Chapter 17 MIRAGE
Julian's POV
The moment the word “yes” left Eli’s mouth, I kissed him.
Not roughly or possessively.
Just… directly. Fully. With the kind of precision I give to anything that matters.
His breath caught. His fingers twitched against my shoulders. And then, exactly as I expected, he melted.
He always melts.
His mouth was warm, soft, startled, and the small tremor that went through him hit me like static.
When I finally pulled back, he was staring at me. Wide-eyed. Flushed. Confused in a way that made something low in my chest tighten.
And then—
He broke eye contact so fast it was almost comical.
I could practically hear his mind tripping over itself.
Good.
Confusion keeps him honest.
I didn’t move. I wanted to see what he’d do next.
He was staring straight at me again.
Not soft nor pleased, but focused and sharp. Like he was studying a shift in the atmosphere only he understood.
“I can’t believe you actually asked.” He whispered.
Of course I’d asked. He’d cried. And I didn’t like that he’d cried. It had felt wrong; illogical. Like seeing a glass crack when I hadn’t intended to drop it.
I didn’t understand the feeling, only that I didn’t want it repeated anytime soon.
“I ask,” I said quietly, “when it matters.”
He blinked fast, like that line was too much for his brain.
Again: cute.
His fingers clutched at my shirt, the way a startled kitten might cling to a hand that had just picked it up too roughly. Honestly, he was so soft that half the time I couldn’t tell if I wanted to protect him or cage him.
Maybe both.
He swallowed. “Don’t look at me like that.”
I didn’t blink because I was in fact, looking at him like that. “Like what?”
“Like I… did something significant.”
“You did.”
His pulse jumped. I watched it beat at his throat. “It was just— it wasn’t— you caught me off guard. That doesn’t mean—”
“You said yes.” My voice came out even. Controlled. “Not accidentally. Not under pressure. You said yes because you wanted to.”
“I didn’t.” He shot back. Too quick, too defensive. Predictable. “I don’t— I don’t want—”
“Don’t finish that sentence if you’re going to lie.” I leaned back. “Try again.”
He gripped the couch cushion like it offended him. “I’m not lying.”
I tilted my head. “Try again.”
Something twisted in his expression. Embarrassment. Frustration. A pinch of fear he didn’t want to acknowledge.
“I’m not—” he exhaled shakily. “I’m not into you.”
“Mm.” My gaze dropped to his mouth without my consent. “Not being ‘into men’ didn’t stop you from leaning in.”
“I didn’t lean—”
“You did.”
He twitched. Beautifully reactive. “You’re twisting it. You always twist everything. You act like everything I do is some kind of— of invitation.”
I let a beat stretch out before answering. “I don’t need invitations.”
He paused like he zoned out.
I could feel him unraveling. Not visibly; Eli tries very hard not to expose anything; but internally, the shift was obvious.
“What I do need,” I continued, “is honesty. And obedience. The first you struggle with. The second… you’re selectively good at.”
He sucked in a breath and looked everywhere but at me, which made the blush run all the way to his ears. His embarrassment was… cute. Irrationally so. It tugged something inside me I didn’t have a name for.
Probably dopamine. Or something chemical.
Nothing sentimental.
“I didn’t even do anything disobedient,” he muttered.
“You snapped at me,” I said. “Without reason. In public.”
“It was a normal reaction.”
“For you? Perhaps.” I let my hand rest on his thigh, not gripping, just there. “For my spouse? No.”
He flinched at the word spouse.
Good.
Names only have power when someone resists them.
“I’m not used to this,” he whispered. “I’m not used to— whatever we are. You expect me to just… slip into place.”
“You are in place,” I said. “But you keep trying to climb out of it.”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t want to be owned.”
“You already are.”
He went quiet. Very quiet. Shoulders sinking just slightly, as if the weight of the truth hit him fresh each time.
I watched him absorb it, then gave a faint, unreadable smirk.
“Relax, Eli,” I said. “I’m not angry. If anything, I’m… intrigued.”
“Why?”
“Because you kissed me back.” I picked up a forgotten glass of water and took a slow sip. “And now you don’t know what to do with yourself.”
He looked away again; defeated, flustered, cornered in every sense except physically; and I felt something warm curl through me.
Not affection, but rather satisfaction.
The kind that comes from pulling someone apart with precision.
For a boy who swears he can’t stand me, Eli is the most honest when he’s trembling. And I love making him tremble.
I brushed my thumb under his eye… remnants of tears he thought he’d hidden. His skin heated instantly.
He was embarrassed.
And I… liked it.
He tried to pull back but I tightened my arm around his waist, keeping him on my lap.
"It's too much," he murmured weakly. "All of this. You. This whole thing. I don't know how to be around you without screwing something up."
His voice cracked on the last word.
Ah.
More tears.
Small, silent ones. Barely there, but I caught them. I always catch things Eli tries to hide.
It still astonished me a little.
Not the tears, or the trembling, or the fear. But the sincerity. Why would he be sincere with me?
He feels everything too deeply.
I feel almost nothing at all.
And yet he reacts to me as if I’m capable of the same intensity.
It’s absurd.
And almost… fascinating.
I cupped his jaw, thumb brushing slowly. “You need to eat, before you spiral so much you stop tasting anything.”
He blinked up at me, startled by the shift in tone. I stood, lifting him easily, and carried him back toward the dining room.
He didn’t argue this time.
Good.
Obedience always comes easier right after emotional collapse.
I set him in his chair, then took my own.
He stared at his plate like it held a riddle.
“I don’t understand you,” he whispered finally.
“I know,” I answered, cutting into my food with clean, precise strokes. “And you don’t need to.”
He hesitated, then:
“I feel like I sold my life.”
“You did.”
His breath caught, but he didn’t cry this time.
Progress.
He looked down, voice barely audible. “…How long is this supposed to last?”
“Until I decide otherwise.”
His shoulders slumped.
I watched him quietly. Studied him the way I study every asset in my possession… except Eli is not an asset. Eli is a choice. A deliberate one.
And when he finally lifted his eyes again…
God.
He looked breakable.
And for reasons I refuse to analyze, something in me tightened sharply.
He's so fragile, so unguarded, so unaware of the danger he sits across from.
So unaware of me.
I held his gaze until he flushed and looked away again.
Pathetic reaction.
Endearing reaction.
Both things can be true.
He doesn’t understand what he’s married to.
He doesn’t understand why I picked him.
Why I needed him.
He doesn’t understand anything at all.
And as I watched him push a piece of toast around his plate with trembling fingers, one thought pressed quietly, violently through my mind:
I married him for the most selfish, vengeful reason I’ve ever pursued…
but the boy is so innocent it almost hurts.
So clueless.
Stubborn but fragile.
How the hell am I supposed to own something this delicate with my rough destructive hands?