“Your new accommodations.” Remy’s voice carries that familiar cultured edge as he gestures toward an open door.
I count three security cameras on our short journey from his living room—one above the elevator, another at the hallway junction, and the third angled toward what appears to be his home office. “Quite the surveillance setup. Safety concerns, or have you developed new interests while I was gone?”
His jaw tightens.Good.
The guest room spreads before me, bigger than my entire apartment. A king-sized bed dominates one wall while floor-to-ceiling windows offer a vertigo-inducing view of Chicago’s glittering skyline.
“The police will clear your apartment soon. I can have someone collect your belongings—”
“No.” I drop my duffel by the bed. “I packed what matters. Though I hope you have a washer, or this arrangement might get interesting.”
“That would be a security risk, wouldn’t it?” His mouth curves, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
I wander to the windows, keeping him in my peripheral vision. Forty floors up, the city looks like a circuit board of lights and shadows. A perfect metaphor for the man behind me.
“This will be your sanctuary,” he says, filling the doorframe with his presence. “You’ll be safe here.”
I turn, meeting his gaze. “Interesting word choice. Sanctuary.” The air between us crackles with unspoken accusations. “Most sanctuaries don’t come with surveillance cameras.”
His dark eyes hold mine, and for a moment, I see a flash of the man who once made me forget every rule I set for myself. “You lost the right to privacy when you accepted my protection, Eve.”
“First rule.” Remy’s voice fills the room with that familiar authority that used to make lesser men squirm. “You don’t leave the penthouse without my knowledge and escort.”
I track his movements as he prowls the space, noting exits and angles like the control freak he’s always been. Eight years have honed that edge of his, making it sharper, more lethal.
“And if there’s a fire?”
His mouth tightens. “Then you’ll have an escort through the flames.”
He pulls out an iPhone, pristine in its packaging. Of course he already has one ready. “Your new phone. It’s configured with necessary contacts and restrictions.”
I accept it, keeping my expression neutral despite the urge to throw it at his head. “Restricted how?”
“Limited calling capabilities. Monitored internet access.” He ticks off each point like items on a contract. “Regular check-ins.”
“You mean tracking.”
“I mean keeping you alive.” His dark eyes lock onto mine. “Unless you’d prefer to take your chances with whoever trashed your apartment?”
The reminder of my violated home space stings, but I refuse to let him see it. “What else?”
“I’ll need your personal phone and laptop. Security measures.”
Here it is—the first real test. I retrieve my decoy phone from my bag, which I prepared for this scenario. When I hand it over, his fingers brush mine. The contact sends an unwanted sparkthrough my skin, and from the slight narrowing of his eyes, he feels it, too.
My laptop follows—an older model I cleaned specifically for this purpose. He’ll find nothing useful on either device, but the show of compliance will buy me space to maneuver.
“Anything else?” I ask, injecting just enough defiance to maintain my character while appearing to yield to his authority.
“We’re just getting started.” The ghost of a smile plays at his lips, and I recognize the dangerous glint in his eyes. He isn’t just laying down rules—he’s savoring every moment of this twisted reunion.
I perch on the edge of the bed, watching Remy settle at the desk with my laptop. His fingers move across the keyboard with the same methodical precision I remember from eight years ago. Back then, those hands traced different patterns—
No.I force the memory away.
“The monitoring software is nonnegotiable,” he says, not looking up from the screen. “Every keystroke, every website, every communication will be logged.”
“Quite the upgrade from your usual control issues.”
