This wasn’t a detour. This was a turning point.
When the doors open onto my private floor, I guide her down the corridor and into my suite. The space is restrained; all dark wood and glass and muted light. No excess. No softness. A place built for control, not comfort.
She stops just inside, taking it in.
“This is where you live,” she says quietly.
“Most of the time,” I reply. “It’s easier to be in the city when I have business to attend to, but I have a couple of other places, too.”
“And what happens now?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest as she turns to me.
The question is careful. Not meant as a challenge but clearly stating her position is still one of distrust.
I can respect that.
“What happened already,” I say, meeting her gaze, “can’t be undone.”
Her jaw tightens. “I know that.”
“I don’t think you do,” I answer calmly. “Not fully.”
“I’ve claimed you. Not just physically. In ways my world recognizes whether you want it to or not.”
Her breath catches. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“I do,” I say evenly. “Not even because I’m the one who can protect you. But because you know deep inside yourself, I’m right.”
She shakes her head, anger flashing through the vulnerability. “I have a life. A business. Clients. I can’t disappear just because you decided I belong to you.”
“You won’t disappear,” I tell her. “But you will be insulated.”
“That sounds like a prison, or a padded cell.”
“It’s a shield,” I counter. “And you’re going to need it.”
I watch the truth reveal itself to her, see the moment she acknowledges it in the way her shoulders slump.
“If I could find out who your mother is,” I continue, “others can too. Men who won’t hesitate. Men who won’t stop at threats.”
Her arms loosen slightly. The fight doesn’t leave her eyes, but the understanding creeps in around the edges.
“I ran from her my whole life,” she says. “I thought if I worked hard enough, stayed clean enough, it would never matter.”
“It always matters,” I reply. “Blood has a memory. A history.”
Silence stretches between us, heavier now but clearer.
Finally, she exhales. “I need to go to a pharmacy.”
The sentence surprises me enough that my brow lifts slightly. “Why?”
“I’m not on the pill,” she says bluntly, meeting my eyes without flinching. “We just had unprotected sex, twice.”
“Okay,” I say immediately. “I’ll have something picked up and brought up here.”
Her gaze sharpens. “You’re not even going to argue?”
“No,” I reply, even though I hate the thought. “Because what happens next isn’t about trapping you. It’s about doing this properly, and if you’re not ready, I can respect that.”
