the acidic feeling of failure crawling up her throat.

She hated that her past was now colliding with her present.

With him.

"I didn’t even know he was going to show up here," she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself, feeling small and childish. "And I definitely didn’t know he was going to pull—that."

Nicholas just stared at her, hands in the pockets of his tailored coat, his stance sharp and closed-off like he was holding himself in check. His eyes weren’t cold anymore.

They were hurt.

And that was the thing about Nicholas. Fury, she could survive. Mockery, even. But hurt—his hurt—that shattered her from the inside out.

"I told you," he finally murmured, voice soft, dangerous, "I’m not going to fight for you."

Ella’s heart sank, panic rising, rushing through her limbs in a frantic tide. "That’s not fair—"

"Fair?" His laugh was dry, humorless. "You think I care about fair?"

She took another step toward him, her throat tight. "I didn’t want him to kiss me, Nicholas—"

"But you didn’t push him away, either."

The words weren’t shouted. They didn’t need to be. They landed like precision strikes, right to the ribs, each one a scalpel slicing with careful detachment.

Ella’s vision blurred with unshed tears. "I froze," she admitted, shame curdling her stomach. "I didn’t even know what was happening until you walked in."

And it was true. She had frozen. Caught between the sharp claws of the past and the terrifying, confusing hope of her present. Adrian had always been the ghost she couldn’t quite outrun—and now that ghost had almost ruined everything good she’d started to build.

With Nicholas.

She reached out for him instinctively, needing something solid, something real—but he took a step back.

Not much.

But enough.

Enough to break her wide open.

It felt like a thousand miles.

"I’m not angry you have a past," he said quietly, his gaze unreadable now. "I’m angry that it’s still standing in front of you, thinking he has a chance."

Ella’s mouth opened, but no words came.

"And I’m angry," he continued, softer now, heartbreak threading through the steel in his tone, "that for one second, you looked like you didn’t know who you belonged to."

That broke her.

Tears welled, spilling over, her whole body shuddering as the weight of his words sank deep into her bones. She wasn’t even sure what hurt more: his disappointment, or the flicker of doubt in his expression. He didn’t deserve doubt. Not from her.

"I do know," she choked out, wiping at her face furiously. "I know who I belong to."

Nicholas’s expression finally flickered. Just a flash of something—hope, doubt, pain—before he masked it again.

"I belong to you," she said desperately, taking another step forward, ignoring how her hands were shaking. "I want you. I chose you. Don’t let him ruin that. Don’t let my past ruin this."

For a beat, Nicholas didn’t speak. Just watched her, studied her like she was both the problem and the solution to his undoing.

Then he moved.

Not away.

Toward her.

Two steps, three, and then he was right in front of her, towering, sharp edges and expensive fabric and everything she’d been terrified of losing in the last sixty seconds.

"I’m not afraid of your past, Ella," he murmured, voice low, devastating, his hand finally lifting to brush his knuckles along her cheek. "But I’m afraid you don’t believe you deserve your future."

And that was the cut that bled her dry.

A sob cracked loose from her throat. "I’m sorry," she whispered, the words trembling from the center of her.

He stared at her for a long moment—like he was deciding whether to let this moment break him or build him.

And then, finally—finally—he cupped her face fully in his palm and kissed her.

Not with gentleness.

With claiming.

Fierce. Devastating. Honest.

The kiss of a man who was staking something permanent into the ground of their story, planting a flag in the wreckage.

His other arm circled around her waist, pulling her tight against him, anchoring her to the moment as if to say You don’t get to drift away from me.

It wasn’t perfect.

It was desperate.

But it was real.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against hers, his breath shaky and uneven, like the strength it took to hold himself together was finally fraying at the edges.

"We’re going home," he murmured, thumb brushing her damp cheek. "You’re not staying here another minute."

Ella could only nod, swallowing the mess of emotions burning at the back of her throat.

But just before he pulled away, before they walked into whatever storm was coming next, he whispered one more thing into her skin:

"And if that bastard comes near you again... I’ll ruin him."

And this time...

She believed him.

Not because she wanted to.

Because she could see it in his eyes.

He was done being careful now.

And so was she.

—