Chapter 158| Every Name on the List

Allen discovered the particular shape of Myria’s own possessiveness almost by accident, flipping idly through the guild’s considerable scheduling system one quiet afternoon and noticing, for the first time in any deliberate way, exactly how thoroughly every appointment, every meeting, every unaccompanied errand that placed him near anyone outside the immediate family passed first through her careful, meticulous approval.

"You review all of these?" he asked, holding up the tablet, genuine curiosity rather than accusation coloring the question.

Myria glanced up from her own work, entirely unbothered by being caught. "Every one," she confirmed. "It’s efficient. I know your schedule better than anyone, which means I can identify conflicts, security concerns, or genuinely unnecessary demands on your time before they ever reach you directly."

"That’s not quite what I’m asking," Allen said gently. "I noticed the Hegeville development liaison request from last week. The one from that reporter wanting a private interview. It’s marked declined, but I never actually saw it."

Something flickered behind Myria’s composed expression, a rare, uncharacteristic flush of something almost like guilt. "I declined it on your behalf," she admitted. "It didn’t seem worth your time."

"Or?" Allen prompted gently, recognizing the deflection for exactly what it was.

Myria was quiet a long moment, setting her own work aside with visible, deliberate care. "Or I didn’t like the tone of her request," she admitted finally. "Considerably too familiar, for someone who’d never met you. I told myself I was simply managing your schedule efficiently. I’m not certain that’s entirely honest."

"Myria."

"I know how this sounds," she said, some of her usual composure fraying at the edges. "I’ve spent years building systems, protocols, careful oversight of everything that touches this family’s safety and wellbeing. Somewhere in that considerable effort, I think the line between protecting you and simply controlling who gets access to you has become less clear than I’d like to admit."

Allen studied her carefully, recognizing the genuine vulnerability behind an admission she clearly found uncomfortable to voice. "Can I ask you something honestly?"

"Always."

"Does it bother you? Realizing that about yourself?"

"Considerably," Myria admitted. "I don’t want to be someone who manages you like an asset requiring careful curation. That’s not love, that’s control wearing love’s considerable disguise."

"I don’t think it’s that simple," Allen said gently. "I think you’ve spent six years being the person who holds this entire family together through exactly that kind of careful, considerable management. It makes sense that the instinct doesn’t just switch off when it comes to me specifically."

"That’s a generous interpretation," Myria said.

"It’s an honest one," Allen countered. "I trust you completely, Myria. If you declined that interview because something about it genuinely felt wrong, I believe that instinct over whatever polished request the reporter actually sent. I just want you to feel like you can tell me when you’re making those calls, instead of quietly managing it and hoping I never notice."

Myria absorbed that with visible, considering weight. "I can do that," she said finally. "Though I suspect I’ll still decline things on your behalf occasionally, simply because I trust my own judgment more than I trust strangers’ intentions."

"I wouldn’t want you any different," Allen said honestly. "I just want honesty alongside the vigilance."

"Fair," Myria said, something warm finally breaking through her earlier discomfort. "For what it’s worth, I don’t regret declining the interview. I looked into her more thoroughly afterward. She’s written several considerably invasive pieces about other prominent Hunters’ personal lives. My instinct wasn’t wrong, even if my methods deserved more transparency."

"See, that’s exactly the honesty I mean," Allen said, drawing her close. "Tell me that from the start next time, and I’ll trust your judgment completely."

"Next time," Myria agreed, settling into his embrace with quiet, genuine relief. "I promise."

Allen held her for a while longer, understanding intimately that her particular expression of devotion, careful and controlling and fiercely protective all at once, came from exactly the same well as Irene’s fire and Vivian’s vigilance — a love so considerable it sometimes forgot to ask permission before acting on his behalf, and he found, turning the realization over, that he wouldn’t genuinely want to change a single, careful, possessive thing about it.

"Can I see the full list?" he asked eventually, curiosity finally overtaking his earlier gentleness. "Everyone you’ve declined on my behalf, going back however far you’ve kept records."

Myria hesitated, something almost sheepish crossing her composed features. "It’s a considerable list," she admitted.

"I’d still like to see it," Allen said, grinning now. "Purely out of curiosity."

"Fine," Myria said, pulling the record up with visible reluctance, and Allen scrolled through it with growing, delighted disbelief — months of carefully filtered requests, some legitimate business inquiries redirected to more appropriate channels, others, he suspected, simply people Myria’s own careful instincts had decided didn’t deserve unsupervised access to him at all.

"This is considerably more thorough than I expected," he said, laughing.

"I did warn you," Myria said, though her own small, private smile suggested she took no genuine shame in the list’s considerable length. "I told you I love thoroughly. I never said I loved simply."

"No," Allen agreed, drawing her close once more. "You never did. I wouldn’t want you any other way."

They sat together a while longer, the tablet finally set aside, and Allen found himself thinking back to the earliest days of their marriage, when Myria’s careful, considerable management had first begun revealing itself — a young woman who had, even then, taken it upon herself to shoulder every logistical burden their fledgling family carried, long before love had ever properly entered the equation between them.

"Do you remember," he said quietly, "the first time you rearranged my entire schedule without asking, back before we’d even properly fallen for each other?"

"I remember," Myria said, a faint, fond smile touching her lips. "You were furious with me for exactly one afternoon before you realized I’d actually saved you considerable, unnecessary grief."

"I was never actually furious," Allen admitted. "Just surprised. It didn’t take long to realize you were always operating from genuine care, even back then."

"It’s always been genuine care," Myria said softly. "Even when it looks like control. Even when I don’t always manage to separate the two as cleanly as I’d like."

"I know," Allen said, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. "And I love you exactly as thoroughly as you love me. Lists and all."