Too Far.

The door slammed behind me with a thunderous crack, echoing down the hallway. I wasn’t even sure where I was walking anymore, just away. Away from that kitchen, from the eyes that saw too much. From Domonic. From her. Ava. God, her name felt like a wound. A clean cut that never quite bled, just burned. I reached the study and braced my hands on the edge of the desk, jaw clenched so hard it ached. My knuckles were white, pressing into the mahogany like it could ground me. Like anything could.

“You’re an asshole,” Domonic’s voice rang out behind me as he pushed into the room without knocking. Of course.

I didn’t turn. “Not now.”

“Tough shit,” he snapped. “We’re having this out whether you like it or not.”

I stood straight, slowly, turning to face him. His face was tight with fury, chest rising and falling with barely leashed restraint.

“You don’t get to treat her like that, Nico. You don’t get to sit at the head of the table, playing the fucking king, while your wife’s over there being treated like a maid.”

“She’s not...” I started, but he cut me off with a shake of his head.

“She is,” he barked. “She is because you’ve made her feel like that. And I’m telling you now, it’s not just me who sees it. The guys? They’re watching. They’re confused. And some of them are starting to get pissed.”

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinions,” I growled, but it lacked venom. Because the truth was, I knew. I knew. And it tore at me like a thousand little blades.

“I don’t know how to be around her,” I muttered finally, voice barely audible.

Domonic’s brow furrowed. “What?”

I rubbed my face, the confession tasting like blood in my mouth. “I don’t know how to be around her and not ruin her. She looks at me like I’m something good, Dom. Like I could be gentle. Like I could be… safe. But I’m not. I’ve done things, been made into things and if I let her close, if I let her crawl in any deeper than she already is…” I swallowed hard, lowering my voice. “I’m scared I’ll break her.”

The silence that followed was thick. Domonic’s expression softened just slightly, but his voice remained firm.

“You’re already breaking her,” he said simply. “Every time you ignore her. Every time you let that redhead talk down to her. Every time you act like she’s invisible. You think you’re saving her from yourself? No, Nico. You’re killing her with a slow fucking bleed.”

I looked away, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. I’d been doing it on purpose. Not all of it, but enough. I thought maybe if I let Kerry-Anne hang on my arm, if I entertained her, if I made it look like she belonged… Ava would back off. That she’d see the cold, the distance, and finally stop trying so hard to break through. But Ava never stopped. She kept smiling. Kept cooking. Kept sitting quietly in meetings and watching, learning, showing me in a hundred little ways that she wasn’t a stranger to this world. That she could belong in it, next to me. It terrified me.

“She makes me want to be soft,” I said quietly, like it was a curse. “She makes me want to give her things I don’t have.”

Domonic stepped forward and set a hand on my shoulder, firm and grounding.

“Then let her teach you,” he said. “Let her try. Because what you’re doing now? It’s not saving her. It’s making her smaller.”

I nodded once, barely.

“I don’t know if I can fix this.”

“You won’t know unless you try,” Domonic said, and then walked out, leaving me alone with the silence, the guilt and her name echoing in my mind like the ghost of a life I didn’t know how to live.

I stood outside her door, hand raised, knuckles ready to knock, but frozen. What the fuck was I even going to say? Sorry for treating you like furniture in your own house? Sorry I let another woman humiliate you in front of my men? Sorry I’ve been pushing you away just to see if you’d finally give up on me? The truth was, I didn’t know how to let Ava in without unraveling. She was soft in a way that made my edges ache. And every time I got too close, I pulled back like a fucking coward because if I touched her the way I wanted, if I let myself need her, it would ruin her. I would ruin her. But she wasn’t breaking like I expected. She wasn’t crying or begging. She was adapting, hardening, and somehow that terrified me even more. I took a breath and lowered my hand, ready to knock, when I heard the sharp click of heels. Of course. Kerry-Anne.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she purred, stepping into my space like she belonged there. Like this wasn’t the goddamn wrongest moment of her life.

“I’m busy,” I muttered, trying to side-step.

But she didn’t move. Her hand slid up my chest like she had a right. Her voice dropped, all silk and poison. “I’ve missed you. You’ve been cold lately. You used to look at me like...”

I stepped back, jaw tight. “Don’t.”

But she leaned in anyway, brushing her lips too close to mine. Her fingers hooked my shirt like she could anchor me with touch alone. She was beautiful in the most curated way, but I felt nothing. Not a flicker of heat. Only guilt, and a low-simmering rage at myself for ever letting her get this comfortable. Then I heard it. Footsteps on the stairs. Quiet. Hesitant. Fuck. Ava. I turned just in time to see her pause at the top step. Her eyes took in the scene like a slap to the face. Kerry-Anne’s hands on me. Her lips too close. Me standing there like I wasn’t seconds from knocking on her door to finally, finally explain.

“Ava—” I started, stepping forward, reaching out. “It’s not what it looks like...”

She didn’t say a word. Didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. That made it worse. She just stared at me with this blank, hollow look, like she’d finally stopped expecting anything good from me at all. Then she turned, walked into her room, and slammed the door. The lock clicked. Final. I stood there in the hallway, heart pounding, the echo of that slammed door ringing louder than any gunshot I’d ever heard. I didn’t knock again. I couldn’t. Not yet. But I knew something had shifted in her. And this time…I might’ve pushed her too far.