"So you were vulnerable," he says. "Exploitable. A perfect target for corporate espionage."
"I'm not atarget—"
"You are exactly a target." His voice is cold. Clinical. "You are a human with significant financial liabilities and direct physical access to my body during sessions when my defenses are compromised. You are the ideal vector for infiltration."
I stare at him.
At the cold, calculating expression on his face.
At the way he's analyzing me like I'm a security threat instead of the woman who saved his life two days ago.
"You think I'm a spy," I say quietly.
"I think you are desperate," he says. "And desperation makes people do things they would not otherwise consider."
"I told them no."
"So you claim."
"I have proof!"
"Which you did not provide immediately."
"Because I wanted to see you!" My voice cracks. "Because I thought—after what happened between us—you would trust me!"
His jaw tightens.
"Trust," he says slowly, "is a luxury I cannot afford."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
I take a step back.
"You're serious," I whisper. "You actually think I would sell you out."
"I think you are human," he says. "And humans are fragile. Financially. Emotionally. Physically. You were drowning in debt. You were one eviction notice away from homelessness. And then a collection agency offered you a way out."
"And I said no!"
"Why?"
The question hangs in the air between us.
"Why?" I repeat.
"Yes. Why did you refuse their offer? What possible reason could you have for choosing continued financial hardship over immediate relief?"
I stare at him.
At the cold, analytical expression on his face.
At the way he's dissecting my motivations like I'm a corporate acquisition instead of a person.
"Because I care about you," I say.
My voice is shaking.
Raw.
