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It’s been three days since the control room, and I haven’t been able to think about anything else. Every time I sit down to review financial projections or plan the next phase of our Prague negotiations, my mind drifts back to that moment.

Her hand felt so delicate and warm, and she smelled faintly of vanilla. I’d never noticed that before. I wanted to do things to her I’ve never cared to do to anyone.

It’s a miracle I kept myself in check.

I tighten security around her. It’s a practical decision, or that’s what I tell myself. The second attack proved that our systems are vulnerable, and she’s the only one who understands them well enough to help. Keeping her close is logical. Rational.

Except I’m not being rational. I’m adding guards to her hallway, restricting her movements within the mansion, monitoring her more closely than before. I’m using work pressure as an excuse, telling myself it’s for her protection as much as ours, but the truth is simpler and more irritating.

I don’t want her out of my sight.

Andrei notices. He doesn’t say anything directly, but I catch the looks he gives me when I review the security logs for her hallway more carefully than the reports from our overseas operations. I see the way he pauses when I ask for updates on her meals, her sleep schedule, her mood.

He doesn’t ask questions. He’s too smart for that, but he’s thinking them.

***

On the fourth day, she comes to find me.

I’m in my study when the door opens without a knock. I look up, expecting Andrei or Kirill, and instead I see her standing in the doorway with an expression that makes my jaw tighten.

She’s angry.

“What the hell is going on?” she asks.

I set down my pen. “Good evening to you too.”

“Don’t.” She steps into the room and closes the door behind her. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend everything is normal. Why are there more guards outside my room? Why am I being escorted everywhere I go? Why can’t I walk from one end of this mansion to the other without someone following me?”

I lean back in my chair. “Security precautions.”

“Security precautions? You told me you’d explain why I’m here, but you haven’t. You also said you’d improve my living conditions. What happened to that promise?”

“Yes, well. These things take time. I’m keeping you because you’re important. Isn’t that obvious?”

“That attack is over. You said I fixed it.”

“I said you patched the vulnerability. That doesn’t mean the threat is gone.”

She crosses her arms. “This isn’t about the threat, and you know it.”

“It’s exactly about the threat. Someone is targeting our systems, and you’re the only person who understands them well enough to help. Keeping you close is a logical decision.”

“Logical.” She says the word like it’s a joke. “You’re not keeping me close. You’re keeping me contained.”

I stand from my chair. “You’re alive right now because of my control. I’ve made decisions about your safety that you don’t like but that keep you breathing. You’re not in a position to challenge that.”

“I’m not challenging your decisions. I’m challenging the way you’re treating me like something you own.”

The words hang in the air between us. She’s breathing hard, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with anger. She looks alive in a way that makes my chest tight.

I move toward her. I don’t mean to—it’s instinct, something in her voice pulling me forward—but suddenly I’m closer than I should be, and she’s not stepping back.

“Maybe you need a leash,” I say. “You keep trying to run from a situation you can’t escape. You keep pushing against boundaries that exist for your protection. Stop acting like you have options, when the only option you have is me.”

“I have options.”

“You don’t.”