Petros continued calmly.
“No government. No law enforcement agency. No force on this earth can permanently cage the Greek legend without his consent.”
His eyes shifted briefly to Ruslan.
“He orchestrated his arrest. He controlled the narrative. He chose the timing.”
My pulse hammered in my ears.
“For you.”
The words lingered.
My mind struggled to process it.
He had allowed himself to be imprisoned?
Not forced.
Allowed.
My stomach twisted.
Was that sacrifice?
Or manipulation disguised as devotion?
I forced my attention back to the immediate threat.
My father.
Harris.
“Why are they here?” I demanded.
“What are Harris and my father doing in this house?”
Vasquez leaned forward slowly from his seat.
His eyes scanned me — assessing.
Like I was a strategic move rather than his daughter.
“To rectify your mistakes,” he said coldly.
“Divorce Ruslan.”
His gaze flicked to Ruslan with obvious disdain.
“And marry Harris.”
His tone sharpened.
“It’s time you returned to where you belong.”
My jaw tightened.
“Belong?”
