I dig my nails into my palms.
"In Schladming," he says, "there will be no wild party. You will bring him to the Tauernblick chalet. I will meet him properly. You will both behave like a grown-up couple."
I see it instantly. The only way to "have" Nico under this arrangement is to drag him into my cage. I flash back to Kitzbühel. His face when he crossed the finish line, alive and feral and free, surrounded by fans screaming his name. The noise, the cowbells, the wildness of it. That's his world. Not marble salons and silver coffee services and men like my father turning people into portfolio pieces.
I remember that night in the suite. The heat, the way he needed to own me, the way I let him because it was the only honest thing we had. If we're in the cage together, that's all we'll ever be. Just bodies and heat and no soul left.
I can't let my father turn him into a branded pet.
I have to protect him. From the Moreaus. From me. Even if it means doing something stupid.
"Fine," I say. My voice is steady now, cold. "I'll bring him. But I need to warn him first. And not before the race. After."
"No."
"Papa—"
"Either you take the deal exactly as I've laid it out," he says, leaning back in his chair, "or you stay here and we invite him to a controlled dinner later this week. Your choice."
I let the silence stretch, as if I'm weighing my options. As if I have any intention of doing what he wants.
"Okay," I say finally, careful to sound reluctant. "I'll stay. We'll do the dinner. Because I can't just show up in Schladming and drag him to your feet like a prize. I have to talk to him first. I'll call him after the race."
"Good."
"Invite him here. To dinner."
"Fine."
I pause, as if the thought just occurred to me. "But I'll need to meet him over coffee first. Alone. To explain it."
His eyebrow lifts. "Alone."
"He's not going to agree to this if I spring it on him in front of you, Papa. Please."
He studies me for a long moment, eyes calculating, weighing whether this is defiance or strategy. I hold his gaze, let my shoulders sag just enough to look like someone accepting defeat.
"Fine," he says at last. "Coffee. Then dinner. Here."
I nod, slow and obedient, like a daughter who's finally learned her place.
My phone buzzes in my purse. I glance down. Lina's name flashes on the screen.
Perfect.
"Élise? I just got to Schladming. I read the articles—"
"Can you handle it?" I cut her off, voice clipped.
A pause. "Élise… I need you to explain something. We need a strategy…" She's trying to match my professional tone, confused by the shift.
"Fine. I'll be at the office in twenty minutes," I say, crisp and cold, still holding my father's eyes.
A pause on the other end. "I'm not in the office. I'm in Schladming."
"That deal needs to stay exactly as it is," I say, putting enough Moreau executive authority into my voice that my father's expression shifts from suspicion to mild approval.
"What deal? What are you talking about?"
