Page 46 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
His presence is heavy without being suffocating.
“I’m not good at this,” I mutter finally.
“Yeah, you are.”
“That was a full panic response.”
“So? Doesn’t make you less.”
I laugh, hoarse. “You’ve got a strange definition of strong.”
“No. I just know what strength actually looks like.”
I turn my head to look at him.
He’s closer than I realized. His eyes are storm-gray, jaw tight, breath steady like he hasn’t just seen me come apart.
“You’re still breathing,” he says. “You’re still fighting. That’s strength.”
The words land in a part of me I’ve kept locked tight. The place where the fear lives. The memory of freezing while people burned.
I don’t know what to do with what he just gave me.
So I say nothing.
We sit in the hum of the rebooted system, shoulders inches apart.
I can feel the heat off his skin.
Too close.
Way too close.
And yet… I don’t want to move.
I tilt my head slightly. “You’re not pretending anymore.”
He exhales. “Didn’t think you noticed.”
“I noticeeverything,” I say. “That’s kind of the point of surveillance.”
He looks at me then—really looks—and for a heartbeat, everything in the room sharpens.
The edges of his mouth. The grain of stubble on his jaw. The frayed threads at his collar. All of it becomes hyperreal.
Like the moment’s about to burn itself into permanence.
“I pulled back because I had to,” he says finally.
“No, you didn’t.”
“It felt safer.”
“For who?”
He doesn’t answer.
“You said I was strong. Then let me be,” I tell him. “Don’t treat me like I’m fragile just because we’re both afraid of what this is.”
