The word hit harder than the lock clicking shut behind us.
Chapter 8
Gideon
I watched her stop breathing for half a second. Good. That meant she was listening.
"This is my house." I kept my voice level, the same tone I used for play calls on ice. Clear. Final. "My schedule comes first. Training at five. Games twice a week. Everything else fits around that."
Belle's jaw tightened, but she didn't interrupt.
I stepped closer. Not crowding. Just closing distance until she had to tilt her chin up to meet my eyes.
"My needs will be met when I ask."
Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
I continued. "You agreed to six months." The contract sat folded in my jacket pocket, her signature still drying. "I decide how those months look."
She flinched like I'd struck her, but I wasn't done.
"No running." I nodded toward the windows, the lake beyond, the distance between here and anywhere she used to call home. "Cameras cover the property. Security monitors the gate. You leave, I know. You try anyway, the deal's void."
Her breathing picked up, shallow and quick.
"No lies." I tilted my head slightly, studying the way her pulse jumped in her throat. "I don't need you to smile. Don't need you to pretend this is something it's not. But I won't tolerate deception."
"And if I?—"
"You won't."
The certainty in my voice cut her off cleaner than any shout would have.
I let the silence stretch, let her feel the weight of what she'd signed. What she'd agreed to. What she'd become the moment that pen touched paper.
"I have needs, Belle." Her name tasted better than it should have. "You'll see to them whenever I ask. However I ask."
Color drained from her face.
Not fear.
Rage threaded with something she'd never admit—not to me, not to herself.
She opened her mouth, closed it. Opened it again.
"You're a monster."
I didn't argue.
Didn't smile.
Just watched her stand there, trembling with fury she couldn't direct anywhere that mattered.
"Maybe." I stepped back, giving her room to breathe. "But I'm the monster who saved your father."
Her eyes glistened, wet and bright and burning. "You're a bastard."
The words cracked between us like gunfire. Sharp. Clean. No hesitation.
