"What's the issue?" I asked, immediately on alert.
"Room Seven," he said, not quite meeting my eyes. "You need to handle it personally."
I frowned. "What kind of issue requires—"
"Just go," he interrupted, already backing toward the elevator. "And Dion? Sometimes the best security is letting someone in."
Before I could question him further, the elevator doors closed, leaving me alone in the hallway. I stared at Room Seven's door, a feeling of unease creeping up my spine. Something wasn't right.
Cautiously, I approached and knocked. No answer. I tried the handle—unlocked. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open.
The room was dimly lit, soft music playing from hidden speakers. It wasn't one of our typical Little spaces, but rather a quiet lounge area with comfortable seating and a small kitchenette. And sitting in one of the plush armchairs, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, was Emily.
My breath caught. She wore a pair of bright blue overalls. Her gorgeous hair was pulled into two braids, and a sparkly ribbon with two fluffy pom poms was attached to each one. She'd kickedoff her shoes, her bare feet tucked beneath her. She looked beautiful, vulnerable, and utterly terrified.
"Hi," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
I remained frozen in the doorway, torn between the desperate need to go to her and the conviction that walking away was the kindest thing I could do. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you." She stood, smoothing her clothes with nervous hands. "I wasn't sure you'd come."
"Gideon didn't give me much choice," I replied, my voice harsher than intended. "He said there was a security issue."
"There is." Emily stood and took a tentative step toward me. "Me. I'm trying to compromise your security. Your walls. Your defenses."
I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to close the distance between us. "Emily—"
"Please," she interrupted. "Just listen. I've been practicing this speech for two weeks, and if you interrupt, I might lose my nerve."
Against my better judgment, I nodded, closing the door behind me but remaining near it.
Emily took a deep breath. "I've been seeing Dr. Anna Reeves. She's helped me understand some things about myself that I've been running from my whole life." She paused, gathering courage. "I grew up believing that needing someone was weakness. That vulnerability was something to be hidden, buried so deep no one could find it and use it against me."
I stayed silent, though her words echoed painfully.
"Then I met you," she continued, her voice strengthening. "And you saw those parts of me anyway. The parts that sometimes need guidance, care, protection. The parts that want to be treasured and safe. And it terrified me."
She moved closer, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, the slight tremble in her hands.
"I pushed you away because I was scared of how much I needed you. Not because you were too controlling or too protective, but because you made me feel things I'd been taught were weakness." Her voice broke slightly. "And then I did something incredibly stupid, and instead of admitting how I felt, how important you are to me, I ran to prove I didn't need you, and it nearly got us both killed."
A tear slipped down her cheek, and it took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to brush it away. "You took two bullets for me, Dion. You saved my life, and then you disappeared. And I've spent every day since then trying to understand why."
I clenched my jaw, fighting to maintain control. "I thought I was doing what was best for you."
"By deciding what I needed without asking me?" she challenged, her eyes flashing. "By taking away my choice?"
The accusation hit its mark. "I failed you, Emily. I pushed you into a dynamic you weren't ready for and drove you straight into danger."
"Is that what you think happened?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Dion, I didn't leave because you were too controlling. I left because I was terrified of how much I wanted what you were offering." She huffed. “I just have a shitty way of saying that.”
I stared at her, struggling to process her words.
"I've spent my whole life being strong," she continued, her voice softening. "Making the hard choices, fighting for everyone else. And then you came along and showed me I could let someone else carry that weight sometimes, and that doesn’t make me weak. That I could still be valued."
She closed the distance between us, stopping just short of touching me. "I don't want someone who never sets boundaries or makes decisions when I'm overwhelmed. I want you. Exactly as you are."
Hope flickered dangerously in my chest. "What about when I'm overprotective? When I need to keep you safe, even if it means making decisions you don't like?"
