They had it out properly that night, in Ivy's apartment, both of them too exhausted to perform the careful diplomacy they usually managed with each other.

"I'm not trying to control you," Sterling said, pacing the small space of her living room like it was too small to hold whatever he was feeling. "I need you to understand that. This isn't about permission."

"It felt like it."

"Then let me say it more clearly." He stopped, turning to face her fully. "I need to know what's happening to you, Ivy. Not because I think you can't handle it. Because I've watched what happens when people close to me keep things...