The math is obscene.
I watch her move around the room, fetching fresh linens, wiping down the volcanic stone surfaces, her movements practiced and efficient despite the exhaustion radiating from her body.
She does not complain.
She does not ask for help.
She just keeps moving.
And I cannot tolerate it anymore.
If I am going to be vulnerable, if I am going to allow myself to need her, then I will also be ruthless about her safety.
I reach for my phone.
Tamsin glances over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised. "What are you doing?"
"Implementing a protocol," I say.
Her eyes narrow. "What kind of protocol?"
I do not answer. I am already drafting the contract amendment through Apex Wellness' official intake system.
The language is clinical. Corporate. Designed to appear as standard procedure rather than personal intervention.
Elite Client Health & Safety Protocol: Select high-value clients require dedicated, exclusive retainer therapists to prevent performance degradation and ensure optimal therapeutic outcomes. Effective immediately, Therapist T. Beck is reassigned to private retainer status under Client C-7749. Compensation package adjusted to reflect exclusive availability requirements.
I attach the financial details.
The numbers are staggering.
Enough to liquidate her rent arrears. Enough to cover her student loans. Enough to ensure she never has to work herself into exhaustion again.
I hit send.
The system processes the amendment instantly.
Tamsin is still staring at me. "Cyprian. What did you just do?"
I stand, rising to my full height. My wings unfold slightly, filling the space, and I look down at her with absolute formality.
"Your contract has been upgraded," I say. "You are now my exclusive, private retainer therapist. The financial package has been adjusted accordingly."
Her eyes widen. "What?"
"You will no longer work at the daytime clinic," I continue. "You will no longer take on additional clients. You will focus exclusively on my therapeutic requirements."
"Cyprian—"
"The compensation package includes full coverage of your outstanding debts, a monthly retainer that exceeds your current combined income, and access to Obsidian Aegis' corporate health benefits."
She stares at me. "You can't just—"
"I can," I say. "And I have."
Her face flushes. Not with gratitude. With anger.
"This is charity," she says, her voice sharp. "This is pity. You just confessed eight centuries of loneliness, and now you're trying to—what? Buy me? Keep me?"
