Then her eyes meet mine. And it’s there. My girl. She’s my girl. She might think she can hide her true thoughts behind carefully curated words, lift and reinforce that filter she uses for everyone else, but I know the truth. I can see through it, tear it to shreds and see what she’s too afraid to say. She’s mine. She’s also so fucking stubborn that I think if I tell her that, if I tell her she’s mine and I’ll cut the hands off any man who tried to change that with surgical precision, she’ll go insane. I could lose her. I need to make a plan. I need to make her see. She needs to know I’m all
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