She snorted—almost laughed. “God, you really don’t know when to turn it off, do you?”
She didn’t slow down. She didn’t look back.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t paying attention.
Neither was I.
The space between us—physical, emotional—was shrinking by the second. And I wasn’t sure if I should widen it again or close it completely.
The night was silent when we reached the door. The final line.
My hand hovered over the key panel. I glanced at her.
Still standing. Still here.
Maybe she didn’t trust me.
But she was walking into my world, anyway.
And that?
That meant everything.
The door opened with a soft click. I stepped aside to let her in first. She didn’t hesitate. Just crossed the threshold like it meant nothing.
But it did.
To both of us.
Inside, the house was quiet. Dim. Clean. Every line intentional. No clutter. No softness.
Mina paused in the entryway, arms still crossed, gaze sweeping across the dark hardwood floors and the glass-paneled staircase. She didn’t comment.
Good.
She wasn’t here for aesthetics.
I shut the door behind us and locked it.
She turned to face me, chin tilted like she expected a lecture—or a fight.
I gave her neither.
“I’ll keep this simple,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed.
“You belong to me for thirty days.”
She opened her mouth—but I raised a hand before she could speak.
“Not like that. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to. But you’re here. You agreed. So now, you follow my rules.”
A muscle ticked in her jaw. “You make it sound like I signed up for a hostage situation.”
“You followed me willingly. There is no misunderstanding here.”
Her eyes flashed. “You don’t own me, Volkov.”
