Claire's POV

Vera didn't knock. She never did. She walked in like she owned the place, like she owned me.

I was already pacing, my hands clenched so tightly they ached. My body was coiled tight, my breath uneven, and my mind was still replaying the scene over and over. The words she'd said in front of the crew rang in my head like a fucking brand, still burning under my skin.

"Claire is mine. She's here for me and only me."

She shut the door behind her, her movements slow, deliberate. She had that same damn look—calm, controlled, like she hadn't just humiliated me in front of an entire room full of people. Like she hadn't made me feel like nothing more than a fucking possession.

"You're upset," she said, that infuriating amusement flickering in her voice.

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking my head. "No shit."

Her lips twitched like she was fighting a smirk. That smirk. The one that made me want to grab her by the collar and shake her.

"What the hell was that back there?" I snapped, stepping closer. I was too angry to care about how close I got, too furious to stop myself from pushing.

Vera raised a lazy brow, tilting her head slightly. "That was me making sure no one touches you."

"I have been trying to reach you," I spat. "Every single fucking day, I have been trying to prove that I have your back. That you are not alone. That you don't have to go through this alone." My breath shuddered. "I even did something I am morally against for you, because I believed in you."

Vera didn't move. She didn't breathe.

"And what do I get for it?" I whispered, voice tight. "You don't even have the decency to name things for what they are. To be fucking honest with yourself. You didn't want them touching me because you have feelings for me. Just fucking say it, Vera."

She scoffed. "That's not what this is."

"No?" I threw back. "That was you making sure everyone knows I am nothing but an object?."

"Claire, no!" She shook her head as if I was being ridiculous.

I took another step, heart pounding. "Really? Because it sure as hell sounded like it. You announced it. Loud and clear. Like I have no goddamn say in the matter."

Her jaw tensed, but she held my gaze, unwavering. "I did what was necessary."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Necessary for who? Because all I saw was you claiming me like some fucking thing that belongs to you."

She exhaled sharply, already looking impatient. "It was my way of making sure no one tries anything."

I pushed closer. "Then why not just say, Don't touch her unless she consents?"

She stiffened. I saw it—that brief flicker of hesitation.

And then, cold as ever—

"Because even if you consent, I don't."

My stomach dropped.

I stopped breathing.

My pulse hammered in my ears, a dull roar rising in my head as those words settled over me like a suffocating weight.

"So what?" My voice cracked with rage. "I get no say? I'm just yours? Like something you fucking bought?" I let out a sharp, humorless laugh, my hands shaking at my sides. "What did you pay for me with, huh? Protection?"

Vera's patience snapped.

"Yes!" The word tore from her lips, raw and unfiltered, as if she hadn't meant to say it.

Silence crashed between us.

The second it was out, I saw it—the flicker of regret, the way her eyes darkened, like she wished she could take it back.

But it was too late.

A sharp, broken breath left my lips. I shook my head, feeling something in me crack open.

"That's what I thought," I said, voice shaking, like I had finally broken past whatever delusion I had about her.

She clenched her fists, forcing herself to breathe through the weight pressing against her chest. "Claire, that's not what I—"

"No?" I cut her off, sharp and bitter. "Then fucking prove it."

She opened her mouth, but I didn't let her speak.

I took a slow step back, my hands shaking. And then, in a breath, I reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head.

The breath got punched from Vera's lungs.

She went still. Too still.

Her entire body locked up, but her heart was pounding so violently I could see it in the way her throat moved, in the way her chest rose and fell like she was trying to steady herself.

I wasn't seducing her. I wasn't even challenging her.

I was daring her.

My voice was low, unsteady but firm. "Go ahead. Take what you own."

I swallowed, the air thick, suffocating, my fingers twitching at my sides.

She took a step closer, eyes locked onto mine, raw and vulnerable and fucking furious.

"Be the monster you say you are."

Vera's POV

I didn't mean to say it.

The second the word left my mouth—Yes—I wanted to take it back. But Claire had already heard it, already felt it, already processed it.

And the way she looked at me now—like I had just confirmed every worst suspicion in her head—made something twist violently in my chest.

"That's what I thought," she whispered, voice low, shaking, but sharp like a knife.

I clenched my fists, my body tight with frustration, anger—at myself. "Claire—"

"No," she snapped, her voice raw. "I have been trying to reach you. Every single fucking day, I've been proving to you that I have your back. That you don't have to do this alone. I even did something I am morally against to protect you, to make you feel like you weren't alone in this. And you—" She let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking her head.

My jaw tightened. "What the hell are you talking about?"

She took a step closer, and something about the way she moved made me feel like she was about to cross a dangerous line.

"You didn't want them touching me because you have feelings for me," she said, voice quiet but filled with something unshakable. "Just fucking say it, Vera."

I didn't say it.

I couldn't.

So she made me feel it instead.

Before I could react, Claire grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.

I stopped breathing.

She wasn't trying to seduce me. She wasn't even trying to challenge me.

She was daring me.

"Go ahead," she whispered, her voice steady even as her chest rose and fell too fast. "Take what you own."

The air between us was thick, suffocating. My entire body locked up, my throat tight, my hands aching to grab her—but not like this.

Never like this.

"Be the monster you say you are."

The words sent something snapping inside me.

My vision tunneled. My pulse hammered. The room felt too small, the walls too close. I felt something sharp press against my ribs from the inside.

I wasn't a good person. I knew that.

But this?

This was the line I would not cross.

I took a slow, shuddering breath, forcing myself to move, to turn, because if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from breaking something—my control, the space between us, maybe even her.

I spun on my heel, heading toward the door, needing to get the hell out before I did something I couldn't take back—before I let myself feel.

But before I could reach it—

I felt it.

A touch.

Soft. Gentle. Right over my hand.

Stopping me.

Or maybe—stopping herself from letting me leave.

I turned sharply, expecting her to be furious, to push me away, to scream at me.

But she wasn't standing anymore.

She was kneeling in front of me.

Something dark and unbearable twisted in my stomach.

Then Claire tilted her head, looking up at me, her voice soft but razor-sharp.

"Or maybe," she whispered, "you want to command me to do it for you. Since you consent, it should be fine, right?"

I stopped breathing.

Heat licked up my spine, something reckless, something dangerous—something I had spent my whole fucking life keeping in chains.

Her gaze searched mine, waiting. Daring me.

I could have.

God, I could have.

But I forced myself to do the only thing I could.

I took a step back, ripping myself away from her touch. My hands ached to reach for her, to grab her, to do something—anything—but I didn't.

I couldn't.

My voice came out hoarse, raw, like I had just been through a war inside myself.

"Get up."

Claire blinked, like she hadn't expected that, but she didn't move.

I clenched my jaw, forcing my voice to come out even, unreadable, unshaken.

"I said, get the fuck up."

She exhaled sharply, like she had been holding her breath the whole time.

And then, finally, she stood.

We stood there, too close, too tense, too much left unsaid.

I didn't say another word.

I just turned and walked out, closing the door behind me.

I didn't slam it.

I didn't have to.

Because the sound that echoed in my ears wasn't a door shutting— It was Claire's breath shaking behind it.

Claire's POV

I stood there, staring at the closed door, my breath coming too fast, my hands shaking, my whole body burning like I had been skinned alive.

The silence in the room was suffocating. It pressed down on me, filled every inch of space where she had just stood.

She walked away.

She fucking walked away.

I let out a sharp, bitter laugh, but it didn't feel like laughter. It felt like something breaking inside me, like something twisting so tight it was going to snap.

I pressed my palms to the edge of the table, fingers curling, knuckles white. My entire chest felt tight, like I couldn't breathe properly.

I wasn't going to cry.

Not over her. Not over this.

But the anger, the humiliation, the sheer fucking heartbreak sat like a stone in my throat.

I had done everything for her.

I had walked into this world for her. I had taken a bullet for her. I had left my entire life behind for her.

And she still pushed me away.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my pulse roaring in my ears. What the hell was I even doing anymore?

I had been trying so damn hard to prove myself to her, to show her I had her back, to make her see that she wasn't alone.

But she didn't want that. She just wanted control.

I exhaled sharply, tilting my head back, staring at the ceiling as if it would have some kind of answer for me. It didn't.

I clenched my jaw. "Fuck this," I muttered under my breath.

If Vera wanted to shut me out, fine. If she wanted to act like I didn't matter, fine.

I wasn't going to beg for something I already gave freely. She could have her walls.

But I wasn't going to break myself trying to tear them down. I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, my hands resting on my knees, my breaths coming slower now.

I just had to breathe through the storm inside me. Because for the first time, it wasn't just Vera who felt like she was drowning.

It was me, too.

Vera's POV

The second I stepped out of Claire's room, I couldn't breathe.

My steps were too heavy, my muscles coiled so tight I thought they'd snap.

I was furious. At Claire. At myself. At everything.

I didn't know why.

I didn't fucking know why.

All I knew was that if I stayed outside that door for even a second longer, if I looked at her one more time, if I let myself feel what had just happened—

I wouldn't be able to stop.

So I stormed down the hall, past the crew, past the stares, ignoring everything as I pushed into my room and slammed the door shut behind me.

Silence.

Heavy. Suffocating.

I took a breath—a mistake. Because I could still smell her, feel her voice crawling under my skin.

"Take what you own." "Be the monster you say you are."

I gritted my teeth, pressing my fingers hard against my temples.

"Shut up," I hissed at the memory, at the way her voice wouldn't leave my head, wouldn't fucking leave me alone.

But it was still there.

It was all there.

Her anger. Her hurt. Her fucking heartbreak.

And I had put it there.

I let out a sharp breath, turning, grabbing the nearest glass off the table and hurling it against the wall.

The shatter was loud. Sharp. Violent.

Not loud enough.

Not enough to drown out the way my chest felt like it was caving in.

I sat down heavily on the bed, rubbing my face, trying to shake off the feeling, trying to shove it back down where it belonged—deep, buried, out of reach.

But I couldn't. Because this was different.

Claire wasn't just another body. Another game. Another distraction.

She was inside me. Under my skin. In my fucking bloodstream.

And that was the problem.

Because I didn't know what to do with that.

Didn't know how to want someone like this, how to need someone like this, how to feel something that wasn't just cold, calculated survival.

I didn't know how to want someone and not ruin them in the process.

And worst of all?

I didn't even know if I wanted to stop myself.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the wall, my hands curled into fists, my heart still hammering. And then before I could change my mind, I got up.

I stood outside Claire's door, my fingers hovering over the handle. The hallway was silent, the kind of silence that presses against your ribs, making it harder to breathe. I had been pacing outside her room for the last ten minutes, telling myself to turn around, that this was a mistake, that I had nothing to say.

And yet, I was still here.

I swallowed, my throat dry. Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I pushed the door open.

Claire stirred instantly, a sharp intake of breath as she jolted upright. Her eyes were hazy with sleep, her hair messily falling over her face. It took her a second to register me in the dim light, her voice groggy but edged with alarm.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I didn't know how to answer. Didn't know why I was here, not really.

"I—" I exhaled, trying again. "Can I lay next to you?"

Her brows furrowed. She didn't say anything, just stared at me in the quiet. I knew what she was thinking. That I was unpredictable. That I had spent the last twenty-four hours pushing her away, trying to own her like a possession, like something to control—only to show up in the middle of the night, looking for something else entirely.

I waited for her to tell me to get the hell out.

Instead, she studied me, her sharp eyes softening just a fraction.

Then, without a word, she shifted to the side, making space for me.

I hesitated for only a second before stepping forward, lowering myself onto the bed. The mattress dipped under my weight. She was still warm from sleep, and the scent of her wrapped around me like something dangerous, something I couldn't afford to need.

I didn't think. Didn't overanalyze. I just reached for her.

Claire stiffened for only a second before I pulled her against me, fitting her against my chest, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against my own.

I closed my eyes. Breathed her in.

And then, barely above a whisper, so quiet I almost wasn't sure if I had said it aloud—

"Sorry."

The word felt foreign in my mouth. Small. Not nearly enough for what I had done.

But Claire didn't pull away.

She let out a small breath, her body relaxing into mine, her fingers curling slightly against my arm as she started drifting back to sleep.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

I felt like I could breathe again.