“Then why do you keep ignoring it?”
“Because your position is unreasonable. We live in the same house. Contact is inevitable.”
“Contact doesn’t require conversation.”
“So I should just ignore them when they’re directly in front of me? That seems cruel.”
“Cruel is what you did to that man at the warehouse.”
“Different situations require different responses. A business rival threatening my operations gets one treatment. Children playing in a hallway get another.”
“How reassuring.”
“It should be. It means I’m capable of distinguishing between threats and non-threats. Your children aren’t threats.”
“Not yet.”
I step closer. She doesn’t back away. “What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t know what you’ll do if they inconvenience you. If they get in your way or cause problems. I saw how quickly you eliminated someone who annoyed you.”
“Mikhailov tried to cheat me out of millions and then reached for a weapon. That’s not the same as children existing in my house.”
“To you, maybe. To me, it shows what you’re capable of when someone crosses you.”
“Then don’t cross me. Simple.”
“I cross you every day by keeping the twins away from you.”
I smile. Cold. Calculated. “And yet here we both are. You’re still alive. They’re still safe. Maybe your theory about my violent impulses doesn’t hold up.”
Her jaw tightens. “This isn’t a game.”
“No. It’s a war you’re fighting alone. I’ve been very clear about my position. The twins are part of this household. I will interact with them when circumstances require it. You can accept that reality or keep exhausting yourself fighting it. Either way, the outcome doesn’t change.”
“You don’t get to have them.”
“I don’t want to have them. I want you to stop treating every interaction like I’m planning to hurt them.”
“Give me one good reason to trust you.”
“I don’t need to give you reasons. Trust isn’t required. Compliance is.”
“Fuck you.”
“Already did. Twice this week. Still hasn’t improved your disposition.”
She slaps me.
The sound echoes down the hallway. My head barely moves from the impact. I let the silence stretch.
Then I lean in close. “Feel better?”
“Not remotely.”
“Shame. Let me know when you’re ready to stop fighting battles you can’t win.”
I walk past her toward the stairs. She doesn’t follow. Doesn’t say anything else.
