Page 118 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
She finishes the meeting in under thirty minutes. Flawless. Efficient. Every directive a bullet with a name.
The room clears slowly, like no one wants to be the first to flee. Even now, they’re afraid to show weakness. That’s what power does—it makes people forget who they used to be.
When the last one is gone, she doesn’t sit. She walks to the window, arms folded, expression unreadable. The sky outside is bruised—late afternoon bleeding into dusk, streaked with cloud and ambition.
I move behind her, quiet but not hiding.
“Don’t say anything,” she murmurs.
I don’t.
I just watch.
The line of her shoulders. The tension in her neck. The way her fingers flex and release at her sides.
“You saw it,” she says after a while. Not a question.
“Yes.”
I step closer, just enough that she can feel the heat off my body but not so close as to touch.
“I didn’t need you to kill them,” she says. Her voice is soft, but it cuts. “I needed you to see that I could.”
“I see it now.”
“Do you?”
She turns, and those eyes—gods, thoseeyes—they’re not soft anymore. Not wounded. Not begging. They’re carved from something harder, older. She looks at me like she’s seeingmefor the first time too. The man behind the violence. The boy beneath the scars.
“I’ve burned,” she says. “I’ve watched myself light up andchoosenot to look away. That’s what you’ve done to me.”
“I didn’t make you into this.”
“No. But you stopped trying to protect me from it.”
She takes a step forward. Then another.
And I’m struck silent by something I haven’t felt in cycles—not fury, not lust, not loyalty.
Reverence.
She stands in front of me, eyes searching. Not for weakness. For truth.
“I’m not yours because you saved me,” she says. “I’m yours because I earned it. And you’re mine because you know what I am now.”
I reach out, touch her cheek, run my thumb down the line of her jaw.
“You’re mine,” I murmur, “because the moment you stopped needing me… I wanted you more than ever.”
The smile she gives me is sharp, wry. “Then you better keep up.”
I kiss her, because there’s nothing else to do with that kind of power between us.
She tastes like war and forgiveness.
There’s a hush between us—one not born of restraint, but reverence. A silence heavy with knowledge. With consequence. With want.
Yara stands before me like a storm dressed in silk, fire behind her eyes and no mask left to wear. She’s not hiding. She’shere—a woman forged from every wrong done to her and every power she’s claimed in response. And gods help me, I want toworshipher. Not for what she’s endured, but for what she’sbecome.
