For years I told myself the pullback was discipline. Control. The thing that kept me from crossing a line that would ruin us.
Now I wonder if it was something uglier.
Waiting for permission. Waiting for reward. Waiting like I’ve been trained to wait.
My hands shake harder. My ribs tighten around my breath. I swallow and it scratches, like my throat is lined with sand.
The worst part isn’t that he did it.
The worst part is that it worked.
The worst part is that I liked who I became under his hand, because that version of me felt useful, and usefulness is the closest thing to love I’ve ever been allowed to keep.
The elevator chimes.
A staff member steps out with folded linens and slows when she sees me pressed to the wall.
Her eyes flick over me. Quick. Careful. Curious in a way that makes my skin prickle. Not contempt like the estate guards. Not fear.
The look someone gives when the house shows a crack it wasn’t supposed to show.
I push off the wall and straighten.
The movement costs me. Pain flares along my side. The air catches in my throat for half a beat. I don’t let it show on my face. I don’t let it reach my eyes.
She lowers her gaze and walks past.
I don’t acknowledge her. I’m not here for that kind of contact. I’m not a man in a hallway. I’m a piece of the house that happens to move when needed.
When she’s gone, I do what I know how to do.
I step back inside myself.
Not in a poetic way. Not a declaration.
A practiced motion. Like locking a door.
I put the hurt somewhere I can’t reach it. I press it down and hold it there until it stops pushing.
The shaking eases.
The words don’t vanish, but they get quieter. Like a radio turned down until it’s just hiss.
I become useful again.
I become blank again.
The office door opens.
I turn toward it automatically.
Ivan steps into the hallway and his eyes go straight to mine, fast and sharp, like he’s been looking for me before he even opened the door. His face is controlled, but there’s tension in it, a carefulness that wasn’t there earlier.
“Maksim,” he says.
His voice is enough to make my body want to respond the way it always has.
The old way.
