“She’s a security risk,” I say. “Easier to contain her than eliminate her and deal with the fallout.”
“Fallout from killing a bastard daughter nobody claims?” Alexei raises an eyebrow. “What fallout?”
Before I can answer, Mikhail leans forward. “Is she pretty?”
The question shouldn’t irritate me. It’s a reasonable thing to ask about a woman I’m keeping in my home, but something dark and possessive rises in my chest.
“That’s irrelevant,” I say coldly.
“So, yes.” Dimitri grins again. “She’s pretty and you’re keeping her locked up at the estate. Brother, this is—”
“This is strategic containment of a security threat,” I interrupt. “Nothing more.”
“Right. Of course.” His tone says he doesn’t believe me. “So when do we meet her?”
“You don’t.”
“Protective already?” Mikhail laughs. “This is going to be interesting to watch.”
I signal for the check, suddenly done with this conversation. Done with their speculation and assumptions and the uncomfortable truth underneath their teasing.
I feel something protective for her. More than I should. More than makes sense for someone who’s supposed to be a contained threat.
She broke into my facility. Stole my data. Put herself completely at my mercy through her own actions.
She should be nothing to me. A problem to be solved. A liability to be managed.
Instead, I’m sitting in a club thinking about the way she looked at the window, small and lost and alone. Thinking about how to make her comfortable without admitting that’s what I’m doing. Thinking about her in ways that have nothing to do with strategy.
Want is dangerous.
I want Elena Lawrence alive, safe, under my roof where I can… what?
Watch her? Protect her? Possess her?
All of the above, apparently.
Chapter Eleven - Elena
The summons comes on my third day in the room.
Irina appears at the door with her usual composed expression, but there’s something different in her eyes. Not sympathy exactly. More like warning.
“Mr. Sharov would like to see you,” she says. “In his study.”
My stomach drops. I’ve been waiting for this—dreading it—since I woke up in this beautiful cage. Knowing eventually he’d want to talk, to finish whatever conversation started in that cell.
“Now?” My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
“Yes. Come with me, please.”
I consider refusing. Consider making them drag me there just to prove I’m not cooperating willingly. That’s childish, though, and I stopped being a child the moment I walked into his facility.
I follow Irina out of the room, acutely aware that I’m wearing clothes chosen for me. A simple dress, dark blue, fitted but not revealing. Expensive fabric that moves like water. Shoes that fit perfectly. Everything designed to make me look composed, presentable.
Controlled.
We walk through corridors I haven’t seen before. The house is massive—mansion doesn’t quite cover it. More like a fortress disguised as luxury. High ceilings, artwork that probably costs more than my family’s remaining assets, thick carpets that silence our footsteps.
