"Thank you," I whispered. "For coming. For helping. For not—for not being angry."
"I am angry." His voice was quiet but firm. "I'm furious that you put yourself at risk. Furious that you ignored my calls. Furious that you didn't trust me enough to help you." He paused. "But I'm more relieved that you're safe. That's what matters."
The confession made something warm bloom in my chest. He was angry but relief trumped anger. My safety mattered more than his ego or his authority or his need for control.
We pulled into the compound's underground garage. He killed the engine but didn't move. Just sat there, hands on the wheel, breathing carefully.
The silence was different now. Still charged. Still heavy. But with something other than tension. Something that felt like possibility.
We got out of the car in silence. He carried my box of salvaged memories like it was precious.
The elevator ride to the third floor felt eternal. We stood on opposite sides, maintaining distance, both of us breathing too carefully. The air between us was thick with everything we weren't saying. Everything we'd been not-saying for a week.
The elevator doors opened. Third floor. The guest wing stretched out before us, thick carpet and expensive artwork and doors to rooms I'd never seen inside.
Mine was at the end. Maximum distance from his room. Maximum privacy.
We walked. My bad knee protested slightly—too much movement today, too much stress. I tried not to limp. Failed. Noticed him notice, the way his eyes tracked down to my leg and back up.
We reached my door. He set the box down carefully beside it. Straightened. Neither of us moved to turn the handle.
We stood too close. Breathing the same air. The hallway was quiet around us. Just us and the weight of decisions we were both afraid to make.
"Sophie." My name in his voice did things to me. Made my pulse jump. Made heat pool low in my abdomen. "When you leave without telling me, when I can't reach you, when I don't know where you are—"
His voice cracked slightly on the last word. I watched his throat work as he swallowed hard.
"I can't protect you," he continued. "The Belyaevs are still out there. They want you. And I can't—"
He stopped. His hands clenched at his sides. I watched him fight for control, watched the careful mask slip enough that I could see underneath. See the fear. The need. The desperation.
"I can't lose you," he finished. Barely more than a whisper.
The confession hung between us. Raw. Honest. Vulnerable in a way I'd never seen him be.
My hand reached out. Touched his chest over his heart. I could feel it pounding through the fabric of his shirt. Too fast. Like mine.
"I wanted you to come after me," I whispered. The truth felt dangerous but necessary. "I wanted you to care enough to find me. I wanted—"
I stopped. Couldn't quite say it. The enormity of what I was about to ask felt too big, too vulnerable, too much like handing him every weapon he'd need to destroy me.
His hand covered mine on his chest. Warm. Large enough to engulf my smaller hand completely. "What did you want, malyshka?"
The endearment made my knees weak. Said in that voice that was pure dominance and care mixed together.
I looked up at him. Met those grey eyes that saw too much. That understood the parts of me I'd buried for three years.
"I wanted you to be my Daddy," I breathed. The words came out small. Young. Desperate. "I want to sign the contract. The real one. With all the optional clauses. I want rules and structure and discipline when I break them. I want—"
My voice broke. I couldn't finish. Couldn't articulate the depth of what I wanted. Someone to make decisions when I was drowning. Someone to hold me when the world felt too big. Someone to tell me I was good even when I was being bad.
Someone to see Little Sophie and not run away.
His eyes went dark. Pupils dilating until the grey was almost black. I watched his control fracture in real time. Watched the Pakhan mask crack and something hungrier, more primal underneath break through.
He kissed me.
His mouth crashed against mine, firm and claiming and everything I'd been fantasizing about for a week. His hand slid into my hair, tangled in the honey-colored strands, tilted my head back so he could deepen the kiss.
