Anya glances up at Ellie, who answers the unspoken question with a nod. Anya’s gaze returns to me.
She draws a breath. “I want to go to school,” she says. “A real school. With other children.”
The first response that forms in my chest isno. But I look at her face — the anxiety evident in the way she grips Ellie’s dress like an anchor — and I hold the word behind my teeth.
“It’s not safe to?—”
“She needs friends.” Ellie’s voice is quiet but clear. Not arguing but stating. “She needs to be around children her age, Rolan. She needs to discover who she is somewhere beyond these walls.”
“Papa.” Anya’s voice is very small. “Please.”
“Give me a moment with Ellie,malaya,” I say. “Please.”
Anya reads my tone correctly and nods, stepping out of the office. Her small hands pull the door shut behind her with deliberate care.
Ellie bites her lip. I stand, rounding the desk and stopping in front of her. She takes a breath and begins.
“Okay, so I’ve been researching this.” She shifts her weight slightly. “There are three schools in the greater Chicago area that specialize in gifted education. Not just accelerated curriculum — genuinely gifted. The kind of program that would actually challenge her instead of boring her into misbehavior, which, by the way, is exactly where we’re headed if we keep her home much longer.”
I say nothing. She takes this as permission to continue.
“The first is Meridian Academy on the north side — small cohorts, individualized pacing, excellent STEM integration. The second is the Lakeview Institute?—”
I place my hands on her face, and she stops.
“I trust your judgment,” I say.
She blinks. “You?—”
“I said, I trust your judgment.” I let my thumbs trace her cheekbones. “But there’s a price.”
“I can assure you those are very expensive institutions. There will certainly be a price.”
But my gaze makes it clear I’m not discussing tuition. She catches up, her eyes shifting. “Rolan, I’m trying to have a serious?—”
“I know.” I let my hands travel down her neck, her shoulders, the length of her. “You can have your serious conversation. After.”
“That’s not—” Her breath catches as my hands find the hem of her dress and slide beneath it — and encounter nothing. No barrier. Just her.
I stop.
She meets my gaze with an expression that is attempting innocence and achieving nothing of the sort.
My eyes narrow. “Did you walk through this house without underwear?”
She bites her lip. The smile is winning its war against her effort to suppress it. “Let’s say I was aware there might be a cost.”
The laugh escapes before I can contain it. Unguarded, unmanaged, the kind that belongs entirely to her. I pull her toward the desk.
“Always ready for me,” I say against her ear, my hands moving with intent.
“Rolan…”
“Turn around,” I order.
She obeys.
She’s so wet that I meet no resistance as I bury myself inside her. She releases a moan, her body arching back against mine, and I gather her hair, pulling gently to bring her mouth within reach while I take her from behind. My fingers find her center, and she moans again against my lips — a sound that nearly unravels my control entirely.
