I gesture toward the open door. “Come on.”
She follows me into the hall, cautious but alert. She keeps her arms folded, every muscle tense, but her eyes dart everywhere, cataloging details. The halls are long, lined with old portraits and heavy doors. The floorboards are polished but creak in places. The house is large—too large, maybe, for one man.
I watch as she takes it all in, curiosity overcoming fear for the first time. “How old is this place?” she asks, glancing at the faded mural along the stairwell.
“A hundred years, maybe more. I bought it when I needed somewhere quiet.”
“Do you live here alone?” she asks, voice low.
“My men come and go. The staff keeps to their own wing.”
She looks at me sideways. “No family photos?”
“No.”
She bites her lip, hesitating. “Why did you pick this house?”
I stop at the landing, waiting until she meets my gaze again. “It’s far from the city. Hard to find. Easy to secure.”
“Sounds lonely.”
She lingers at the edge of the hall, pausing by a window. She presses a hand against the glass, testing for weakness. I let her. I want to see if she’ll push her luck. She doesn’t—just shakes her head at the reinforced frame.
“No way out,” she murmurs.
I shrug. “Not unless you want to break your neck.”
She snorts, the sound dry. “I’ll pass.”
We descend the stairs and move through the lower floor. She glances into the kitchen, the dining room, the den lined with bookshelves. She notices everything.
“You read Russian classics?” she asks, picking up a battered copy of Dostoevsky and turning it over in her hand.
“When I can’t sleep.”
She puts the book down, eyes sweeping the shelves. “You have good taste.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That surprises you?”
She shrugs. “You’re full of surprises. Most people in your position don’t bother with small talk or art.”
I watch her as she drifts toward the window. The sun is out, spilling pale light over the gardens. She leans close, as if she can see something beyond the glass. “Is that where you walked last night? I saw movement.”
“Security. We’re being watched.”
“By who?”
“People who want what I have. Or want to hurt you. Maybe both.”
She turns, studying my face. “You really think I’m worth all this trouble?”
I hold her gaze, letting her see how serious I am. “You have no idea.”
She falls silent, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. For the first time, she seems less certain, less in control. I let her feel the weight of her own questions for a moment before leading her through another doorway.
We stop in the conservatory. The space is warm, humid, thick with green leaves and bright flowers. She inhales deeply, eyes wide as she surveys the sudden burst of life. “It’s beautiful,” she says, almost in awe.
I watch her, something softening inside me. “You can come here whenever you want. Just tell me first.”
