We don't speak until we're back in the guest house with the door closed and locked behind us.
"I gave you one command." I round on her. "Stay here. Don't leave. For any reason. What part of that was unclear?"
"I just went to the main house for coffee." The defense comes out automatic, corporate executive explaining why a minor policy violation doesn't really count. "Isabella was home, I thought it would be fine?—"
"You thought wrong." I step closer. Her shoulders square defensively. "This isn't about coffee. This isn't about whether Isabella was home. This is about you following commands designed to keep you alive."
"It was just the main house?—"
"It was a direct violation of security protocols. You left a secured location without my permission. Moved across open ground where you're exposed to anyone watching the property. Prioritized your comfort over threat assessment. After I explicitly commanded you not to." I pause, let that sink in. “And yes, I had an operative posted. But he was positioned at the tree line facing the road approach. From that angle the guest house door was outside his direct line-of-sight. He was watching the perimeter for external threats, not babysitting you. The assumption was that you’d follow the command to stay inside. He probably didn't even see you leave. That's a gap in coverage I'll address with my team. But it doesn't change the fact that you violated a direct command."
She opens her mouth to argue, closes it again. Some part of her recognizes that there's no defense for this. No boardroom logic that makes disobeying a direct command acceptable.
"I'm sorry." The words come out quiet. "I didn't think it was a big deal."
"That's the problem. You don't think about security. You think about what's convenient, what seems reasonable, what fits with your schedule and priorities. That kind of thinkinggets people killed when stalkers escalate from surveillance to physical action."
"I know." Her voice drops further. "I know, I just—I couldn't stay here alone anymore.” The fear had crept in overnight, eroding the certainty she'd walked in with. “The walls were closing in and I needed to see someone who wasn't monitoring my every move."
The admission cracks something open. Fear beneath the professional polish, vulnerability she's been hiding behind performance and control.
"You're scared. That's normal. Expected. But running from the fear by violating security protocols doesn't make you safer."
"I wasn't running." But the protest lacks conviction.
"You were. You left the guest house because staying here alone made the threat feel too real. Made you feel trapped and vulnerable."
Her breathing shakes. "How do you know that?"
"Because I've worked protection details before." I step closer. "The ones who survive follow protocols. The ones who don't survive take risks to feel normal again. Which one are you going to be?"
She wraps her arms around herself. "I'm trying to trust you. I am. But you're asking me to give up everything that makes me feel safe. My schedule, my autonomy, my control over my own life. And I don't know how to do that."
"Start by following commands. Period."
"And if I can't?" The question comes out small, uncertain. "If I keep pushing back because that's the only way I know how to protect myself?"
"Then you learn what consequences look like when I'm the one enforcing them. And you keep learning until my authority stops feeling like a threat and starts feeling like the foundation."
Her eyes hold mine. Fear and something else warring in their depths. "I don't know if I can do this."
"Yes, you can." I reach out, tilt her chin up so she can't look away. For a second neither of us moves. Warm skin under my thumb. Steady pulse that jumps the longer I hold her there. She doesn't pull away. "You've built an empire. You can learn to trust me." My thumb brushes her jawline. "Can you do that?"
The air between us thickens. Her lips part slightly, and for a moment I think she might close the distance herself.
I drop my hand and step back before instinct overrides judgment. Not yet. Not while she's still learning the difference between performance and reality.
"Because trying is all I'm asking for right now. Follow the protocols. Stay in the guest house unless I clear you for movement. When I give you a command, follow it immediately. That's how you stay alive long enough for me to stop the threat."
She nods, still shaken but steadier than before. "Okay."
"I need to sweep Dominion this afternoon. That means I'm leaving the property for a few hours." I pull out my phone, text Remy. "I'm having one of our guys posted inside the guest house this time. You don't leave this building. You don't open the door for anyone except me. And if you need anything—coffee, food, someone to talk to—you ask him and he'll have someone bring it to you. You don't go wandering off to find it yourself. Understood?"
Her face flushes, but she nods. "Understood."
"Good." I wait for Remy's confirmation text, then pocket my phone. "He'll be here in five minutes. You go upstairs and stay there until he arrives and I clear him with you. Then you follow his instructions the same way you'd follow mine. Clear?"
"Clear."
