Afterward, we dress in silence. The weight of what we've agreed to settles over us like ash. I button my blouse with trembling fingers, acutely aware of Roman watching me, his expression unreadable. My body still hums from his touch, but my heart is breaking from the choice I've made.
I move toward the door, needing distance, needing air, needing to escape before I do something foolish like cry. My hand closes around the handle.
"Friday will be your last day of work."
Roman's voice stops me cold. I turn slowly, my stomach dropping to my feet. He's leaning against his desk, arms crossed, his expression matter-of-fact like he's discussing a business transaction rather than dismantling my life.
"You'll move into the estate over the weekend," he continues, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll have your things packed and transferred."
26
ROMAN
Iexpect Eva to accept my decision. She's agreed to marry me, to move into my estate, to bind herself to me permanently. Surely, she understands that working is no longer necessary—or safe. But when I tell her Friday will be her last day at the office, her reaction catches me completely off guard.
She plants herself in front of my desk, her hands flat on the polished surface, brown eyes blazing with a fury I haven't seen since the night she stormed into my office about Tyler. The cream-colored blouse she's wearing stretches across her breasts in a way that makes my cock harden despite the anger radiating from her.
"No," she says, her voice low and controlled but vibrating with rage. "Absolutely not."
I lean back in my chair, my fingers steepled, keeping my expression neutral even though her defiance is doing things to my body I shouldn't be feeling right now. "This isn't anegotiation, Eva. You're carrying my child. You need to be protected."
"Protected?" Her laugh is bitter, almost hysterical. "You mean controlled. You mean locked away in your mansion like some fucking trophy while you dictate every aspect of my existence."
The profanity from her lips surprises me, and fuck if it doesn't make me want her more. I imagine bending her over this desk right now, hiking up her skirt, making her scream my name until she forgets why she's angry. But I force myself to focus on the argument at hand.
"You're being dramatic," I say, my accent thickening with frustration. "I'm ensuring your safety. Our child's safety."
"I've already lost everything!" Her voice rises slightly, passion breaking through her careful control. "My freedom, my choices, my future. I agreed to marry you because you weaponized my family's needs. I agreed to move into your house because I have no other option. But this?" She straightens, her spine rigid with stubborn pride. "Keeping my job is non-negotiable. I will not be a kept woman, Roman. I will not sit in your estate playing the good little wife while you control every single thing I do."
I stand, moving around my desk with deliberate slowness. Eva doesn't retreat, and I respect that steel in her spine even as I want to break through it. I close the distance between us, crowding into her space, and watch her pulse flutter at her throat. She's afraid, but she's not backing down.
"You don't understand the danger," I say, my voice dropping to that low register that makes most people step back. "My enemies will use you against me. They'll hurt you to hurt me. You need to be somewhere I can protect you completely."
"I'm safer here than anywhere else." Her brown eyes meet my blue ones without flinching, and the challenge in them makes my blood heat. "Surrounded by your security, in your building, where you can see me through that glass wall you're always watching me through. At least here, I have purpose. At least here, I have work that's mine."
She's right, and I hate that she's right. The logic is sound. She is safer here, where my men patrol every floor, where surveillance monitors every entrance, and where I can keep her in my line of sight. But logic wars with the primitive need to lock her away, to keep her and my child in a fortress where nothing can touch them.
"You're pregnant," I argue, though I can feel my resolve weakening. "You need rest. You need?—"
"I need to not lose the last piece of myself I'm clinging to." Her voice cracks slightly, and I see the desperation beneath her anger. "You've taken everything else, Roman. Don't take this too."
The words hit harder than they should. I study her face—the exhaustion shadowing her eyes, the tension in her jaw, the way her hands tremble slightly despite her fierce composure. This job is more than just work to her. It's identity. It's the final thread connecting her to the woman she was before I crashed into her life and destroyed everything.
Against every instinct screaming at me to refuse, I cave.
"Fine," I say, my jaw tight. "You can continue working. But with increased security measures. More guards. Restricted access to certain floors. And if I determine at any point that the risk is too great, this discussion is over."
Relief floods Eva's expression, quickly masked by continued resentment. "Thank you," she says, the words stiff and formal.
She turns to leave, and I can't help watching the sway of her hips, the curve of her ass beneath her skirt. My hands itch to grab her, to pull her back against me, to remind her exactly how good we are together. But she's already at the door, her spine straight, her professional armor firmly back in place.
After she leaves, I pour myself vodka, neat, and drain it in one swallow. The burn does nothing to ease the frustration coiling in my chest. I've just made a concession I swore I wouldn't make, and all because Eva Markova looked at me with those desperate brown eyes and I couldn't fucking say no.
The elevator chimes. Lev steps onto the floor with Irina at his side, both dressed for the evening meeting I'd scheduled. Irina looks stunning in an emerald dress that complements her pale complexion, her dark hair swept up elegantly. But I barely notice. My mind is still on Eva, on the way her blouse stretched across her breasts when she leaned over my desk, on how her lips would feel wrapped around my cock.
"Roman." Lev settles into one of the leather chairs in my sitting area, Irina taking the seat beside him with practiced grace. "You look like you need another drink."
I pour vodka for all three of us, then settle into my chair. "Eva and I are getting married," I announce, keeping my voice casual. "The wedding will be in a few weeks."
