In a world ruled by fear, survival comes with a price.
When her brother's attempt to overthrow the Saviors fails, Tessa finds herself under Negan's watchful eye-protected, controlled, and dangerously close to the man she should hate. As violence, po...
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Tessa stepped into Negan's room with dread coiling tight in her chest.
His leather jacket was gone.
Tonight, he wore only a plain white T-shirt and worn jeans—casual, stripped down, and somehow far more intimidating than the armor he usually wrapped himself in. There was nothing theatrical about him now. Nothing to hide behind.
Lucille sat propped in a chair like a queen on her throne, angled just enough that it felt intentional. Watching.
In the center of the room, a small table waited.
Candles flickered softly, shadows dancing along the walls. Two plates of food steamed in the low light, the smell warm and rich.
Romantic.
If it didn't feel like a threat.
Negan's grin spread slowly as his eyes dragged over her from head to toe, deliberate and unapologetic.
"Damn, doll," he said, low and appreciative. "You look hot as always."
Tessa folded her arms over her chest, forcing distance where she could. "I'm aware. No need for your commentary."
He chuckled, clearly enjoying himself, and dragged out a chair with exaggerated flair. "That attitude of yours?" he said, gesturing for her to sit. "Makes me ten times more into you."
She ignored him and sat anyway, spine stiff, shoulders squared.
Negan drifted toward a shelf lined with bottles, fingers grazing glass until he found what he wanted. Tessa's eyes followed the movement despite herself—the stretch of his arms, the ink curling along his skin, the casual confidence in the way he moved.
She hated herself for noticing.
He was exactly the kind of man she might've fallen for once.
If he weren't a complete psychopath.
"Staring, are we?" he drawled without turning around.
She snapped her gaze away. "Relax. I was admiring your collection."
He glanced back at her with a knowing grin, holding up a bottle of bourbon. "Years of scavenging pays off. Want some?"
"Scavenging?" she echoed dryly. "You mean stealing." She paused, then sighed. "And yes. Something strong. Strong enough to forget this horrendous night."
He raised a brow—half amused, half offended—before pouring two generous glasses.
"You know," he said, sliding one toward her, "if you loosened up a little, you might actually enjoy yourself. But nah... you gotta walk around like you've got a stick up your ass."
Tessa snatched the drink, took a sharp sip that burned all the way down, and set it on the table with a hard clink.
"What exactly are we supposed to talk about?"
"Oh, first?" Negan leaned closer, forearms braced on the table, voice dropping into something intimate and dangerous. "You could admit your undeniable attraction to me."
A sharp, humorless laugh burst from her. "You're delusional."
"Oh, sweetheart..." His eyes locked onto hers, dark and unblinking. "You can deny it all you want, but I see the way you look at me."
She crossed her arms tighter. "If hatred counts, sure." She lifted her plate skeptically. "And how do I even know you didn't poison the food?"
Negan's grin thinned, his tone turning cold in an instant.
"If I wanted you dead," he said quietly, "you'd be six feet under already."
The truth of it shut her up.
She lowered the plate and finally twirled a small amount of spaghetti onto her fork, every movement cautious.
"Cat got your tongue?" he asked, smirking.
Tessa sighed. "Fine. You win. I'll try not to be a complete bitch tonight." She shot him a look. "Even though you absolutely deserve it."
Their glasses clinked softly.
"Cheers," she muttered.
The silence that followed was thick—charged, uncomfortable, alive with things neither of them wanted to say.
Tessa rested her chin in her palm, watching him despite herself. Watching the way his jaw worked as he drank. The way his eyes tracked her even when he pretended not to.
Against her better judgment, the question slipped out.
"What's your story?"
Negan froze.
The cocky mask didn't fall completely—but it cracked.
He swirled his bourbon slowly, eyes fixed on the amber liquid like it held answers.
"You know..." he said after a moment, voice quieter, "we're a lot alike."
Tessa scoffed softly. "I doubt that."
But he shook his head, expression darker now. Serious.
"We both know loss," he continued. "The kind that tears you apart. Changes who you are. The kind you don't come back from."
His voice dipped lower.
"I was married once."
That stopped her.
"To the most beautiful woman in the damn world."
Tessa's faint smile faded. She'd never imagined Negan speaking about anyone with tenderness.
"I was a shitty husband," he admitted, jaw tightening. "Cheated on her. Took her for granted." He swallowed. "Before all this, she got cancer. Couldn't afford the meds. And after the world fell?" He let out a breath. "There wasn't enough medicine anywhere."
He paused, staring down at his glass.
"One day I went out to try to find more. By the time I got back..." His voice roughened. "...she was gone. Overdosed on her last pills."
Tessa's chest tightened painfully.
"And then," he added quietly, "she came back."
The room felt smaller.
The brutality. The arrogance. Beneath it all, she finally saw something raw.
Guilt. Regret. A grief he didn't know how to survive.
"What was her name?" Tessa asked softly.
Negan's jaw worked before he finally said it.
"Lucille."
His eyes flicked briefly toward the bat in the chair.
And suddenly, everything about him made a terrifying kind of sense.
