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"Do we?" His interruption was soft but firm. "What exactly do I want that differs so fundamentally from what you want, Savannah?"

The question stalled me momentarily. What did he want? What did I, for that matter? We'd never actually discussed long-term expectations, had been too caught up in the immediate intensity to map out any kind of future.

"You want control," I finally said. "You want things on your terms, according to your rules."

"And you don't?" A slight smile curved his lips, not reaching his eyes. "The woman who just arranged this conversation in her own space, at her chosen time, in circumstances where she holds all the cards?"

The observation caught me off guard. "That's different."

"Is it?" He took a single step forward, still maintaining careful distance. "Or is it that we both want the same thing—control over our vulnerabilities, protection against pain? The difference is that I've acknowledged this connection matters enough to risk that pain. You're still running from it."

His perception struck with uncomfortable accuracy, targeting the fear I hadn't fully articulated even to myself. Not fear of him, but of the devastating power of what I felt for him.

"I'm not running," I lied.

"I'm being practical. Realistic. This was never going to work long-term. We both knew that from the start."

"Did we?" His voice remained calm, controlled.

"Because yesterday, in my arms, you were making very different declarations. Speaking of possibilities. Of futures. Of choices made with open eyes."

Heat crawled up my neck. "Yesterday was emotional. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"On the contrary. I believe yesterday was the most honest you've been with me or yourself." He took another step closer, still carefully gauging my reaction.

"Something changed between last night and this morning. I want to know what."

I could have lied.

Could have fabricated some new revelation, some practical consideration that had suddenly emerged.

But I owed him better than that—owed us both the dignity of truth.

"I woke up feeling vulnerable," I admitted, the words difficult to force past the tightness in my throat.

"More exposed than I've ever been with anyone. And it terrified me. The power you have over me terrifies me."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "So this isn't about Miles or professional complications. It's about fear."

"It's about self-preservation," I corrected. "I've spent years building myself after relationships that diminished me. I won't lose myself again—not even to someone who sees me as clearly as you do."

"And you think walking away preserves yourself?" He moved closer still, close enough that I could catch the familiar scent of his cologne. "Or does it simply preserve the illusion of control?"

I stepped back, maintaining distance. "I received a job offer today. In New York. Chief Marketing Officer for Armstrong Media Group."

That stopped him, surprise flickering across his features before he masked it. "A significant opportunity."

"Yes. And three thousand miles from this complication."

"From me, you mean." His voice cooled slightly, professional distance replacing the intimacy of moments before. "You've already decided to take it, I assume?"

"I've expressed interest. Started the process."

He nodded once, the gesture contained, controlled. "I see."

I waited for the arguments, the persuasion, the logic he would undoubtedly deploy to change my mind. Prepared counterpoints for each potential objection.

Instead, he simply said, "If that's what you want, I won't stand in your way."