Chapter 3 Trying To Break The walls

One month later, Stacy was running like her life depended on it.

"Time!" Isaiah called out as she crossed their makeshift finish line at the end of the driveway, breathing hard but steady.

Stacy bent over, hands on her knees, chest heaving. "How... did I do?"

Isaiah checked his watch, and something that might have been approval flickered across his face. "Seven-minute miles. You've cut ninety seconds off your time since we started."

Despite her exhaustion, Stacy felt a surge of pride. A month ago, she could barely run a quarter mile without wanting to die. Now she was running five miles every morning, and actually enjoying it.

"Not bad for someone who claimed she 'didn't run,'" Isaiah said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Was that almost a smile, Mr. Wright?" Stacy straightened up, pushing sweaty blonde hair out of her face. "Careful, people might think you're human."

"Can't have that." But his eyes held warmth that hadn't been there four weeks ago.

Their relationship had shifted, slowly and subtly. Stacy was still stubborn-she'd tried to ditch him at the mall twice, refused to change her shopping plans, and insisted on eating at restaurants he deemed "security nightmares." But Isaiah never bent. He simply cancelled her car, rerouted her schedule, or physically positioned himself between her and whatever danger he perceived.

The first time he'd literally picked her up and carried her away from a crowd that was getting too aggressive, Stacy had screamed at him for twenty minutes. Isaiah had waited until she finished, then calmly explained his reasoning. When she tried the same stunt again, he'd done it again.

Stacy learned quickly that Isaiah Wright didn't do anything he didn't want to do, and nothing she said or did would change that. It was infuriating. It was also, she was beginning to realize, exactly what she needed.

"Alright," Isaiah said, tossing her a fresh water bottle. "Cool down stretch, then we're starting something new."

"What new thing?"

"Self-defense training."

Stacy's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"You're fast now. That's good. But if someone corners you, you need to know how to fight back." Isaiah started walking toward the house. "Thirty minutes to shower and eat. Meet me in the gym."

Their house had a full gym in the basement that Stacy had maybe used twice in her life. Now she showered quickly, threw on workout clothes, and headed down to find Isaiah had already set up mats on the floor.

He'd changed too-black athletic pants and a fitted gray t-shirt that showed off arms that looked like they could bend steel. Stacy tried not to stare.

"First rule," Isaiah said as she approached. "Always be aware of your surroundings. Most attacks can be avoided if you see them coming."

"And if I don't see them coming?"

"Then you create distance and run. That's always your first option." He moved to the center of the mat. "But if you can't run, you need to know vulnerable points. Eyes, nose, throat, groin. You're not trying to win a fight-you're trying to create an opening to escape."

For the next hour, Isaiah walked her through basic movements. How to break a wrist grip. How to throw an elbow. How to use her body weight to her advantage even though she was smaller than most attackers.

Stacy was terrible at it.

"No, your stance is too wide," Isaiah said for the tenth time. "You'll lose your balance."

"I'm trying!"

"Try harder." But his voice wasn't harsh, just firm.

He demonstrated again, his movements fluid and precise. When Stacy attempted to copy him, she nearly tripped over her own feet.

"This is hopeless," she groaned. "I'm not a fighter."

"You're not a fighter yet," Isaiah corrected. He stepped behind her, and Stacy felt her breath catch as his hands gently adjusted her shoulders. "You're thinking too much. Stop trying to be perfect and just react."

His touch was professional, clinical even, but Stacy was acutely aware of how close he was, the heat of his body behind hers.

"Feet shoulder-width apart," Isaiah continued, apparently unaffected. "Knees slightly bent. Good. Now when I grab you-" his hand closed around her wrist, firm but not painful, "-what do you do?"

Stacy's mind went blank. All she could focus on was the pressure of his fingers, the smell of his cologne.

"Stacy."

She snapped back to attention. "Um. Twist away?"

"Show me."

She tried to yank her arm free and failed completely.

"You're pulling against my strength," Isaiah said patiently. "Don't do that. You'll never win. Instead-" He released her, then grabbed her wrist again. "Rotate your wrist toward my thumb. That's the weakest point of my grip."

Stacy tried again, and this time her hand slipped free.

"Better," Isaiah said. "Again."

They drilled the movement over and over. Then another. And another. Isaiah was endlessly patient, never getting frustrated when she messed up, always explaining things clearly. He corrected her form with the same professional detachment, never inappropriate, never making her feel uncomfortable.

"Alright," he finally said after two hours. "That's enough for today."

Stacy collapsed on the mat, every muscle screaming. "You're trying to kill me."

"If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead." Isaiah handed her a towel. "You did well."

"I was awful."

"You were a beginner. There's a difference." He sat down beside her, not quite close enough to touch. "Everyone's terrible at first. The key is showing up and doing the work. You're doing that."

Stacy looked at him, really looked at him. His blue eyes were serious, sincere. "Why do you care if I learn this?"

Isaiah was quiet for a moment. "Because the world is dangerous, especially for people like you. Wealthy, visible, vulnerable. And because..." He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I've seen what happens when people can't defend themselves. I don't want that to happen to you."

There was something in his voice, a old pain that made Stacy wonder what he'd witnessed, what he'd lived through.

"Isaiah-"

"Go eat lunch," he said, standing abruptly. "I'll be upstairs when you're done. Your father wants you to review some documents for the foundation."

And just like that, the walls were back up.