Entirely new chapter! Not in the previous version.

A treat for not posting the week prior to this. Now I'm off to work on my other stories ❤️

1.9k words ❤️
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(y/n)'s POV
If there is one thing about me that everyone must know, it's this—I fucking hate carrots.

I glanced down at the plate in-front of me, made up with the dinner Jackson had made. It had some of my favorites: lemon chicken, rice pilaf, and a Caesar salad with croutons. But then, there they were—those fucking carrots.

I shot them a fierce glare as steam wafted from their orange bodies. This felt like a cruel joke, especially since this dinner was meant to be his way of apologizing for what happened last week. This was his typical approach to making amends with me—not just through cooking, but also with small gestures like bringing me flowers, chocolates, or taking me out to dinner. He would even clean up the house, do the laundry, or surprise me with extravagant gifts. Think of it and he's done it.

It always felt so bitter-sweet to me, because even though I enjoyed it—a little, I also knew it was only temporary. I knew I shouldn't let myself get too comfortable with his softer side, the one I had fallen for. That's how he was when we met he had been sweet, kind, doting, and funny—the best person I had ever known. But after our engagement party, he had changed completely. It was as if he felt secure now that I had committed to forever.

"What's wrong?" Jackson asked sweetly.

I turned my gaze from the bright orange monstrosity and locked eyes with him, his hazel gaze steady and searching. I forced a smile, the kind that didn't quite reach my eyes. "It's nothing. Thank you, it looks wonderful." I planned to tuck the vegetables into my napkin when he wasn't watching. I didn't want a repeat of the last time I mentioned my dislike for carrots, if he even remembered that night. He had been drunk then. I never liked them before that night, I detested them after.

He nodded, taking a sip of the red wine he had poured for us. "You're welcome, baby." He set his glass down and started to dig into his meal. I picked at my salad, observing him closely, sensing he was about to say something. Over time, I had learned to sense it in the air when something weighed on his mind. After he swallowed his third bite, he looked up just as I was biting a crouton off my fork. "So, Anakin Skywalker is your patient." He stated.

There it is.

I exhaled sharply through my nose while chewing, then took a small sip of my wine. "Yes, but I don't think it's appropriate for me to talk about him here at home." I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a slight tremor in my hands, aware that he might interpret my words as defiance.

"I get that, but I really don't think he should be your patient. He's too dangerous, I'd much prefer you caring for someone else. Anyone else."

You're the dangerous one.

"He's restrained at the arms and legs whenever he's near me. I'm completely safe." A part of me knew that even if he were not in chains during our sessions, I would still be fine. Just like I was when I visited him in his cell.

Jackson still looked uneasy. "You know what kind of terrible things he's done, right?"

The murders, you mean? Yes, I know all about them. It struck me then that my wine glass was empty. I thought I had been sipping it slowly, but I was mistaken. "Half the people in that place have taken a life, Jackson."

He shook his head with intensity. "No, I'm referring to the darker dealings he's part of that never make the headlines. Drugs. Arms smuggling. Human trafficking; women and children sold into sexual slavery because of him."

I almost dropped my wine glass in disbelief.

Human trafficking? No, he couldn't be involved. Could he? If this were true, it would completely alter my view of him.

I nearly chuckled at that thought. Is that my limit? Human trafficking? Not murder?

His killings were justified.

But no murder should ever be justified.

"And you know this as a fact?" I asked, placing my empty glass down with a thud on the wooden table.

He nodded, a smirk almost forming on his lips, as if he felt he was winning me over. "Yes, his name is linked to numerous trafficking cases. I wouldn't be shocked if he's bought a few women himself." He rolled his eyes.

I stared at my plate, deep in thought. The idea of him being involved in something like that made my stomach churn, and I struggled to accept it. But I had to remind myself that I didn't really know him, only the parts he allows me to see.

"I'm not trying to control your career, baby," I flinched when I felt his hands on my shoulders, my heart racing as I imagined them creeping up to my neck and squeezing the life out of me. "I just don't want you getting mixed up with someone like that. What if he gets ahold of someone from the outside and puts a price on this beautiful face?" One of his hands moved to my cheek, caressing me gently, "My beautiful face."

I felt like I had only one answer on the tip of my tongue that would allow me to survive the night without another bruise, "I'll talk to my boss tomorrow."

His cold hands lingered where they were, and the room fell into an unsettling silence until he finally leaned down to kiss the top of my head. The sudden gesture making me jump, "That's my girl."

💜

It wasn't yet time for a session; it was breakfast for the patients. Anakin sat in his usual corner, all by himself, poking at his food without much interest. On his plate were eggs, pancakes, hash browns, and a small croissant with a pat of butter beside it.

He didn't notice me watching him, curious if someone like him could really be involved in something as terrible as human trafficking.

He tilted his head, gazing at the pancakes, then took his fork and flicked them off the plate, sending them tumbling to the floor. His eyes followed the pancakes as they fell, and that's when he finally noticed me.

A slow smile spread across his face as he set down the fork and stood up. "Have you been watching me?" he asked, walking toward me, stepping on the pancakes he had just discarded.

"That's a waste," I said, ignoring his question and nodding toward the food scattered on the floor.

He leaned against the bars that kept us apart, gripping them tightly as he rested his forehead between two of them. "Is this where you tell me about all the starving kids in other countries who would love to have carrot cake pancakes?" he asked, a grimace crossing his face. I must have reacted similarly because he added, "Not a fan either, huh?"

Let it stay on the floor.

"I can't stand anything that has to do with carrots."

He raised an eyebrow, "Hate is a strong word, sweetheart. Especially for a vegetable."

"I have my reasons," I replied, shrugging as I locked my gaze onto his striking blue eyes, searching for vile being beneath the surface that rapes, kills, and sells women and children. But I couldn't see it. Why couldn't I see it?

"Step back from the bars, Skywalker," a guard warned from nearby.

Anakin shot him a side glance before loosening his grip and taking a step back. "Care to explain why?" he asked, turning his attention back to me.

I chuckled softly and moved closer to the bars. "Is that really your question for today? You want to waste it on something so trivial?"

He nodded, his eyes roaming over me. "The tension in your body tells me it's not as trivial as it seems."

I lowered my eyes to the ground, haunted by a painful memory. "Six months ago," I started, still avoiding his gaze. I spoke softly, ensuring no one else could overhear us. "I decided to make dinner one evening—steak and potatoes, something simple that Jackson really liked. He had already drunk quite a bit that night and was restless, so I thought his favorite meal might help him be in a better mood." I noticed Anakin stepping closer to the bar, hanging on my every word. "After I placed his plate in front of him, he complained—said there were no vegetables. I hadn't been shopping lately and only had carrots. To please him, I cooked them up, seasoned them just the way he liked, and added them to his plate. He noticed I didn't have any on mine and made a remark about it. I told him I didn't like carrots and that I was fine with just the steak and potatoes." I finally met his eyes and was startled by how close he was, just a few inches apart. "He didn't take my answer well. He said that not eating vegetables was why I was so weak, and he insisted I eat them. I refused, and you know how he reacts when I say no." My voice dropped to a whisper, and I fought back tears. "He pushed me to the floor and forced them down my throat. They were still hot from the skillet, burning my mouth and throat so badly that I felt pain for over a week. But that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that he shoved them down so hard that I gagged and threw them back up. I choked on my own vomit that night, and the taste lingered in my mouth for days, while the smell stayed in the carpet for weeks."

That's why I can't stand carrots. That is why I consider the addition of them to his apology dinner to be some kind of sick joke.

For once, he seemed at a loss for words. For once, he looked taken aback, "Can't say you've gone through that, can you?"

"No," he murmured, gazing at me with—was it sympathy? "I can't say that I have."

"I have a question for you now," I steadied myself and stepped back from the bars to give us some space. We were too close, and I was surprised a guard hadn't intervened. I took his silence as a sign that I could ask, "Before you ended up here, were you involved in human trafficking?"

His expression changed instantly; he frowned and took a step back, disgust written all over his face, "Cancel our date for later, sweetheart." This time, the word that usually sounded endearing, sounded bitter.

I blinked, taken aback by his sudden outburst. "Why?"

"Because you fucking insulted me!" He slammed his fist against the bar, making it throb red as he pulled it back and started to walk away. He stopped, glancing back at me from the side, "And it hurts that you even believed it." Reaching his table, he angrily swept his entire breakfast onto the floor.

Two guards rushed over to him, trying to calm him down, and led him out of the room. I, along with the other patients, watched as he shouted every curse word imaginable.

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If anyone is like "damn, why is he so mad?" Perhaps he just doesn't like someone out there soiling his name that way 🤭