"I'm sorry," I say again.
"It's fine." But her voice says it's not fine.
"Sera—"
"You gave me one day a week." She turns to look at me, and there's something fragile in her expression. "That's more than I expected. Thank you."
But I can see the truth underneath the gratitude.
She's realizing what I've known all along.
This life—my life—doesn't leave room for normal. For bookshops and restoration projects and quiet afternoons with father figures who care about her.
Every moment of freedom will come with guards and guns and the constant threat of violence.
Every small happiness will be borrowed time before the next crisis.
I reach for her hand, and she lets me take it. Her fingers are cold.
"Next week," I say. "I promise. You'll have this."
She nods, but she's already pulling away. Already retreating into herself.
And as we drive through Manhattan toward the Nero mansion, toward a family dinner that will introduce her to more of the darkness she's been pulled into, I realize Mr. Bolinger was right.
I'm losing her.
Not to another man. Not to escape.
But to the slow suffocation of this life. This world. This cage I've built around her, no matter how gilded I try to make it.
The question is: am I capable of actually changing that?
Or will I choose her safety over her happiness every single time?
My phone buzzes with another text from Bianca:Don't be late.
I look at Sera staring out the window, one hand resting on her stomach where our child grows.
Gabe is out there. The Morozovs are planning something. Unknown enemies are circling.
And Sera thinks I'm her prison.
She doesn't understand that I'm just trying to keep her alive long enough to see our son born.
But maybe that's the problem.
Maybe survival isn't enough.
CHAPTER 25
Sera
I choose my dress carefully.
Not because I care about impressing whoever's coming to dinner. But because I've learned that everything in this world is a message. What you wear. How you sit. Where you stand.
And tonight, I want to send a very clear message to my husband.
