Another finger. “The guy living below you? He was a convicted sex offender with a sealed record and political connections. His ex-wife went missing three years ago. Charges were dropped. You were next.”
Final finger. “And Delgado? He’d already picked you personally. Sent out a worldwide notice. I saw your name in his files. You were going to be the next girl he sacrificed to some foreign scumbag itching to fuck you into oblivion.”
He took another bite of egg, chewed, and swallowed.
“You’re lucky to be sitting here at all. Safe. Fed. Alive.”
I blinked. I wanted to scream, to deny it all—but I couldn’t. He’d said it so plainly, as if it were all just simple facts, like saving me had been an annoying responsibility.
So I did what I always did when I didn’t know how to react.
I went for sarcasm.
“Oh, right,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “So being raped and murdered by a man in a bespoke suit who knows how to make waffles is something I should be grateful for?”
He didn’t respond—just kept eating, as if I hadn’t thrown a dagger across the island.
I stared at him. Waiting. Daring him to tell me what came next.
But his attention slid back to his phone, and he started scrolling again.
With a huff, I picked up my fork and forced another bite past the tension in my throat, swallowing down the last of my eggs.
Then I slammed the fork onto the counter and asked flatly—
“So, am I your prisoner?”
Chapter twenty-nine
Iheld her future in the palm of my hand. Every breath, every second, every option she had left—it was all for me to decide. And for the first time in my entire fucking life, I didn’t hate the responsibility of that.
The world I came from didn’t make room for softness. It weaponized it. I’d spent my whole life building walls so high no one could see the man inside until I’d started to wonder if there even was a man left inside to see. Not even my sister truly knew me. She understood me, yes, maybe better than anyone else ever could. But the truth? The brutal truth of who I was? I had never let anyone get close enough to see it. But this girl, with her pink T-shirt and sarcastic way of talking to me, had fallen into my arms like fate was fucking tempting me. She was a little ray of sunshine caught in a storm, and she couldn’t survive without me. I hated how much I wanted to keep her here.
“So, am I your prisoner?”
She’d said it as a challenge—chin high, fire in her eyes, with that same bite she’d had the first morning she waited on me atCipher. The sass had pulled my attention like a magnet then. And now it was directed at me like a loaded weapon.
I didn’t answer right away. I was purposely letting her stew rather than responding. No rush.
But she kept staring, waiting, daring me to confirm her worst suspicion.
Finally, I set my fork down, wiped my mouth with the napkin, and stood.
“No,” I said with a frown. “You’re not my prisoner.”
I moved around the island and stopped in front of her, then lifted her chin between my thumb and forefinger. She didn’t shrink away. Didn’t even flinch.
“You’re my responsibility.”
Her brows shot up. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
I stepped back and scrubbed my hand over my chin, studying her for a moment. “It doesn’t matter how you feel about it, to be honest.”
“And what does that mean?” she pushed. “Responsibility like…you take care of a dog? Or a car? Or your plants, maybe?” She gave a sarcastic little shrug. “Are you going to water me twice a week and make sure I get sunlight?”
The edge in her voice sparked something inside me.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” I muttered. “That’s what it means.”
