We stare at each other across the cabin.
The boat cuts through dark water.
The mainland is getting closer.
"What do you want from me?" she asks. "Sex? Labor? What?"
Direct questions. I appreciate that.
"I want you to stay," I say. "At my estate. In relative comfort. I'll provide everything you need."
"In exchange for what?"
"Your presence."
"That's all?"
"For now."
Her eyes narrow. "What does that mean?"
"It means I haven't decided yet what I want from you beyond the pleasure of your company."
It's not entirely true.
I knowexactlywhat I want.
I want to watch her across the dinner table.
Want to hear her voice when she's not terrified.
Want to see what she looks like when she smiles.
Want to know what put that scar on her palm.
What taught her to make herself small.
What she's running from that led her to that auction.
Want to know everything.
And eventually—not today, not tomorrow, but eventually—I want to watch that defiance in her eyes transform into something else.
Want.
Need.
Surrender.
But I don't tell her any of that.
"We'll discuss expectations when we arrive," I say instead.
The boat docks.
A car waits—another Mercedes, this one driven by one of Callum's team.
Eden doesn't argue when I guide her toward it, doesn't fight when I open the door.
