I’ll never hurt you
Austin's POV
It was lunchtime, and the entire floor was empty. The silence was deafening, but my mind was anything but quiet. I couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened. Dora had been sitting there, so close to me, and I’d lost control. The way she’d looked at me, her wide eyes, her trembling lips—it had stirred something dark and possessive inside me. Something I couldn’t tame. But then she’d mentioned the CCTV cameras, and reality came crashing down. I’d pulled away, my sanity clawing its way back to the surface. I couldn’t believe what I’d almost done. What I’d wanted to do.
She’d bolted from the cabin like a deer escaping a predator. And I’d let her go. What else could I do? I was a mess of guilt, anger, and regret.
Later, when I watched the CCTV footage, I felt sick. There was no audio, but I didn’t need it. I could see it all in her face—the way she’d smiled, the way she’d moaned softly as she tasted the food. It was innocent, but to me, it had felt like a spark that ignited a wildfire.
I hated myself for it.
I love her. I do. But I scare her.
“Don’t be afraid, Dora,” I’d told her once. “I’ll never hurt you.”
But she’d looked at me with those big, fearful eyes and said, “You become a different person when you’re angry. That scares me. I don’t want to be afraid of you, Austin.”
Her words had cut deeper than she could ever know.
“I’m possessive about you,” I’d admitted. “I can’t help it. I get angry when anyone touches you.”
“You should trust me,” she’d said softly.
“I trust you more than I trust myself,” I’d replied. “But you’re naive, Dora. You don’t know how men can be.”
And now, here we were. Me, drowning in guilt. Her, locked in a bathroom cubicle, crying because of me.
I found out later that she’d left the office early, claiming she wasn’t feeling well. I knew better. I’d scared her. Again.
When I stopped by her apartment that evening, I saw Douglas walking out. My blood boiled. Of course, she’d called him. Why wouldn’t she? He was everything I wasn’t—calm, steady, safe.
I drove away before I could do something stupid.
“Stop acting like a love-struck fool,” I muttered to myself. “You’re divorced. It’s over. Let her go.”
But letting go was easier said than done.
The next day, I avoided her. I couldn’t face her, not after what I’d done. Nathan took over her training, and I stayed in my cabin, trying to focus on work. But my mind kept drifting back to her.
Why did she affect me so much? Why couldn’t I just move on?
I didn’t have answers. All I knew was that being near her was like standing too close to a fire. It burned, but I couldn’t bring myself to step away.
The day before the presentation, I stayed late at the office. I didn’t have much to do, but I didn’t want to go back to my empty apartment. It was too quiet there. Too lonely.
I didn’t realize Dora was still there too until I saw her walking toward the elevator. She looked tired, her shoulders slumped, her steps slow. I hesitated, then followed her.
The elevator doors were about to close when I reached them. I hit the button, and they slid open again. She stepped inside, her head down, and then froze when she saw me.
For a moment, neither of us moved. Then she tried to step out, but the doors closed before she could.
The air between us was thick with tension. She tapped her foot nervously—a habit I remembered from our time together. It was something she did when she was anxious.
I wanted to say something, to apologize, but the words stuck in my throat.
Then the elevator jerked to a stop, and the lights flickered. Dora screamed, and the next thing I knew, we were plunged into darkness.
“Dora!” I called out, fumbling for my phone. I turned on the flashlight and found her huddled in the corner, her arms wrapped around herself, her breathing ragged.
She was claustrophobic. I’d forgotten.
“Dora, listen to me,” I said, crouching beside her. “Take a deep breath. In… and out. Follow me.”
She clung to my coat, her face buried in my neck. I could feel her trembling, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
“That’s it,” I said, rubbing her back gently. “Just breathe. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Slowly, her breathing evened out, but she didn’t let go. I didn’t want her to.
“Remember our first date?” I asked, trying to distract her. “You told me you didn’t want to marry me.”
She nodded against my shoulder, her grip on my coat tightening.
“I said okay,” I continued, “but deep down, I was terrified. Because the moment I saw you, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”
She didn’t respond, but I could feel her relaxing.
“Do you think that was cliché?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.
She nodded again, and I chuckled. Even in the middle of a panic attack, she was honest.
But then her hand slipped from my coat, and I realized she’d fallen asleep. I held her close, my heart aching.
“I was scared to lose you then,” I whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear me. “And I’m still scared to lose you now. I thought I could live without you, but I can’t. These past months have been torture. But I know you can’t be happy with someone like me. So if letting you go is what it takes, I’ll do it. Even if it kills me.”
I held her until the emergency team arrived, my mind racing with thoughts I couldn’t silence.
I loved her. I always had. But love wasn’t enough. Not when I kept hurting her.
The next day, I avoided her again. It was better this way. For both of us.
But as I sat in my cabin, staring at the walls, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was making the biggest mistake of my life.
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