“We?”
“My team. People with the training and experience necessary for maritime operations.” His voice is calm, professional, maddeningly distant. “This phase of the operation requires specialized capabilities.”
“Such as?”
“Such as not being the primary target of the organization we’re trying to dismantle.”
The words land like a slap. Leon shifts uncomfortably in his chair, clearly wishing he could be anywhere else in the world.
“I see.” I lean back, study my husband’s face for any crack in the composed facade. “So the woman who identified Marcus’s recruitment network, who successfully played her role in drawing out his operatives, who provided the intelligence that made last night’s operation possible—that woman is now considered too much of a liability to participate in follow-up actions.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s exactly what you said.” I stand, begin pacing the length of the study with sharp, controlled movements. “You’ve decided that my usefulness has expired. That now that thingsare getting dangerous, I should retreat to the sidelines while the professionals handle the real work.”
“Elara—”
“I was instrumental in the success of last night’s operation,” I continue, voice rising despite my efforts to maintain composure. “I handled myself intelligently and bravely. I followed protocols, gathered intelligence, and helped dismantle a trafficking network that’s been operating for years. Your response is to bench me?”
Nikola’s jaw tightens. “My response is to keep you alive.”
“By making me useless. By turning me back into a protected asset instead of a partner.” I stop pacing, face him directly across the desk that suddenly feels like a barricade between us. “This feels like punishment, Nikola. Like I’m being punished for succeeding too well, for proving that I can handle whatever this war throws at us.”
“You’re being protected—”
“I’m being sidelined.” The words explode out of me, raw and frustrated. “You asked me to trust you to let me fight beside you. You promised that this marriage would be a partnership, not a cage. The moment things get complicated, you revert to making decisions for me instead of with me.”
Leon clears his throat. “If I may…”
We both turn to him, and I can see him weighing his words carefully—conscious that he’s about to insert himself into a marital disagreement that could affect family dynamics for years to come.
“Elara’s assessment isn’t wrong,” he says finally. “She was essential to last night’s success. Her performance was flawless, her intelligence gathering was comprehensive, and her ability to adapt when situations changed was… impressive.”
I feel a surge of gratitude toward my brother-in-law, followed immediately by frustration that I need his validation to be taken seriously.
“She also,” Leon continues, “represents the primary target for an organization that’s proven willing to escalate to lethal force when threatened. Including her in maritime operations would be like painting a bullseye on the mission.”
The gratitude evaporates.
“So what’s the solution?” I ask. “I spend the rest of my life hiding in penthouses while other people fight wars that started because of me?”
“You spend the next seventy-two hours letting us finish what you helped start,” Nikola says, and his voice carries the finality that means this discussion is over whether I want it to be or not. “After that, we reassess based on threat levels and operational requirements.”
“If I refuse?”
“Then you’ll be doing it from a safe house instead of the penthouse, with protection details that don’t include input on your preferences.” His eyes meet mine, and I can see the resolve there—immovable, absolute, backed by the kind of authority that doesn’t negotiate. “This isn’t a request, Elara. It’s not a suggestion or a recommendation. It’s a decision.”
The words hit like ice water. Not partnership. Not collaboration. Decision. Made by him, imposed on me, final regardless of my opinions or preferences.
“I see.” I gather what’s left of my dignity, straighten my spine. “Well, then. I suppose I should start packing.”
“Elara, wait—”
I’m already moving toward the door, done with conversations that pretend to solicit my input while ignoringeverything I actually say. Leon murmurs something apologetic behind me, but I don’t stop to acknowledge it.
In the hallway, I lean against the wall and close my eyes, trying to process the whiplash of going from essential partner to protected liability in the span of twelve hours. Yesterday, I was intelligence-gathering, strategic-planning, operation-executing Elara Sharov. Today, I’m back to being cargo that needs careful handling.
The worst part is that I understand his logic. Marcus will retaliate, and his retaliation will be focused on making me suffer in the most visible way possible. Keeping me close to active operations would be strategically unsound, emotionally compromising, tactically dangerous.
