Rik nods, but his expression is grave. “Good. But there is a complication.”
My stomach tightens. “What kind?”
“Your cover. There are whispers. Someone close to Mercer has been digging. They may have connected Maxim Volkov to the Kedrovs. Maybe not fully, but enough to be suspicious.” He leans forward. “And the girl. The one from the auction.”
Ice floods my veins. “What about her?”
He studies me for a beat. He never asked or said anything about me acquiring Sydney, but I know he thinks it was a stupid move. “Mercer was at the auction. If your identity is compromised, she becomes a target. Mercer’s people don’t play clean. They’ll use her to get to you. To us.” Scratching his jaw, he watches me again, as if weighing how much to tell me. “The person doing the digging, it might be Victor Lang.”
The room narrows. Sydney. In danger because of me.
Because I bought her, because I couldn’t stay away from her at night. Because I humiliated Victor Lang in front of other people.
The possessiveness I feel for her surges, and it’s laced with fierce protectiveness.
“I’ll handle it,” I say, voice hard. “She’s under my protection. No one touches her.”
Rik studies me for a long moment. “Be careful, Maxim. Revenge is close. Don’t let a woman distract you from the goal.”
But she’s not just a woman. She’s mine. And the thought of anyone threatening her makes something dark and violent uncoil inside me. “What would you do if it were Perla.”
Anger flares in Rik’s eyes when I mention his wife’s name, but then he calmly studies me. “So it’s like that.”
I nod. “It’s like that.”
“Get her somewhere safe. Protect her.”
I leave the meeting with my mind racing. Shielding Sydney from danger is my highest priority now. I need to find out exactly how much Mercer knows, if anything.
Most of all, I need to get back to Sydney and make sure she’s safe.
I floor the accelerator, heading home, my mind feverishly working on a plan to implement once I get there.
CHAPTER 7
SYDNEY
The sound of the front door opening usually sends a thrill through me. Max coming home has become the highlight of my days. It’s the moment the tension in my chest eases and I remember what it feels like to be wanted. Possessed.
Cherished in that fierce, dominant way that makes my body hum even now, weeks into this arrangement. The moment the worry about Ben ceases and I know I’ll have another night of blissed-out sleep because Max has fucked my body into exhaustion.
But tonight is different.
I hear his footsteps in the hallway, heavy and purposeful, and something feels off. No familiar call of my name. No growl of anticipation.
I set down the book I’m reading on the couch and stand, smoothing the hem of the silk slip I’m wearing. One he bought me, of course. My heart picks up speed as he enters the living room.
Max looks... cold. His jaw is set, eyes distant in a way I’ve never seen directed at me. The man who usually pins me against the nearest surface the second he walks in barely glances at me.
“Pack your things,” he says flatly, not even bothering with a hello. His voice is low, controlled, but there’s no warmth in it. No hunger.
I blink, the words not quite registering. “What?”
“You heard me, Sydney. Pack. We have little time.” He doesn’t look at me as he says it, walking straight to the bar and pouring himself a drink. His movements are sharp, efficient. Like I’m suddenly an inconvenience.
My stomach drops. This isn’t the Max I know, the one who fucks me like he owns me, who whispers filthy praises against my skin while holding me like I’m precious. The adrenaline-fueled chemistry that sparked at the auction has only grown stronger every night. Until now.
“Max, what’s going on?” I step closer, reaching for his arm. He pulls away, and that small rejection stings worse than it should.
