“I cannot find my phone,” she says. “Where is it?”
“I took it last night,” I reply. “You will get it back when you earn trust.”
She gasps on a laugh. “Earn it!”
“My mother says I should be nice to you,” I reply. “So I am.”
She squints at me. “Your mother? Can’t wait to meet the poor woman who spawned you.”
“She’ll be at the wedding if my father allows it.”
“Huh? Isn’t your father dead and that’s why you’re the boss?”
I shrug, disinterested.
A long silence stretches. I enjoy my coffee and say nothing. Let her stew.
Eventually, she shifts her weight and tries a softer tone.
“Gustav. What do you want in a bride, because I am not it.”
“Mr. Sokolov,” I correct.
She drags a hand down her face. “Fine. Mr. Sokolov. What are you looking for? Why me?”
I set my phone down and study her. I suspect she expects a romantic confession or a sadistic taunt.
“I want someone who will not betray me,” I start. “Someone who can serve me. Someone who has no alliances that threaten mine. Someone whose value lies only in me.”
Her shoulders drop in disappointment. “So you do want a servant.”
“Exactly.”
Her mouth opens. Then closes.
Perfect.
“And what do you want in a husband?” I ask, “besides a fantasy man.”
She frowns. “Someone kind. Who lets me make decisions. Who courts me. A gentleman.”
“Good. That’s me,” I say. “And you are what I want. Perfect match.”
She stares, speechless.
Her gaze drops.
Hm. She’s looking at my body. I let her.
Then, I see the exact moment she notices more than my abs. Her gaze flicks to the left. Toward the burn scars that stretch from my back, half hidden in the morning light. Old, ugly damage.
She stares at the scars like they are a secret she wants to learn. My skin prickles under her gaze. Her eyes soften for half a second, and something inside me knots in response.
She cares.
The voice snaps.
Do not let her see you. Push her. Hurt her. Control her.
