Aubrey walked along the waterfront to clear her head. When the sounds of the ocean came back—wind in the pilings, gulls crying overhead, the distant slap of water against hulls—she found a quiet bench facing the harbor and sat, staring out into the ocean.
God, she was exhausted.
Not physically, but emotionally. Spiritually. The kind of tired that results from prolonged, compounded stress over time.
She replayed the conversation with Ian in bits and pieces:
I’m sorry.
I fell in love with you the first moment I saw you.
We’re going to be okay.
She closed her eyes.
She should have shut it down more firmly. What was she thinking? She entered the meeting scared, hoping he wouldn’t do anything in front of others. But as soon as he started talking about changing through psychotherapy, she was lost.
Instead of listening and being supportive, she had cried in public.
She had let him hold her.
She had asked about second chances.
And here she was, coming undone over Ian.
It wasn’t fair.
She had to rationalize it.
Ian was back in her life.
He was getting help.
He wasn’t a psychopathic stalker who wanted to destroy her.
He had met her on her terms and given her a clear strategy for his recovery.
While she had spent weeks bracing herself for a phone call in the middle of the night, he was journaling.
She let out a tired laugh at that.
Ian Henshaw III, journaling.
Who would have thought?
And then at some point during the conversation, her love for him had resurfaced.
Not the explosive, reckless attraction she’d tried to pretend wasn’t there from the beginning.
Something meaningful.
Something hopeful.
Something that would endure outside their relationship as doctor and patient.
She loved the version of him that could have been.
And now she was starting to see glimpses of the version he might become with professional help. Real help this time.
That was the scary part.
Because this change made everything complicated. Her feelings were conflicted.
If Ian had stayed cruel, manipulative, and unchanged, she could have told him to go to hell and filed that restraining order.
But now, he was trying to change for the better. She had to appreciate that. Love it, even.
She wiped her eyes again.
She thought about Foster.
About Hope.
About the dead wife in the attic.
About how every man in her life had an impossible mess for her to clean up.
She had built a career on helping these damaged men.
Somewhere along the way, she had forgotten to protect herself.
Aubrey stood with a feeling she hadn’t yet mastered: resolve.
She whispered to herself, barely audible over the water:
“You don’t get to save him.”
She repeated it.
“You don’t get to save him.”
But even as she said it, she knew the truth.
Part of her already wanted to try.
And that scared her more than anything Ian had ever done.
After Aubrey left the café, Ian ordered lunch.
“I’m getting her back,” he said under his breath.
The words surprised him.
His therapist, Dr. Addams, had taught him to accept his relationships as they happened. To let his partner breathe, to give them space. But he couldn’t get his conversation with Aubrey out of his head. So he would use it to manipulate the situation.
Even though Aubrey had changed.
The Aubrey he met today wasn’t the Aubrey he remembered, the soft one, the flirtatious one, the therapist who let things blur.
This Aubrey had boundaries. But even though she said she had them, she cried at the table and walked out. That was the part of her he would manipulate.
She’d walked away from him.
No one walked away from Ian Henshaw III.
He could still feel the warmth of her hand under his palm. Could still see the tears in her eyes when she talked about Foster. He hadn’t imagined that connection. It was real. It had always been real.
She was just scared.
People always were, right before they admitted to what they wanted.
He repeated the mantras Dr. Addams drilled into him:
I’m changing.
I’m learning.
I don’t manipulate anymore.
But beneath that careful internal monologue was something older and more stubborn.
Aubrey hadn’t closed the door.
She’d said for now.
She couldn’t stay away forever.
He stood and straightened his jacket, adopting the composed posture that had carried him through boardrooms and charity galas and court-appointed evaluations alike.
She thinks she’s choosing herself, he thought.
Good.
That means she’s finally strong enough to come back on her own terms.
And when she did?
He would be patient. He would listen. He would say all the right things.
This time, he wouldn’t force it.
He walked out of the café, already reframing the story in his head, not as an ending, but as the beginning of a longer game.
She wasn’t lost.
She was merely in motion.
And Ian had always been good at catching what he wanted.
He gave Aubrey a call.
Aubrey’s phone buzzed. She picked it up, instinctively, in case there was any news of Foster.
“Aubrey?” It was Ian. Aubrey froze for a moment. What should she say after hello? Now that the initial shock was over, she wanted to talk to him again.
“Yes, Ian.” She wanted to sound open, happy that he had called.
“Come over to my cottage tonight…please.”
Aubrey put her hand to her forehead. “Yes, Ian.”
Aubrey chided herself for giving in so quickly, but her feelings for Ian would not go away on their own.
At seven o’clock, Aubrey knocked on the door of Ian’s cottage. It was nicer than hers, she noticed as she nervously looked around.
Ian answered the door, looking casual, handsome as always.
“Come in,” Ian said, giving her a light peck on the cheek.
Aubrey surveyed the room, noting that the table had been set for dinner.
“My apologies,” Ian said. “I ordered dinner to save time. But I ordered a variety of dishes, so you could choose what you want. I did not order anything to try to control the situation. I tried to order dishes you might like, but I realized I didn’t know. My apologies.”
“It’s okay.” Aubrey was amused that now he was the one making the phone calls; he was the one making the apologies.
Aubrey admired the view from Ian’s window. “You always have a beautiful view wherever you go.”
“I would like to say something about the beautiful view right here, but I won’t,” Ian responded, lightheartedly. This was the man Aubrey loved.
“Glass of wine? I have several choices.”
Aubrey sat on the couch. “A glass of white, please. Any vintage will do.”
Ian brought her a glass of chilled chardonnay and sat next to her.
“Let’s not make a toast,” Aubrey said.
“That would be awkward,” Ian said, smiling.
The two of them spent their time talking about everything and nothing; the dinner went untouched. The wine kept flowing.
Ian leaned in for a kiss. Aubrey gave it to him.
Soon, they were entwining their tongues while they kissed, and touching each other with the same heavy passion they pursued whenever they were together. Between the two of them, it was hard to tell which one of them wanted the other more desperately.
Aubrey was special to Ian, and although Aubrey didn’t want to admit it, she was still strangely attracted to Ian as well.
Ian stood up and pulled Aubrey back to the bedroom. Maybe the wine had gone to Aubrey’s head, but she wanted Ian more than she ever wanted him before. Fuck tomorrow’s consequences. She would have him now!
Ian laid Aubrey on the bed, taking charge and pinning her down. He was kissing her neck with a hunger that he couldn’t seem to satisfy, and Aubrey relished it. This was how she wanted to be made love to, forcefully, with no apologies or hesitation.
Aubrey decided the moment she walked into Ian’s cottage that she was her own woman. She wanted this with Ian, and this was going to happen. Her choice.
Ian paused from kissing Aubrey’s neck so that he could push her top up to reveal her breasts. Aubrey wasn’t wearing a bra because she was on vacation, as Ian had noticed earlier while they were having coffee.
This was an exciting change from Dr. Aubrey Prentice, who always dressed for work or social occasions.
Ian raised himself and took off his own shirt, sparking Aubrey’s imagination. Even though Calder had a more defined physique, Ian was physically larger. Brawny. Rugged.
With their bare chests pressed together and Ian working on either side of her neck with his heavy kissing, Aubrey couldn’t wait any longer. Ian pulled Aubrey out of the bed, and they both quickly undressed.
When they got back into bed, Ian took no prisoners. He guided his erection into Aubrey’s wetness with a force that delighted her. He was pumping hard, holding Aubrey pinned down, showing no mercy or any signs of letting up.
This was how Aubrey enjoyed sex: to be completely desired and ravished. She felt her release coming too soon; she was swept away in the reality of Ian’s aggressiveness. She couldn’t stop it. She was crying out and coming hard.
Ian kept going. He wasn’t satisfied. Not yet. But a few more moments of thrusting had him shuddering and groaning as he released his load.
Exhausted and sated, they both lay there for a while until they could move again. Aubrey went to the bathroom, and Ian disappeared into the living room.
Aubrey was back in bed when he came back with two bottles of water. Ian got back into bed, and they both drank water until they were refreshed.
They lay there happy, content in each other’s arms.
Aubrey was the first to speak. “Ian, this was so nice. If only we could keep it going.”
“We can. I will keep going to my therapy, and we’ll work the rest out.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes we’re good together, and sometimes we aren’t,” Aubrey said.
“We can figure out how to be good together,” Ian said, stroking her hair.
“How are we going to do that?”
“We make a commitment.”
Ian reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a box. It was the engagement ring. He opened the box and presented it to her.
“Aubrey, now that we’ve worked out our differences, will you marry me?”
The moment, the evening, the whole relationship was ruined with one question.
“What the fuck, Ian?” Aubrey was furious. What the fuck are you thinking?”
“Aubrey, I want a commitment from you. I love you. I want to be with you forever. You can set all the rules. I thought that’s what you wanted.”
Aubrey got out of bed and started gathering her clothes.
“What I wanted?” Aubrey was fuming. “What are you, a jackass? What did you think sleeping with me meant? I mean, I was open to discussing possibilities for a lasting relationship, but don’t you get it?”
There was an anger surfacing in Ian’s eyes.
“Don’t you understand, you prick?” Aubrey went on. “Do you think marrying me means letting me choose what I want to eat for dinner?”
Aubrey was pulling on her clothes.
“Are you quite through?” Ian was back to his detached, smug self.
“No, I am not through,” Aubrey said, putting on her shoes. “You think you can say all the right things, give me an orgasm, and then demand I marry you?”
“I didn’t demand you marry me; I asked. Most women would be thrilled,” Ian said coolly.
“I am not most women!” Aubrey grabbed her handbag.
“That’s why I like you.”
“I never want to see you again. Don’t ever text, call, write, or accidentally run into me ever again!” Aubrey opened the front door of the cottage and slammed it behind her.
An old woman stood on the sidewalk, looking perplexed.
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