Chapter 5 Fight or Flight

I want to rescue her.

Rip apart the fools villainizing her, shield her from the insanity. It's taking a lot for me to remain composed.

Her eyes are full of fear, exhaustion, and ..anger. Anger is good, it causes change.

Jaws tight, muscles tense, I swallow, forcing my breath to stay even.

She's living in hell built by lunatics. Watching her at the edge of a panic attack, battling for normalcy aggravates me.

The car comes to a stop. Her door swings open. Her security stands, helping her down.

I make my way to her. "Shall we?" I gesture to my house.

"No." She steps back, shaking her head.

"I'm not going in with you. I'll wait outside until it's safe to go home." she glances at her security.

Wait outside?

"Desirée, there's no reason for that, you're safe here."

I watch her hardened expression. She doesn't trust me- yet. I understand.

The outdoors gives her a sense of control and safety rather than being inside my place.

Her trembling frame looks small, eyes sunken, in need of rest. I inhale sharply, drawing patience.

"Okay." I soften my voice

"Let's go to the Patio at the back"

She nods swiftly and I usher her.

Her back is straight, shoulders squared like royalty, even though her breathing is shaky. My fingers move, and I curl them, quelling the instinct to hold her.

Desirée gasps as we reach the back.

I know, breathtaking.

She stops in her tracks, removes her scarf, and walks forward in a daze. Stroking petals, moving spirally, taking deep breaths. Butterflies dance around her, perching on her hair and shoulders.

She smiles, stretching her hands to the fountain, then pulls them back in thought. Instinct overrides her and she stretches them back.

Birds chirp, and the sun reflects on the water and her buttery skin.

I freeze, unable to breathe or look away. A beautiful idea to stay outdoors.

She looks fragile, standing like she shouldn't be here, should be furious. But her shoulders are finally dropping. Guilt tugs, but peace persists, and something more...Freedom.

I exhale, tension I didn't know I was holding, easing off.

The housekeeper sets a tray on the table. I thank her and call out to Desirée.

Desirée looks back at me but remains. She's sitting at the far end, basking under the sun with flowers surrounding her.

After a while, she heads down. "It's a meadow, not a patio." she sighs, out of breath.

Both hands are clasped to her chest, "It feels ...nice."

She sits down, her color has returned slightly, and her breath no longer trips over panic.

"Well, you're seated in a Patio."

"Hmm," she lifts both brows in quiet agreement.

The housekeeper serves chamomile tea with dark chocolate cakes and slips away.

"They'll help your nerves," I tell Desirée.

I lift the cup to my lips in a showy manner, so she can drink hers.

"I'm aware," she looks at me and the arrangement on the table.

Yeah, I did my homework.

I smile smugly as she holds the tea to her nose. Her fingers tighten then loosen up.

She leaves it there like she's contemplating, she inhales again and finally takes a sip.

"Try the cake, it goes well with the tea," I tell her.

She grits her teeth as she drops the teacup.

"Stalker" she murmurs.

"Oof" I chuckle. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

I lean back, whirling my tea like it's whiskey.

"Mr. Deveraux," she says calmly.

"You knew I'd end up here."

That's not a question. I smile inside, I had planned for it.

"Not like this," I reply sincerely.

She narrows her eyes, "You wanted me here."

"Yes, but you were to come willingly," I say.

"Mmm. How was that going to happen?"

She sits back with a bored look, taking another sip, without cake.

"It's bad manners to reject good food Desirée." I take my time to answer her, scooping a piece of cake in my mouth.

"It's just cake and tea," she shrugs.

"Specially made for you. Perfect temperature. The good type of dark chocolate, with strawberry filling- your favorite."

I inform her, taking another piece.

She steals glances between my lips, and our plates, then switches them.

I burst into laughter.

She rolls her eyes, hiding a smirk. She takes a piece of my cake.

"I was going to give you an irresistible invite," I say, 'before the mob hitched everything."

She throws me a waiting look, I cross my arms.

"Every move I make is narrated before I can finish. My story is always written for me."

My voice deepens, "I want to control my story, hold the pen for once."

She chews slowly, almost like there's nothing in her mouth. I worry the cake is bad.

Her tongue darts out of her mouth, licking her lips. She likes it.

"What does that mean?' She asks.

"They go well don't they?" I comment as she sips.

She looks at me, unimpressed. I chuckle.

"You've built yourself from scratch. I never have. Anything I do is seen as privileged."

"I could save kids in a burning orphanage and they'll say, daddy's money, mummy's golden boy playing hero,' I explain.

She stares at me, caught off guard.

Yeah.

"You built. I inherited. You control your perception with your work, I want that." My tone is serious.

"What's stopping you?" She asks leaning in, folding her palms on her lap.

"Perception" I reply. "I want to build something real, control perception this time." I lean back, locking my fingers.

"You had control of your story, your work. I want to do that for you now."

Or with her...This wasn't about controlling her. Not really. Was it? No. This was about helping her find balance... while I found mine.

I admire her work, and her hold on it. I want to learn that and help her back up.

She gives me a sour look. "I'm your experiment?" The faint but constant lilt in her words comes out deep.

She sips, gripping her cup, takes a deep breath and carefully sets the cup down in thought.

"Why do you think I'm some kind of villain ready to pounce on you?" I lean in.

"Aren't you?" Her voice hikes. "Control? You want to do that for me? or to me?"

She scoffs, "Are you kidding?"

The warm liquid swirls in my mouth. I watch her flare up.

"If I was, I wouldn't do all I've done. Previously. Today. Now"

"Could be a mask." She throws her hands up, "A clever disguise."

She stabs her cake, taking another bite.

I furrow my brows, shaking my head, "Not my style"

"What do you know about building? You think you can control or save me?"

She sets her fork down.

"You think you're a good Samaritan? Prince charming?"

"Okay," she claps like she's got an idea. "How do you plan to control this then?"

Dragging the word control like mockery.

I exhale slowly, taping my fingers.

"That's for me to worry about" I keep a straight face.

"When I leave here and the vultures circle, how do you stop it?"

"It won't happen," I assure her.

I've put things in place.

Her brows crease, "You're delusional."

"You're guarded," I retort

"You're a stalker," she takes an angry bite and licks her lips.

"I'm an observer" I smile.

Her gaze sharpens,

"You don't know me. I'm not your lab rat."

She has this all wrong. I don't say anything. I leave her to express herself.

"You're not," I say when she calms, my voice low. "We have time to know each other," I quirk my brows.

She lifts her cup, her lips part. Not in defiance, not even anger this time. Something... else. Maybe understanding. Maybe not. But then, I see movement behind her.

Claps reverberate like thunder, snapping her gaze away from me. The moment is gone.

"Oh Wow." A voice filled with amusement. "Quintin, this is unexpected."