By the next morning, My name had become a whisper, a rumor shaped like curiosity and judgment. And through it all, I felt Dominic before I saw him steady, watching, controlling the space around me without ever touching me.
Ethan was unraveling.
He started showing up too early for lectures, sitting closer than usual, his knee brushing mine like a plea. He stopped laughing. Stopped joking. His eyes followed every movement I made, as if he were memorizing me before losing me forever.
"Aria," he whispered during a break, voice hoarse. "Please. Just talk to me."
We stepped into the student lounge which was quiet, sunlit, deceptively calm. He turned to me, hands shaking as they hovered at my waist, unsure whether to touch.
"Tell me you don't feel anything for him," he said. "Lie to me if you have to."
My throat closed.
"I can't," I whispered.
His face crumpled. "So that's it? He walks in with money and power and suddenly I'm invisible?"
"You were never invisible," I said, tears stinging my eyes. "But you can't keep holding me like I'll disappear if you let go."
"I am disappearing," he said brokenly. "Every time he looks at you."
His hands tightened on my arms not painful, but desperate.
"Ethan," I said sharply. "You're hurting me."
The air shifted.
A presence cut through the room like a blade.
"Let her go."
Dominic's voice was calm but it carried weight. Authority. Finality.
Ethan turned slowly, fear flashing across his face before anger took its place. "This has nothing to do with you."
Dominic stepped closer, placing himself between us without touching me. His body was a wall solid, protective, possessive in a way that made my knees weak.
"It has everything to do with me," Dominic said evenly. "You don't get to corner her. You don't get to pressure her. And you definitely don't get to touch her when she asks you to stop."
Ethan laughed shakily. "You think you own her?"
Dominic glanced at me just once. His eyes softened.
"No," he said quietly. "But I protect what matters."
His hand reached back and found mine. Fingers laced together firm, unyielding. My breath caught the simple intimacy of it.
Ethan stared at our joined hands like it was a knife in his chest.
"You're choosing him," he whispered.
"I'm choosing myself," I said, voice trembling but firm.
He stepped back, eyes glassy. "Then why does it feel like you're being taken from me?"
Dominic didn't answer. He guided me away, his hand warm and grounding in mine, leading me out into the open air like he was pulling me out of a storm.
Later that evening, Dominic took me somewhere quiet the rooftop garden above the old library. String lights glowed softly overhead. The city hummed below us, distant and unreal.
"You don't have to apologize for anyone else's pain," he said, leaning against the railing beside me. "Especially not when it's being used to cage you."
"I never wanted to hurt him," I whispered.
"I know," Dominic said. "That's why he's losing."
I looked at him sharply.
"Because you feel," he continued. "And men like him confuse love with ownership when they're afraid."
"And you don't?" I asked softly.
His jaw tightened. For a moment, the mask cracked.
"I'm worse," he admitted quietly. "Because I know exactly what I want and I still choose restraint."
He stepped closer. Not touching. Never touching unless I invited it.
"I think about you more than I should," he said. "I imagine what it would be like to pull you into me and never let go. To feel you trust me enough to fall."
My heart raced.
"But I won't," he added. "Not unless you ask."
The honesty shattered me.
I turned toward him, tears spilling. "I'm tired of being pulled apart."
His hands rose slowly, stopping inches from my waist, waiting.