One word.
Clear.
Defiant.
The syllable hung in the air between us like a thrown gauntlet.
For a moment, I thought he might smile.
That infuriating, knowing curve of his mouth that said he'd anticipated this exact response and had already planned three moves ahead.
He didn't.
His expression didn't shift at all.
No anger. No surprise. No reaction I could use to measure whether I'd landed a blow or just embarrassed myself.
He just stood there.
Watching.
Waiting.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Blood rushed in my ears. Every instinct I'd spent years honing in a world that didn't reward women for backing down screamed at me to hold this line. To prove that signing a contract didn't erase my spine. That he could own my time, my presence, my body for six months—but not this. Not the small, stupid act of refusing dinner.
"Belle."
My name in his voice.
Quiet.
Patient.
A warning wrapped in silk.
I lifted my chin. "I said no."
The air shifted.
Not violently. Not even obviously.
But the temperature in the room dropped just enough to notice. Just enough to make my breath catch.
Gideon moved. One step into the room.
The door swung wider behind him but didn't close.
Escape route still visible. Still technically available.
We both knew I wouldn't take it.
"The contract," he said, voice perfectly level, "doesn't include a starvation clause."
"Good thing I'm not hungry then."
"You haven't eaten since this morning."
How the hell did he?—
