He sets his mug down with agonizing calm. “Because it’s safer with me.”
“Safer?” I laugh, dark and bitter. “It’s not a weapon, Lev, it’s a passport. You had no right—”
“I had every right,” he cuts in, his tone hardening. “You’re my wife, Sasha. And as long as the Greeks are circling, you don’t set a foot outside this estate without me. You don’t travel. You don’t fly. You stay where I can protect you.”
“I can’t believe you,” I snap, my voice sharper than I intend, but I’m too angry to care. “We already talked about it last night. I told you I wouldn’t go anywhere without you. I promised. And yet you still went behind my back and took it?”
Lev doesn’t answer.
“So what is this, then?” I demand, stepping closer. “You don’t trust me?”
“It’s not about trust,” he says finally, his tone calm—too calm.
I let out another bitter laugh. “That’s exactly what people say when it’s entirely about trust.”
He exhales, running a hand down his face, and for a second, I think he might apologize. But of course, he doesn’t.
“If this were about trust,” he says, voice low and steady, “I wouldn’t have let you near that party last night. I wouldn’t have left you alone for a second. But I did, Sasha. I trust you. What I don’t trust are the people who want to hurt you.”
“So you punish me for what they might do?”
“I’m keeping you alive.”
“That’s not living!” The words explode out of me before I can stop them. My pulse hammers in my throat. “You’ve locked me in a house, taken my passport, and decided when I can breathe. That’s not protection, Lev—that’s control.”
Something flickers in his eyes—something that looks a lot like guilt—but it vanishes almost immediately. He takes a step closer, his voice dropping to that quiet, dangerous register that always chills me.
“If control is what it takes to keep you safe, then yes, I’ll control everything.”
The air goes still.
I’m in the middle of shouting again, the words spilling out faster than I can control. “You can’t just decide what I can or can’t do, Lev! I’m not some helpless—”
The kitchen door swings open.
Noelle walks in, balancing a box of pastries and humming under her breath, but she stops short when she sees us. Her eyes dart between my flushed face and Lev’s rigid stance.
“Whoa,” she says carefully. “Did I walk into a war zone or…?”
I shut my mouth, still breathing hard. Lev’s jaw tightens. The tension between us hangs so thick it’s almost tangible.
Noelle sets the pastries down on the counter, her smile strained. “Okay…what’s wrong?”
Lev doesn’t even look at her. His gaze flicks to me once—brief, unreadable—then he straightens, his tone clipped. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
And just like that, he turns and walks out of the kitchen.
The door swings shut behind him with a dull thud. I stand there, chest rising and falling, pulse still thrumming with anger and something that feels dangerously close to hurt.
Noelle glances toward the door, then back at me. “So…nothing I need to worry about, huh?”
I huff out a humorless laugh and drop into the nearest chair. “That’s what he says. But apparently,I’mthe one who can’t be trusted to leave the damn house.”
Noelle blinks, her brows knitting. “Wait—why do you say that? What’s actually going on?”
I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. I don’t even know where to start. But once the words start spilling, I can’t stop them.
“The Greeks,” I say quietly. “They’re after me.”
