Page 76 of Bound in Possession

I nod, resting my hands on the edge of the granite as I tilt my head toward her. "Did you miss me?"

Camilla rolls her eyes, tossing her head back, but she doesn't bother to give me a verbal answer. She doesn't need to. I already saw the absolute truth in the way her whole face lit up the exact second I walked through that door.

Before she can pull the plate away, I reach out, snapping off a corner of the blackened, charred toast, and pop it straight into my mouth.

Her dark eyes widen in sheer horror. "Maksim! No, don't eat that!" she gasps, reaching out to grab my hand.

I just shrug, chewing thoughtfully as the bitter taste coats my tongue, and reach down to snap off another small piece. "It’s really not that bad."

"It's awful!" she insists, snatching the plate up and holding it out of my reach. "I tasted a piece earlier and it was completely inedible. You're only saying that because you probably haven't eaten all day and you're starving."

She’s probably right. I’m ravenous.

I smile, the lingering tension from the docks completely dissolving as I step closer, gently taking the plate right back out of her hands and taking another bite. "Maybe I am starving. But my wife made it... so I'm eating it."

She simply stares at me in utter disbelief, her mouth slightly open as I finish two burnt slices and reach straight for the third.

"You are completely insane," she whispers, though a tiny, fond smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

As I chew, I lean against the counter, but the momentary distraction fades enough for the day's weight to settle back onto my shoulders.

"What happened today, Maksim?" she asks softly, looking up into my eyes. "You smell like smoke. And you look like you’ve been at war all day."

I instinctively step back half an inch, my guard going up out of habit. "It’s nothing for you to worry about, princess. Just business at the docks. Standard protocol."

Camilla doesn't buy it. She crosses her arms over my oversized shirt, her dark eyes locking onto mine with steady, unwavering focus. "Don't do that. Don't give me the Pakhan brush-off."

"Camilla—"

"I'm not asking to run your business, Maksim," she cuts in quietly, her voice devoid of anger, carrying only a grounded, intense sincerity. "I don't need the gory details, and I’m not asking to join your sit-downs. But I live in this house. I am your wife. Stop hiding the danger from me like I'm fragile. If there's trouble coming, I want to know."

I freeze, staring down at her. In my world, women are shielded until they are blind or used until they are broken. But Camilla stands here in my oversized shirt, barefoot on the cold tile, demanding nothing more than the truth so she can stand beside me in the dark.

I let out a long, quiet breath, the last remnants of my stubbornness deflating.

"Someone tried to intercept our replacement shipment today," I admit softly, taking her hands in mine and lightly thumbing her knuckles. "They forged my authorization codes. Dmitri tracked the digital origin back to a shell foundation... one connected directly to the opera house gala tomorrow night."

Camilla absorbs the information without flinching, her fingers tightening around mine. "So tomorrow is a setup."

"Or a revelation," I murmur, leaning down until my forehead rests against hers. "Either way, I'll handle it."

"Just don't shut me out," she whispers against my lips. "That's all I ask."

"I won't," I promise, the dark, heavy isolation of my position lifting just a little more. "I won't hide from you."

When I finish the last bit of burnt toast, Camilla pours me a cold glass of juice and sets it down in front of me. She steps closer, resting her hands lightly against my chest, looking right up into my eyes.

"Yes, Maksim," she says softly, her voice warm. "I missed you today."

I’m momentarily speechless. The sudden, unfiltered honesty drops like a quiet shock through my chest, stripping away every last bit of defense I usually keep wrapped around myself.

Before I can gather my thoughts or find the words to reply, she reaches down, taking my hand in hers, her small fingers warm against my calloused palm.

"Come," she murmurs gently, leading me away from the counter toward the stairs. "I’ll run you a bath. You look exhausted. Let me take care of you tonight."

And who am I to say no to that?

CHAPTER THIRTY