Growing up, my father would always drill into me that attachment meant weakness. Once you were attached to something, you were a weak man.

Well, I guess I’m a weak man.

But not in the sense of handling business. No. No, I make grown men cry for their mothers just at the snap of my fingers. I don’t waver. I don’t give second chances. I don’t take bullshit.

But with you?

God.

I am a weak man.

When we were together, I gave you the world. Not because you asked for it. You didn’t have to ask for it. I just wanted to.

If you simply glanced at something in a shop window, I had it purchased and wrapped before you could even blink.

If you said a man looked at you for too long at the park that morning, his photo was in the missing persons report by noon.

When the car stopped, I was out and opening your door before your pointer finger could even graze the handle.

I didn’t have to think about any of it. I just did it. Because I love you.

But you still left me.

You said you needed your independence and I was overbearing.

Bullshit.

But I let you go. It fucking killed me, but I let you go.

Because I knew you would realize how foolish you were being. I knew that you would be back in my arms before the end of the month!

…That was two months ago.

The left side of my bed is still cold.

But I’m not worried. No, I don’t worry. I just make plans.

I already had men assigned on protective detail for you. Obviously. Just because we broke up, I didn’t have them pull back. I simply had them do it in hiding.

This time, though, I also had them studying.

Any time I couldn’t be watching, they were watching and reporting back to me. Reporting anything negative that happened.

Because I couldn’t have you struggling, could I?

That would be cruel.

There’s this little, local owned bookstore in the city that you work at. It’s a pretty small place, so sometimes sales can be a little slow.

I might’ve placed a bulk order. Or two. Just to help out.

Last week one of my guys mentioned there was some guy always in there giving you a hard time, implying you’re clueless for not knowing what books he asks you for.

He doesn’t really come in anymore. Wonder why.

Earlier this month, a good friend of mine who owed me a favor took a peek into your checking account when rent was coming up. You were a little short.

Thankfully, your boss is a real sweet old lady, so kindly convincing her to add another zero to your paycheck wasn’t incredibly difficult.

Just little things. But it was for your own good.

You wanted your independence, and I’m giving it to you. Just…with some quiet assistance sometimes.

Currently, I’m in one of the corners of the bookstore, just watching between fantasy novels as you stock some new magazines. But I zoned out a little, that outfit just looked particularly spectacular on you today, and now you’re walking towards my section with suspicious eyes.

“Shit,” I mutter, turning and weaving through a few aisles in an attempt to escape before you see me. “Shit, shit shit shit shit-”

Although, you obviously know this place better than I do, because the next corner I turn has you standing there with crossed arms and a very unamused expression.

I screech to a halt in front of you, my brows raising. “Angel! Darling!” I chuckle awkwardly, running a hand through my hair and leaning against the closest shelf to hopefully appear nonchalant.

“Fancy seeing you here. How’ve you been?”