Page 35 of They Are Mine

I smile back.

We step out, walking toward the building, his keys jingling in his hand.

I tilt my head just slightly. Time it just right. “You know,” I murmur, careful, soft, easing into it, “If you want, we can go to my place again. I’ll cook.”

I keep my voice light. Like it’s casual. Like I’m not guiding him exactly where I want him.

Noah glances over, lips quirking up. “I can order pizza.”

Sweet boy.

“That sounds good,” I say, because I don’t argue with him. Because I agree, reinforce, let him think he’s making choices.

Poor baby. I bet he orders a lot of pizza. His days of takeout are almost over.

He’s going to have home-cooked meals, a warm bed, someone who adores him.

I’ll take such good care of him.

He reaches the door, unlocking it, and turning back to me.

“It’s not much,” he says, watching me, gauging my reaction.

Like it matters.

Like this is a normal night.

“But this is home,” he adds.

Not anymore, love.

And then, he pushes the door open.

I let my breath catch.

I let my hand fly to my mouth.

I let my eyes go wide with horror.

I play the part.

“Oh my God, Noah,” I say.

His body locks up beside me.

He stares. Eyes flickering, brain struggling to catch up.

Books torn. Furniture gutted.

And that’s the moment it happens.

His entire world shifts.

Noah changes.

Because he stops thinking about his apartment, his things, his loss.

And he starts thinking about me.

---