Page 69 of Bound in Ruin

I take a small sip of orange juice and set the glass down.

"I'm going to the hairdresser today," I announce, looking over at him. I’ve been wanting to tell him since yesterday, but I’ve hesitated because I know how dramatic he can be, especially after the little fiasco days ago.

Dominic’s eyes immediately leave his screen, locking onto mine. The easy atmosphere in the room vanishes in an instant, replaced by that dark, protective rigidity that takes over whenever I mention leaving the house.

“Do you have to?”

“I have to,” I answer stubbornly.

“Rosalia, your hair is perfect.”

“Dominic!” I draw in a breath. “Please. I have to.”

"Fine. I'll take you," he says flatly, setting his coffee cup down.

I let out a soft sigh, resting my chin in my hand. "You don't need to play chauffeur today. You have a mountain of work, and I'm just getting my hair washed and styled. I'll take a security detail with me if that will make you feel better."

"Going with you myself will make me feel better," he corrects, leaving zero room for negotiation. His tone is entirely firm, those dark eyes tracking my face as if expecting me to launch a full l debate.

"You are so overbearing," I tell him, narrow-eyed.

"I'm keeping you alive," he replies without skipping a beat.

I roll my eyes and throw my napkin onto the table. "You know what? Fine. Have it your way, Captain."

“Thank you.”

An hour later, the garage door hums open, and Dominic's vehicle glides out onto the estate driveway.

I sit in the passenger seat, leaning my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the familiar iron gates swing open. True to his new security rules, a second SUV filled with four armed guards pulls out right behind us, trailing at a discreet distance as we turn onto the main road.

Dominic rests one broad hand over the steering wheel, his knuckles relaxed, though his eyes constantly flick to the side mirrors, checking every angle of the road.

"You’re not usually this tense when you drive," I snap, turning in my seat to look at his sharp profile.

"Only when high-value cargo is in the passenger seat," he says smoothly, a faint, dark glint touching the corner of his eyes as he casts a brief glance my way.

I laugh softly, shaking my head as the city skyline begins to loom in the distance. "Unbelievable."

When the vehicle smoothly pulls up outside the salon, Dominic cuts the engine and immediately scans the street with a practiced, lethal eye. Behind us, the second vehicle comes to a halt, and I see two of his guards preparing to step out onto the pavement.

"Your guards stay outside," I state firmly, pointing toward the window. "All of them. Only you can come in with me."

Dominic turns in his seat, his brow furrowing as his jaw locks tight. "Rosalia, no. Two men inside to secure the entrance and back exits, and the rest hold the street⁠—"

“What?”

Is he joking? Ugh.

“Rosalia, this isn’t the time to be difficult. You were almost stabbed and kidnapped the⁠—”

“No. I am not walking in looking like I’m under armed federal custody.”

His frown deepens. “Let’s not⁠—”

"No," I cut him off, my voice rising in exasperation. "Dominic, please, be reasonable! It’s a salon, not a combat zone. Can I not have one normal outing without a full infantry unit breathing down my neck?"

He stares at me, his dark eyes searching my face. I brace myself for another rigid, dictatorial battle, but to my absolute surprise, the harsh line of his mouth slowly softens.