Chapter 28 Terms And Conditions
Aurora:
By morning the penthouse smells of coffee and new rules.
Levi’s already awake when I stumble into the kitchen. He stands by the window, phone pressed to his ear, sunlight slicing across the scars on his forearm.
For a second I almost forget to breathe. Then he looks up and remembers to ruin it.
“Morning,” he says, voice smooth, calm, too composed for someone who upended my life.
“Is this a hostage situation or a relocation program?” I mumble, reaching for a mug.
“Depends,” he says. “Do you plan to follow instructions?”
That tone, half authority, half challenge, sets my teeth on edge. “You dragged me here. Don’t start pretending I work for you.”
He ends the call and turns fully toward me. “You don’t. But while you’re under my protection, there are conditions.”
“Rules,” I echo. “Of course there are.”
He gestures to the folder on the counter. “Read them.”
Inside, pages of printed guidelines:
— Security curfew at ten.
— No leaving the building unaccompanied.
— Guard detail rotated every six hours.
— No phone calls without encryption through his network.
And at the bottom, in his handwriting: Never ignore the mark. If it burns, run to me.
I close the folder slowly. “You expect me to live like a prisoner.”
“I expect you to live,” he says.
The twins burst in before I can argue.
Lior carries a toy car; Aria drags her fox by the tail. They climb straight into Levi's personal space as if he’s furniture they already own.
“Can we go outside?” Aria asks.
Levi crouches, meeting her eyes. “Not today. There’s a playroom upstairs.”
Lior frowns. “You have a playroom?”
“Used to be a training room,” he admits. “Now it’s full of pillows.”
Their cheers echo down the hall. I watch him watching them, the hard lines of his face softening in ways I never expected to see again.
“You’re good with them,” I say before I can stop myself.
He glances up, startled. “They’re mine.”
The simplicity of it knocks the air out of me. He says it without pride, without apology, just truth.
I swallow the ache that rises. “Don’t use that word like it fixes anything.”
“I’m not trying to fix it,” he says quietly. “I’m trying not to lose it again.”
Later, he walks me through the security system: scanners, coded locks, hidden exits. It feels less like a home and more like a fortress wearing designer walls.
“This level’s protected by sigils,” he explains, tracing a faint mark etched near the doorframe. “If anything supernatural crosses without my clearance, the wards trigger.”
“You mean explode?”
“Light. Noise. Enough to buy time.”
I cross my arms. “And if something human crosses?”
“That’s what the guards are for.”
He looks down at me then, eyes darker than gold. “But the real defense is you. That mark connects to power you haven’t learned to use. If it ever flares, trust it.”
I shake my head. “You keep talking like I’m part of your world. I’m not.”
“You were the moment you survived me.”
His words hang heavy between us.
By afternoon the penthouse hums with strange energy. Lucas checks in, banters with the twins, pretends not to notice the tension stretching across the room.
When he leaves, silence floods back in.
Levi stands by the balcony again, staring at the skyline like it owes him something. “You hate me for this,” he says.
“I hate that you’re right.”
He turns, surprise flickering in his eyes.
“I hate that the moment something happens, I look for you,” I admit. “I hate that my children smile when you walk in. I hate that part of me doesn’t want you to leave again.”
He crosses the distance in two steps, stops just short of touching me. “Then stop hating it.”
The bond hums between us, warm, insistent. My heartbeat stumbles.
I step back, breaking the spell. “Rule number one,” I say, forcing a shaky smile. “No emotional manipulation.”
A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “That wasn’t manipulation.”
“Then what was it?”
“Reminder.”
Dinner is awkward and domestic in ways I didn’t think we were capable of. The twins talk nonstop; Levi listens like every word matters.
When Aria announces she wants pancakes for breakfast “forever,” he promises to learn how to make them. The man who once ruled armies negotiating with a four-year-old over syrup, it’s absurd and disarming all at once.
After they’re asleep, I find him cleaning the kitchen like muscle memory keeps him moving.
“You don’t have to play perfect father,” I say softly.
He doesn’t look up. “I’m not playing.”
I lean against the counter. “You really think this will work? Ninety days of pretending we’re a family while the world hunts us?”
He meets my eyes. “It isn’t pretending if it keeps them safe.”
“And what about me?”
His gaze lingers on my face, steady, unreadable. “You were never the one who needed saving.”
Something in me cracks then not loudly, just a quiet fissure letting light through.
Before I can respond, my mark burns, a sudden, sharp pulse.
Levi's head snaps up instantly. “What is it?”
“I... I don’t know.” The heat spreads beneath my skin, bright and alive.
He steps forward, hands hovering inches from my shoulders. “Breathe. It’s sensing a shift.”
“From what?”
“Not what,” he says grimly. “Who.”
The lights flicker once.
Somewhere deep below the building, a distant alarm hums and fades.
Levi exhales slowly. “They’re testing the wards.”
I stare at him, heart pounding. “And if they break through?”
He looks toward the window, jaw tightening. “Then the rules won’t matter anymore.”
When he leaves to check the perimeter, I sit alone in the half-lit kitchen, palm pressed over the glowing mark until it steadies.
Outside, lightning flashes against the Sound.
Inside, everything feels too close, his scent, his shadow, his promise.
And for the first time since moving here, I realize the rules were never meant to keep me safe.
They were meant to keep me from running back to him.