“I wasn’t sure if I should call,” she admitted, surprised by the vulnerability in her owntone.
“You should.”
Silence stretched, charged and waiting.
“Are you reconsidering?” she asked.
“Reconsidering what?”
“Keeping me.”
A pause followed, not abrupt but measured.
“Is that what you think this is?” he asked.
“You accepted me as consideration.” Her grip tightened on the phone until her knuckles blanched, the word tasting bitter as it left her mouth.
Consideration. As if she’d been an item slid across a polished table, evaluated, transferred, negotiated. Her pulse thudded in her ears, humiliation and anger tangling with something far more dangerous.
“I don’t know what that makes me,” she admitted, her voice unsteady despite her effort to steady it. “A favor? Atransaction? Atrophy taken to spite another man?” The questions scraped against her ribs on the way out, because beneath them was the real fear she hadn’t dared name—that she still didn’t belong to herself.
“I removed you,” he corrected, his voice steady but no longer cool. “Don’t confuse extraction withpossession.”
The distinction sliced through assumptions she’d carried for years.The idea that he might let her walk unsettled her more than the threat of being claimed. If he ordered her back, she would know her place. If he released her, she would have to decide where she belonged.
Freedom was more frightening than captivity when you’d never chosen either.
“And if I don’t want to be removed?” she asked, surprised by her own boldness.
Another pause, longer this time, heavy with implication.“Then we’ll discuss what you want instead,” hesaid.
Heat spread through her at the suggestion of negotiation rather than decree. Was he going to summon her back to his suite? Close the distance he’d so carefully maintained? The thought sent a rush of anticipation through her that startled her with its intensity.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he added.
No instruction. No location. No promise.
“I see,” she murmured, though she didn’t.
“Do you?”
The challenge in his voice sent another ripple throughher.
“I’m not certain,” she admitted.
“Good. Iappreciate your honesty.”
Theline went dead.
She lowered the phone, skin tingling, uncertainty coiling within her in equal measure with anticipation. The mirror reflected a woman in white, damp hair framing flushed cheeks, eyes bright with something she hadn’t allowed herself toname.
For the first time in years, the next move wasn’t dictated by debt or obligation.She could go to him tonight. Or she could refuse. It was her choice.
The power to decide didn’t steadyher.
It made her pulserace.
Tonight wouldn’t be determined by contract or coercion, and the unfamiliar freedom pressed against her ribs until anticipation and unease became indistinguishable.
