That unsettles her if the way she narrows her eyes has anything to do with it.
“And what exactly is next?” she asks carefully.
I step closer again, lowering my voice. “You stay with me. For now. I put protection in place. I make sure anyone sniffing around your past understands you’re mine now.”
“And my work?”
“You keep it,” I say. “I don’t dismantle what I claim. I invest in it.”
Her breath stutters at that. She looks away, processing the weight of it all.
When she looks back at me, there’s fear there. Maybe even resolve. But also something warmer.
“Do you even care about the designs I made for the hotel?” she finally asks as more of what happened clicks into place for her.
“I have nothing to do with the hotel,” I reply simply, the meaning clear.
She nods slowly, “So you would never get the final say anyway?”
“No, Adrik has handed it over to Jasmine. She loves all of your work by the way.”
I reach out, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “I had to know what I felt was real. Then I found out who you were and had to find out if you were the same. Then I was inside you and it felt like planets colliding.”
She swallows.
“Oh,” she says softly.
That’s when I know she believes me.
I take her hand again, already planning routes, contingencies, futures. Because this isn’t chaos anymore, it’s commitment.
Jessica
Rurik’s suite feels different from the office. Less exposed. More intimate. The lighting is low and the city is muted behind thick glass like it’s been pushed back on purpose.
“So,” I say carefully, turning to face him. “You planned this.”
He doesn’t deny it. I didn’t expect him to.
“I needed you here,” he says simply.
The honesty stings more than a lie would have.
I fold my arms across my chest, grounding myself. “You could have asked.”
“No,” he replies. “You would have said yes. And then you’d spend the entire time wondering why.”
I hate that he’s right.
Anger sparks anyway, sharp and immediate. The realization settles in that he manoeuvred me here the same way he manoeuvres everything else. Doors opened. Paths narrowed. Choices arranged so the outcome felt inevitable even when it wasn’t.
“I don’t like being handled,” I tell him.
“Nobody does,” he says.
I look away, my gaze catching on the view, the Strip glowing below like a living thing. This should feel like a trap. Like I’vebeen lured into a gilded cage by a man who decides outcomes for a living.
But my body feels steady. Anchored, almost. Like I’ve been pulled into a harbour after a storm I didn’t know I was in.
