Grant’s brows lift. “Out where?”
I take a slow step toward him, letting my tone turn sweet the way my mother taught me—polite enough to pass as civil, sharp enough to cut. “What is this, Grant? An inquisition?”
His jaw flexes. “You vanished. No one could reach you.”
My father’s gaze drills into me like he’s begging me not to say the wrong thing.
Nico’s presence, on the other hand, dares me to.
I meet Grant’s eyes. “I wasn’t available.”
Grant lets out a small laugh, forced. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny,” I reply, the softness in my voice a lie. “I’m trying to be clear.”
His gaze narrows, suspicion creeping in. “Who is that man?” He points at Nico.
“A guard.” I roll my eyes. “My father suddenly cares about my safety.”
Grant’s eyes flick to my father, then to my mother, then back to me. He reads the room and doesn’t like what he sees.
“Victoria.” He lowers his voice in a caring way. I’m not stupid. He’s an even worse option than Lorenzo. “If you’re in trouble—”
My laugh comes out too sharp. “You don’t get to play hero. Not after years of hovering around my life like a vulture in a designer suit.”
His expression hardens, the mask beginning to slip. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Are you? Or are you trying to help yourself get me?”
“You’re being difficult.”
“I’m always difficult.” I tilt my head. “It’s the only language I know.”
Grant steps closer, voice lower, eyes intent. “Tell me where you’ve been?”
I feel it then: the pressure behind his questions. The interest. The calculation.
He isn’t asking because he cares.
He’s asking because information is power, and Grant has always believed power belongs to him. He wants power to find a way to control me, and that thought alone scares me.
I glance at my parents. I could end this right now and just tell him. I’d finally be away from Lorenzo. But I don’t tell him. Not because Lorenzo told me not to but because I refuse to give Grant anything. Because some ugly, complicated part of me won’t hurt Lorenzo.
The realization tastes bitter on my tongue.
His nostrils flare. “You’re protecting someone.”
I hold his stare, heartbeat steady. “I’m protecting myself.”
Grant studies me for a beat too long.
Then his gaze flicks past me to Nico, and something shifts in his expression.
He forces a smile back onto his face, turning toward my parents like he’s remembering decorum. “I should go,” he says, voice tight. “But Victoria and I will talk soon.”
My father’s voice is strained. “Grant—”
Grant cuts him off with a smooth nod, already backing toward the hall. “I’ll be in touch.”
