Chapter 23: Possession

Zay’s POV

They say love can be gentle. That it’s soft whispers in the night, warm hands held under starlight, promises whispered like secrets between two souls. But mine? My love for Vee is something else entirely.

It’s fire and shadow. It’s fierce and relentless. It’s the kind of love that claws at your insides and refuses to let go.

I’ve watched other guys look at her—carefree, casual, like she was just another prize to chase. But I know better. I know Vee. She’s not just anyone. She’s mine.

That possessiveness isn’t about control. It’s about protection. About wanting to keep her safe from a world that didn’t deserve her, from anyone who thought they could take her away.

Sometimes, when I catch myself watching her from across the room, or feel that sharp sting of jealousy when another guy dares to get close, I remind myself: this isn’t just obsession. This is love. The kind that consumes you whole.

Last night, when Ryan tried to ask her out again, I felt my blood turn to ice. The way my jaw clenched so tight I thought it would crack. The way my fists curled, the heat pooling in my chest like a wildfire ready to explode.

But I didn’t let it show. Not yet.

Because love like this—dark, intense, burning—needs patience.

I’m not the boy who hurt her in school anymore. I’m not the jerk who thought teasing was a way to get close. I’m the man who’d cross any line, break any rule, tear down every damn wall just to keep her near.

And soon, she’ll see that.

The other night, after everything finally changed between us, I stayed awake for hours, my mind racing with what I wanted to say but couldn’t. How to tell her that every inch of me ached for her—that I’d spent years hiding behind anger because I was scared of what loving her really meant.

When I finally saw her, alone in the dark, looking so fragile yet so strong, I knew I had to be honest.

I told her, “Vee, you’re not just the girl I love. You’re the only one who ever mattered. And I’m not letting anyone—no one—get close to you without me knowing.”

She looked at me then, eyes wide with a mix of fear and something else. Something like trust.

I pulled her close, letting my hands speak the words I couldn’t say. My fingers traced the lines of her face, memorizing every curve like a map I never wanted to forget.

“Tell me if I’m too much,” I whispered against her skin. “If this is too dark.”

She shook her head, her breath catching. “It’s not. It’s you. And I want all of you.”

That night, as I held her in my arms, I promised myself I’d never let her go. That no matter how dark it got, how messy or complicated, my love would be the one thing she could always count on.

Because love like ours? It’s not soft. It’s not easy.

It’s everything.