Dr. Sarah Chen's office was the kind of space designed to feel safe. Soft lighting. Comfortable chairs. Abstract art that meant nothing and everything. A clock that ticked too loudly.
Liam hated it.
He'd been coming here for eight weeks. The contract required weekly therapy. Elara's clause. Her condition for access to Leo.
He'd treated it like a business obligation. Show up. Say the right things. Get the signature proving attendance.
Today was different.
Today he couldn't sit still.
"Liam." Dr. Chen's voice was calm. Patient. The voice of someone trained to handle volatility. "You've been pacing for five minutes. Would you like to sit down?"
"No."
"Okay. Can you tell me what's bothering you?"
Everything. Nothing. The fact that he'd kissed Elara and she'd kissed him back and then pushed him away. The fact that he could still taste her. The fact that he'd won and lost in the same breath.
"I kissed her." The words came out sharp. Aggressive. "I kissed Elara. I couldn't stop myself."
Dr. Chen's expression didn't change. "When did this happen?"
"Last night. At the gallery. She was—" He stopped. Ran a hand through his hair. "She was angry. About the photo. About the media circus. Blaming me."
"And you kissed her."
"Yes."
"Without her consent?"
The question landed wrong. "She didn't—she didn't say no."
"That's not the same as yes."
"I know that." He did. He'd spent five years learning about consent and boundaries and all the ways he'd violated both when he was married to her. "I asked her to push me away. To tell me to stop. She didn't."
"What did she do?"
Nothing. Everything. She'd stood there with her back against the wall, looking at him like she was drowning, and let him close the distance.
"She let me," he said finally.
"And after?"
"She pushed me away. Told me to leave. Called it a mistake."
Dr. Chen made a note. "How do you feel about that?"
"How do I feel?" He laughed. Harsh. "Triumphant. Terrified. Like I just won and lost everything in the same moment."
"Explain."
"She kissed me back." He didn't know why he was admitting this. Why it mattered that this stranger knew. "For a second—maybe less—she gave in. Stopped fighting it. Kissed me like—" He stopped.
"Like what?"
"Like she still feels it. This thing between us that won't die."
"And that makes you feel triumphant."
"Yes."
"And terrified."
"Yes."
"Why terrified?"
Liam stopped pacing. Looked at the clock. The abstract art. Anywhere but at Dr. Chen's too-knowing eyes.
"Because I could lose her anyway."
"To?"
"Alexander Reed. The man who's been there for five years. Who didn't call her a pet or plan to divorce her or miss the first five years of his son's life. The man who actually deserves her."
The admission tasted like ashes.
Dr. Chen leaned forward slightly. "That's the first time you've said that."
"Said what?"
"That someone else might deserve her. That you might not."
Liam's jaw tightened. "I've always known I don't deserve her. That's not new information."
"But you've been acting like you do. Like she belongs to you. Like reclaiming her is a right, not a privilege."
"I'm not—" He stopped. Because she was right. "I've been trying to prove I've changed. That I'm not the man I was."
"By kissing her without asking?"
The judgment was implicit.
"I asked her to push me away."
"That's not the same as asking permission to kiss her."
"She wanted it—"
"Did she say that?"
"Her body said it. The way she looked at me. The way she—" He stopped. Breathed. "I'm not a rapist. I didn't force her."
"I'm not suggesting you did. I'm asking you to examine why you felt entitled to kiss her when she was angry and vulnerable and trapped against a wall."
The words landed like accusations.
"I didn't think about entitlement. I thought about losing her."
"To Reed."
"Yes."
"And kissing her was about claiming her before he could."
Yes. No. Maybe.
"It was about—" What? Desperation? Possession? The terrible fear that if he didn't act, she'd choose safety over him? "It was about making her remember. What we were. What we could be again."
"By force."
"Not force. Persuasion."
"Is there a difference when someone is backed against a wall?"
Liam sank into the chair. Suddenly exhausted.
"I don't know. I thought—I thought if she felt what I felt, if she remembered the chemistry, she'd stop running."
"And did it work?"
"She kissed me back. Then called it a mistake. Then Reed walked in and saw everything. Then she—" He stopped. "I don't know if it worked. I don't know if I made everything better or destroyed what little chance I had."
"What do you want me to tell you?"
"That I didn't ruin it. That kissing her was the right move. That she'll come around."
"I can't tell you that."
"Then what good are you?"
Dr. Chen smiled slightly. "I'm here to help you understand yourself. Not to validate your choices."
Liam leaned back. Stared at the ceiling.
"What were you feeling?" she asked. "In the moment before you kissed her. What was the dominant emotion?"
He didn't want to answer. Didn't want to dig into the mess of feelings that had driven him to crowd her against that wall.
But something about this space—the safety of it, the confidentiality, the fact that Dr. Chen had heard worse—made him honest.
"Desperation." His voice came out rough. Raw. "I was feeling desperate. Like if I didn't do something—if I didn't make her see, make her feel—I would lose her. To the man who actually deserves her. The safe choice. The good man who's been there for five years while I was building empires and missing everything that mattered."
The words hung in the air.
"That's your insecurity talking," Dr. Chen said gently.
"It's the truth talking."
"Is it? Or is it the voice that tells you you're not worthy of love unless you dominate and control?"
Liam's hands fisted. "I'm not trying to control her."
"Aren't you? You manipulated her into attending your gala. You chose her publicly for the opening dance. You showed up at her gallery unannounced. You kissed her when she was angry and vulnerable. Every action has been about asserting your claim."
"I'm not—" He stopped. Because she was right. Every move he'd made had been calculated to corner her. To eliminate her options. To make her choose him by removing the ability to choose anything else.
"I'm trying to win her back."
"By removing her agency."
"That's not—"
"Liam." Dr. Chen's voice was firm. "You can't force someone to love you. You can't manipulate them into forgiveness. You can't kiss away five years of pain."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
"Let her choose. Actually choose. Without pressure. Without manipulation. Without backing her into corners—literal or metaphorical—and demanding she admit she still wants you."
"And if she chooses Reed?"
"Then you accept it."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because she's mine." The words came out primal. Possessive. "She's always been mine. And I'm finally—finally—becoming someone who might deserve her. Someone Leo could be proud of. I can't lose her now."
"Even if keeping her means forcing her?"
"I'm not forcing—"
"You kissed her without explicit consent. You manipulated her into situations where refusing you makes her look weak. You're using Leo as leverage. How is that not force?"
The accusation hit like a slap.
"I love her."
"Love doesn't justify control."
"I'm not trying to control her. I'm trying to remind her we were real. That what we had was worth fighting for."
"And what about what she wants? What she needs?"
"She wants safety. She wants the easy choice. The man who won't hurt her."
"And that's wrong?"
"It's not enough! Safe isn't the same as right. Comfortable isn't the same as true. She's choosing Reed because she's afraid of me—of us—of what we could be if she was brave enough to risk it."
"So you're punishing her for self-preservation."
"I'm not punishing her. I'm fighting for her."
"By removing her choices."
Liam stood abruptly. "This is pointless."
"Is it? Because you came in here agitated and unsure. Now you're defensive and angry. That tells me we're close to something you don't want to examine."
"What? That I'm a controlling bastard? I already know that."
"No. That you're terrified. Genuinely terrified. That even with all your growth, all your therapy, all your attempts to change—you're still not enough. That she'll choose the good man over you, and you'll have to live with knowing you earned that rejection."
The words hit center mass.
Liam sank back into the chair.
"Yes." His voice cracked. "Yes. I'm terrified that I've spent eight weeks in therapy, months proving I can be a father, five years trying to become someone better—and it still won't be enough. That she'll look at me and Reed side by side and choose him. Because he's never called her a pet. Never planned to divorce her while she was carrying his child. Never made her feel like she was disposable."
"And that possibility makes you desperate."
"Yes."
"Desperate enough to act without thinking about consequences."
"Yes."
Dr. Chen nodded slowly. "That's growth, Liam. Admitting the fear instead of burying it under control."
"Doesn't feel like growth. Feels like weakness."
"Vulnerability isn't weakness. It's courage. And if you want Elara to choose you—really choose you—you have to let her see this version. Not the man who corners her at her gallery. The man who's terrified he's not enough but trying anyway."
"She saw me. Last night. She felt what I felt."
"And then she pushed you away. Because feeling chemistry isn't the same as trusting you with her heart again."
"So what do I do?"
"You give her space. You let her process. You prove through action, not words or kisses, that you've changed. And you accept—really accept—that she might still choose Reed. That your growth can't be conditional on winning her back."
"I can't accept that."
"Then you haven't changed as much as you think you have."
The words were a gut punch.
Liam stood. "We're done."
"We have twenty minutes left."
"I said we're done."
He walked out.
Left Dr. Chen's office. Left the soft lighting and the abstract art and the too-loud clock.
But her words followed him into the elevator, into his car, into the space between breaths:
You can't force someone to love you.
Love doesn't justify control.
Vulnerability isn't weakness.
He sat in his car outside the building, hands on the steering wheel, breathing through the panic.
He'd kissed Elara to prove something. To claim her. To remind her she was his.
And in doing so, he'd proven exactly what she feared: That he hadn't changed at all.
That he was still the man who took what he wanted without asking.
That five years and eight weeks of therapy hadn't killed the monster.
Just taught it better strategies.
His phone buzzed. Text from David: Sir? Board meeting in 30.
He ignored it.
Typed a message instead. To Elara:
I'm sorry. For last night. For pushing. For not giving you the choice I should have. You were right. It was a mistake. I'll give you space. —L
He stared at the message.
Then deleted it.
Because even that was manipulation. An apology designed to make her feel guilty for pushing him away. Designed to make her question her own anger.
He couldn't even apologize without trying to control the narrative.
Dr. Chen was right.
He hadn't changed enough.
And that terrified him more than losing Elara ever c