“You don’t get to make that choice for me.”
“I’m not making it for you. I’m presenting it to you. Along with the alternatives.” I lean against the island again, giving her space. “Option one: you go back to your life, pretend today didn’t happen, hope Hale gets bored or distracted before his next attempt. Option two: you disappear completely, with a new identity, new face, and a new life in a place where no one will ever find you. Option three: you take my name and everything that comes with it.”
“Those aren’t very good options.”
“They’re realities. I didn’t create this situation, Elara. I’m offering you a way to survive it.”
She’s quiet again, but I can see her mind working. She’s smart enough to understand the math, even if she hates the equation. The protection my name offers is real. Theconsequences for crossing my family are well-documented. Hale is dangerous, but he’s not suicidal.
“What do you get out of this arrangement?” she asks finally.
The question I’ve been dreading. The one I can’t answer honestly without revealing too much.
“I get to keep you.”
“Why do you care? You don’t know me. You’ve been stalking me for weeks, but you don’t actually know anything about who I am.”
She’s wrong about that. I know she reads the same news article three times when she’s nervous. I know she tips her coffee shop barista in cash because she remembers what it’s like to live on service wages. I know she calls her mother every Sunday at exactly two o’clock, even when they fight. I know the sound of her laugh, the way she moves when she thinks no one is watching, the exact shade of blue her eyes turn when she’s angry.
I know more about her than I’ve ever known about anyone.
“Does it matter why?” I ask instead.
“Yes, it fucking matters!” Her voice cracks. “You want me to marry you, and I don’t even know why you care if I live or die. You could walk away. You could let whatever happens happen and move on with your life. Why won’t you?”
“Because I can,” I say.
It’s not the truth, but it’s all I can give her right now.
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her weighing everything—the danger, the protection, the cost of accepting my offer versus the cost of refusing it.
Finally, she shakes her head.
“No. Absolutely not. I won’t marry you, fake or otherwise. I won’t become your responsibility or your property or whatever the hell this is supposed to be.” Her voice gets stronger with each word. “Find another way to play hero, Nikola. I’m not interested.”
Her refusal doesn’t surprise me, but it still lands like a blow to the chest. I’ve run every scenario, calculated every possible reaction, and this was always the most likely outcome. Elara Quinn doesn’t surrender easily. It’s one of the things I admire about her, even when it makes everything more complicated.
“You want to know what I think?” She’s pacing now, heels clicking against the hardwood, hands gesturing wildly. “I think you orchestrated all of this. The scandal, the attack, this whole elaborate rescue fantasy. You destroyed my career to make me vulnerable, then swooped in to play savior.”
I lean against the counter, let her rage burn. She needs to get this out before she can think clearly.
“You engineered my humiliation to corner me into dependence. You stalked me, learned my routines, waited for the perfect moment to prove how much I need you.” Her voice cracks with fury. “This isn’t protection, Nikola. This is manipulation wrapped in pretty ribbons and tied with a bow.”
She’s not entirely wrong. The scandal was my doing, designed to pull her out of the spotlight before Hale could make his move.
The attack was real, and the danger is real, and if she keeps fighting me on this, she’ll end up dead.
“You ruined my life,” she continues, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. “My career, my reputation, my sense of safety in the world. Now you want me to thank you for it bybecoming your wife? By giving you legal ownership over what’s left of me?”
Her words cut close to the bone. Closer than I’d like. There’s truth in what she’s saying—uncomfortable, unavoidable truth about my methods and my motivations. I did destroy her life to save it. I did manipulate circumstances to bring her here. I did make decisions for her without her consent.
I also kept her alive.
“Are you finished?” I ask when she finally stops to breathe.
“Go to hell.”
“I’ve been there already. It’s overrated.” I straighten, move closer to the window. “You’re right about some of it. I did orchestrate the scandal. I did stalk you, learn your routines, watch you for weeks before making my move.”
