That’s not logic. It’s not strategy. It’s something else. Something heavier. Dumber.
Possessive.
And I don’t like it.
I move through the penthouse like I belong here, which I do. Technically. Legally. But this place doesn’t feel like mine. Her scent is bleeding into the walls. Jasmine from her shampoo. Vanilla from that body lotion Boris stocked. Faint, sweet reminders that she slept in my bed last night.
Not beside me. But still.
I grab the Cartier box off the counter and tuck it into my coat pocket. One of the spare ones. Just in case she loses the bracelet. Or breaks it. Or gets clever and drops it in a sewer.
By the time I hit the elevator, she’s not even in the room anymore, but I can still feel her. Like a residue.
I take the elevator down to the private garage. Ignore the Range Rover, the matte black Charger, the G-Wagen. Too loud. Too noticeable. TooBratva.
I unlock the S580.
Sleek, understated, and armored beneath the skin. Looks like a car an aging CEO would drive; rich, discreet, boring enough to be invisible in traffic. But it’ll stop a rifle round and outrun a tail.
I slide into the driver’s seat, adjust the mirrors.
She’ll like this one.
Which is another thought I shouldn’t be having.
The watch fits her too well. That blouse this morning: cream silk, delicate buttons, tailored exactly to her body. The skirt hugging her like it was meant to. She looked… expensive. Like she belonged in this world.
Like she belonged tome.
I start the engine.
I’m doing this because I need to protect the asset. That’s all.
The girl saw too much. She touched too much. And now someone’s trying to clean up the loose ends before I can finish my job.
That’s the only reason I’m in the car right now. Driving her. Watching her.
Not because her eyes lingered on me this morning a second too long.
Not because her pulse jumped when I fastened the bracelet.
No.
This is strategy.
And strategy says: if anyone touches her, I shoot first and sort the mess later.
I start the car, planning the route to Brightside National.
She’s not mine.
But she’sunderme.
And I don’t share.
She gets in the car without looking at me.
That’s new.
