“The elevator?”
“No.”
“The roof?”
“No.”
I fold my arms. “How comforting.”
“There are two female guards at the front entrance,” he says. “You won’t need to ask permission to move around the apartment. Only if you want the elevator.”
There it is again. Permission. I hate that word now.
I brush past him and step back into the hall. He turns with me, slow and unsurprised, like he knew exactly what I would do next.
I walk the length of the corridor.
First door on the right: a guest room. Beautiful. Useless.
Next: an office. Desk. Shelves. Windows sealed shut. Asecond door in there that leads to a small private sitting room. No exit.
The end of the hall opens into another bedroom suite, likely his. I don’t go inside. I only pause long enough to notice the darker color palette, the masculine lines, the low lamp glow, the jacket tossed over a chair as if he already belongs here.
Of course he does.
When I reach the entry again, the elevator remains a dark metallic promise of nothing. The panel beside it glows faint blue until I touch it. Then red.
“I want to go home. Now.”
One of the women seated discreetly near the entry rises. She is tall, dark-haired, dressed in black, and polite in a way that feels final.
“Miss Miller,” she says, “please don’t.”
“Do you physically stop me if I try?”
Her face stays neutral. “I’d rather not have to.”
Which is not a no.
I look at the second woman by the entry console. She doesn’t move, but she’s watching me closely too. New guards, new city, same cage. I swallow my anger and step back.
The first woman inclines her head and sits again.
Lorenzo comes up beside me, not touching, which somehow makes his nearness worse.
“You see?” he says quietly. “You can move freely.”
I turn on him so fast the words crack out of me before I can stop them. “Inside the box.”
He doesn’t react, which pisses me off even more.
“This whole place is a box,” I go on, my voice rising. “A beautiful one, yes. Very thoughtful. Stunning view. Stocked closet. Luxury skincare. But it is still a box unless I can choose to leave it.”
Lorenzo’s gaze stays fixed on mine. For one terrible second Ithink he’s going to say something cold or merciless. Something that will make me hate him cleanly again.
Instead, he says, “For now.”
Those two words are softer than anything else he could have said.
