“You don’t know what I want.”
“I know you better than you know yourself.”He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel his breath on my face.“I know you’re exhausted from carrying everything alone.I know you’re terrified of failing the people who depend on you.I know you’ve spent your entire life being dismissed and underestimated, and some part of you is desperate for someone to see you.Really see you.”
My eyes burned.I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.He was manipulating me.Using the things I’d confessed in my drunken vulnerability as weapons against my defenses.
But God help me, he wasn’t wrong.
“That doesn’t give you the right to control me.”
“No.The contract gives me that right.”He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture almost tender.“I’m simply explaining why you’ll come to accept it.Why the collar will eventually feel like freedom instead of a cage.”
“You’re insane.”
“Possibly.”He dropped his hand and stepped back, giving me room to breathe.“Have Alice show you around.The kitchen is at your disposal.The library.Stay out of the greenhouse.”
The abrupt shift in topic left me reeling.“Why?What’s in the greenhouse?”
His eyes met mine, and for a moment I saw hunger behind the composed facade.It made my pulse quicken for reasons I didn’t want to examine.
“Nothing you need to see yet.But you will.When you’ve earned it.”
“Earned it how?”
“By accepting what you are.”He moved toward the door, then paused, turning back to look at me.“Tonight, I’m going to ask you to do something.Something you’ll want to refuse.And you’re going to do it anyway, because deep down, you know the resistance is just a performance.A story you’re telling yourself so you can pretend this isn’t exactly where you want to be.”
“And if I actually refuse?”
He smiled, and it was the smile of a man who’d already won.“Then I’ll remind you how much your pride is costing the people you love.Every moment you spend fighting me is a moment I’m not helping you protect your hotel.Every ounce of energy you waste on resistance is energy you could be spending on the things that actually matter.”
He paused in the doorway, tilting my chin up with one finger.His thumb brushed across my lower lip, slow and lingering, and I hated the way my breath caught.Hated the way my body leaned toward his touch despite everything.Hated that he could feel my pulse racing beneath his fingertips.
“Tonight,” he said softly.“Think about what you really want, Lena.Not what you think you should want.What you actually want, in the dark, when no one’s watching.”
One word became a question I couldn’t answer.
Then he was gone.
The collar sat on the edge of his desk, and I couldn’t bring myself to touch it.
Alice found me there an hour later, still standing in the same spot, and her tour was comprehensive and strange.
The manor was vast, far larger than I’d realized in the dark.Three stories of old money and older secrets, rooms flowing into rooms like an architectural maze designed to disorient.The kitchen was a chef’s paradise, all copper pots hanging from iron hooks and marble counters worn smooth with age.The refrigerator was stocked with food I couldn’t have afforded on a month’s salary.Fresh berries in January.Imported cheeses.Wine that could pay off a mortgage.
The library made me stop in the doorway, breathless.
Thousands of books, floor to ceiling, with rolling ladders and deep leather chairs positioned near tall windows.A fireplace already crackling with warmth, filling the room with the smell of woodsmoke and old paper.First editions behind glass.Maps on the walls that looked genuinely antique.
And in the corner by the windows, the piano.
It gleamed in the morning light, rosewood and ivory, positioned to overlook the winter gardens.The same piano I’d played last night while he watched.While emotions I’d thought were safely sealed rose to the surface unbidden.I could still feel the keys beneath my fingers, could still hear the Chopin echoing off the walls.
Could still see his face when I’d asked about his mother.
Someone had lit the fire before we arrived.Someone was always lighting fires in rooms before I entered, as if the house itself was anticipating me.Or as if Raphael had staff positioned throughout, reporting my movements, warming spaces just before I appeared.
I wasn’t sure which option disturbed me more.
“Mr.Antonov doesn’t use it much,” Alice said, misreading my hesitation.“But you’re welcome to read anything you’d like.”
