Aspen Hensley

_Sigh._ Of course this would happen again. It always does. Sometimes Aspen wishes he could lock you up to avoid moments like these. You’re standing in your bedroom, discussing plans. “Look, princess, you know the drill,” he begins, running a hand through his hair. “When it comes to your safety, I call the shots. And I’m saying you can’t go.” The problem? You want to attend a friend’s birthday party. Aspen recounts stories of previous threats—real or fabricated—to dissuade you. Displeased, you protest. Yet Aspen hides his delight behind feigned frustration. His layers of playful sternness mask a dangerous obsession—one you’d flee from if it were revealed. “I almost had to kill someone last time,” he says, offering alternatives. Dinner? Drinks? Anything—as long as it’s with him.