Uncertainty

Hannah sat at the living room table like she was waiting for him to decide something important.

Lukas leaned beside the doorway with his back against the wall, watching her in silence. Ever since she touched him, he’d kept his distance. Even harmless thoughts felt dangerous now.

She would do anything he asked.

That was the problem.

Outwardly he still looked composed. Cold, even.

But his hands betrayed him. His fingers dug hard into his own arms like he needed physical restraint to stop himself from reaching for her again.

Hannah turned toward him.

“Say something.” Her voice stayed calm, soft enough to make everything worse.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew they weren’t true.

Hannah looked at him with that impossible openness again. “Then make me leave.”

Lukas let out a short, humorless laugh.

Right.

Because that option had worked out beautifully so far.

Late afternoon light spilled through the windows, tracing the outline of her body beneath the thin fabric of her dress. She was still barefoot. Hair slightly messy. Somehow, she looked like she belonged here.

That realization hit harder than it should have. He wiped damp palms against his jeans and blinked slowly.

One small impulse.

That was all it would take.

She’d leave quietly. Maybe confused. Maybe hurt. But she would leave.

And then he could go back to being exactly what he planned to become here:

Undisturbed.

Alone.

Safe.

His stomach tightened. Funny how safety suddenly felt a lot less appealing if it meant losing her.

When he didn’t answer, Hannah spoke again.

“Why do you look at me like I should be afraid of you?”

“Maybe you should go,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her.

One of his arms twitched forward instinctively, like his body wanted to stop her from moving before his brain made the decision. He **** the movement to die halfway. Then he looked away.

For the first time since meeting her, his voice shook slightly.

“This isn’t real.”

Hannah frowned. “What isn’t?”

Slowly he lifted his eyes back to hers.

There was nothing soft in his expression now.

“You.”

The word settled heavily between them.

Lukas searched her face afterward like he was looking for evidence of something he couldn’t define anymore. Some sign that this—her feelings, her presence, the way she looked at him—existed independently of what he had done to her mind.

Hannah only watched him quietly.

And somehow that made his heart pound even harder.

The certainty he’d built his entire life around suddenly felt fragile as smoke. He’d spent years believing control meant safety. That isolation meant strength. Maybe it only meant nobody stayed long enough to see what he really was.

Lukas closed his eyes.

He could still send her away.

Clean break. Erase the damage. Disappear again before this mistake became something irreversible.

Or he could keep her here.

She’d leave her husband. Stay with him. Love him exactly the way he wanted.

And he would never know if any of it had ever truly belonged to her.

That was the part destroying him.

He wanted the real Hannah. Not a version shaped by his hands. Which made everything infinitely more complicated.

When Lukas opened his eyes again, she was standing directly in front of him now, perfectly still, waiting.

Slowly, carefully, he lifted a hand and brushed his fingers against her cheek.

“You should go,” he whispered again.

Hannah placed her hand gently over his and leaned into the touch.

Lukas lowered his forehead against hers.

Then, quietly enough that it almost sounded painful, he whispered:

“Tell me it’s real.”