She wants to leave me

She wanted to leave him.

After everything—after the kiss, the connection, the heat that still lingered on his skin—Jade sat across from him like it meant nothing, and asked him to help her go.

He hadn't expected this.

Not at all.

When he called for dinner, he had meant to speak with her privately.

To offer her peace.

To ease the tension that had crackled between them like lightning in the bathhouse.

He even considered apologizing—not for kissing her, never that—but for how it happened. For frightening her. For making her feel cornered.

He didn't want her afraid of him.

He wanted her to understand him.

But then Kiya appeared—uninvited, unannounced—like a curse from a past he no longer wanted.

And everything unraveled.

He had watched Jade grow still and cold the moment Kiya opened her mouth. Watched the spark in her dim as the noblewoman's words sliced like perfume-laced daggers. He hadn't planned for a confrontation, let alone one in front of her.

By the time he dismissed Kiya, Jade had already retreated behind her walls again.

And now—this.

She looked him in the eye and told him to help her leave.

Not with pleading. Not with vulnerability.

With anger.

With conviction.

Rameses didn't speak. Couldn't.

Something inside him had gone silent and hot, like oil beneath flame.

She had haunted his thoughts for days—her voice, her face, the way her very presence stirred something ancient inside him.

He hadn't even touched her until today. And now that he had—now that he knew—she wanted to disappear?

She couldn't leave.

She wasn't meant to leave.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at her through a gaze that had darkened with something deeper.

He didn't understand what this was.

But he knew one thing:

She's mine.

Not because she belonged to him. Not in title or duty or possession.

But because something—in his blood, in his soul—told him that she had always been his.

And now she wanted to run?

His hands curled into fists beneath the table. He wouldn't let it happen. He couldn't.

Even if he had to chain fate itself.

Rameses inhaled slowly, steadying the fire boiling under his skin.

Not even his enemies have seen him this fueled with madness and rage.

It would take hundreds of his enemy's corpses to finally cool him down. And that if the heat he feels inside cools down at all.

But he couldn't let her see it. 

Not the rage. Not the obsession. Not the way she'd just wounded his pride in front of the gods.

She was watching him—waiting.

So he did what he did best.

"Of course," he said calmly, his voice smooth and unshaken. "If that's what you want, I'll help you."

Jade blinked, clearly not expecting him to agree so easily.

"But I can't arrange it now," he added. "Not immediately."

He reached for his goblet, as if this conversation was no more unusual than discussing trade routes.

"There are negotiations underway with Nubian emissaries. Tensions at the southern border are rising. I can't send my best men chasing mysteries in the desert while our borders are vulnerable." 

He paused just long enough to let that sink in, then continued, "But once things stabilize, I'll allocate the resources you need to… find your way home."

Jade hesitated as she heard that. The logic was sound. His tone was composed. It all made sense.

"I'll keep my word," he said, looking her directly in the eyes. "I always do."

Jade nodded, slowly. She didn't thank him.

And that was fine.

Because she believed him. That was enough.

What she didn't know—what she couldn't know—was that there were no emissaries.

No unrest.

For now. At least.

Only a Pharaoh who had just decided that fate could be stalled, twisted, rewritten—if it meant keeping her a little longer.

Long enough to make her stay.

***

He said it so calmly.

"Of course. If that's what you want, I'll help you."

Jade stared at him, startled. She hadn't expected him to agree so easily—especially not after how coldly she'd thrown her request in his face. 

No resistance. No fight. Just… acceptance.

Too smooth. Too composed.

What's the catch?

"But I can't arrange it now," he added. "Not immediately."

There it was.

She folded her arms slowly as he explained—something about Nubian emissaries, tensions at the southern border, priorities. He said it all like a ruler would. 

Cool. Unflustered. Perfectly reasonable.

And yet…

Something about it didn't sit right.

He was too calm. Too careful. 

Like a man who'd already decided the outcome, and was now simply guiding her into believing it was her own idea.

Still, she couldn't argue with it. Not really.

She wasn't from this world. She didn't know what was urgent and what wasn't. If he was telling the truth, then pushing back might make things worse.

And after the day she'd had—the bathhouse, Kiya, this dinner, that kiss—her brain felt too foggy to argue.

She gave a small nod.

Not in agreement. Just acknowledgement.

"I see," she said quietly.

She didn't thank him.

And she definitely didn't believe him entirely.

But she didn't have the energy to fight anymore. Not tonight.

If this bought her time to figure things out on her own—so be it.