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“You know,” he says, settling back in his chair, “I always wondered what it would look like when this happened to you. I assumed it would be some terrifying combination of obsession and control, something that would make the rest of us look stable by comparison.”

“Nothing is happening to me.”

“Of course not.” He takes a sip of his drink, still smiling. “You’re just distracted for no reason. You’re just staring at doors and losing track of conversations and making decisions based on where she is in the house rather than what makes strategic sense.”

“I don’t make decisions based on—”

“I’m not stupid. The men talk, and I know you’re obsessed with your little hacker.” He raises an eyebrow. “You also increased her security detail by two men, and you personally interviewed each one to ensure they understood that she was not to be touched or threatened under any circumstances. That’s not strategic, Maxim. That’s personal.”

I set my glass down harder than I intend. “She’s valuable. Davina understands our systems better than anyone we have.”

“She’s a hostage who tried to escape recently. Yet here you are, rearranging your entire household to keep her close and protect her from threats that may or may not exist.” Ivan shakes his head slowly. “You’re not treating her like an asset. You’re treating her like something far more complicated.”

The words hang in the air between us. I want to deny them. I want to explain that my actions are purely strategic, that Davina is a resource to be protected and utilized, nothing more. Except the words stick in my throat, because we both know they would be lies.

“When was the last time you felt like this about anyone?” Ivan asks, his tone gentler now. “When was the last time someone occupied this much space in your head?”

“I don’t feel like anything.”

“You keep saying that, and yet here we are.” He gestures around the room. “You, the most controlled man I’ve ever met, unable to focus on a conversation about our organization’s future because you’re thinking about a woman who should be nothing more than a bargaining chip.”

“She’s not—” I stop, unsure how to finish the sentence.

She’s not just a bargaining chip. She’s not just an asset. She’s not just a hostage.

So what is she, then? I don’t have a word for it. I don’t have a category that fits.

“You’re in uncharted territory,” Ivan says, as if reading my thoughts. “It happens to all of us eventually. Even the ones who swear it won’t.”

“I’m not like you.” The words come out sharper than I intend. “I don’t get attached. I don’t lose control.”

“Yet you did lose control, didn’t you? In more ways than one.” He holds my gaze steadily. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, Maxim. I’ve seen the way you position yourself between her and any perceived threat. I’ve seen the way your voice changes when you talk about her safety.”

“My voice doesn’t change.”

“It softens. Just slightly, just enough that most people wouldn’t notice, but I’m not most people.” He finishes his drink and sets the glass aside. “You can deny it all you want, but the evidence is clear. You’ve developed feelings for this woman.

I try to find reasons why he’s wrong, why this is just a temporary fixation, why I’ll get over it the same way I’ve gotten over every other distraction that’s crossed my path.

I think about her constantly. Not just when I’m making security decisions or planning strategic moves, but in quiet moments when I should be focused on other things. I think about the way she bites her lower lip when she’s concentrating.

I think about the way she felt in my arms. The way she sounded when she said my name. The way she chose to stay with me after the attack, even when she could have run.

These thoughts should be easy to dismiss. They should be filed away, compartmentalized, dealt with the same way I deal with any distraction, but they’re not. They keep resurfacing, demanding attention, refusing to be ignored.

“You’re thinking about her right now, aren’t you?” Ivan says.

I look up to find him watching me with an expression that’s almost sympathetic. Almost.

“I’m considering the implications of her presence here,” I say carefully. “Nothing more.”

“Of course.” He stands, straightening his jacket. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you should talk to her. Actually talk, not just issue commands and expect compliance. You might be surprised by what you learn.”

“I don’t need relationship advice from you.”

“Everyone needs advice sometimes. Even men like us.” He moves toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the frame. “One more thing, Maxim. Whatever this is—whatever you’re feeling—it’s not weakness. It’s human. The sooner you stop fighting it, the sooner you can figure out what to do about it.”

He leaves before I can respond, and I’m alone with my thoughts again.