She studied me carefully.
“You could,” she said quietly. “Legally.”
“Yes.”
“Yet you don’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s not what I want.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
I didn’t answer because the truth was no longer simple. Attraction had been easy, and possession had been rational, but I was beginning to get attached to her, and that only complicated things for both of us. It complicated loyalty and control.
“I want you to choose,” I said finally.
Her eyes widened slightly.
“That’s ironic,” she scoffed, looking away. “My brothers are close.”
“I know.”
“If they come through that door.”
“They won’t.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re not reckless.”
Her gaze snapped back to mine.
“You think you understand them.”
“I understand you.”
Her breath faltered, and there it was again, that flicker. It was neither surrender nor forgiveness but something softer instead. Something more dangerous. I could see how the penthouse had become a battlefield of proximity, not gunfire. But just tension drawn tight between two people who refused to yield. All the while, the city moved beneath us. The Chernykhs circled, and inside the glass walls of my penthouse, I realized something I had not accounted for. This was no longer just about leverage, or optics, or even dominance.
It was about the way she waited at the table. The way she didn’t eat alone. The way her anger had edges, but not emptiness. The way our attraction had evolved. It was no longer sharp and impulsive but heavy. Rooted. And infinitely more dangerous. Attachment was the one variable I had never allowed myself to have.
Until her.
Chapter 13 - Elisse
I learned very quickly that the penthouse had been designed by a paranoid man. Not paranoid in the frantic, irrational sense, but someone who was intentionally calculated. Every hallway ended in reinforced doors and every window was sealed with nearly invisible security layering. The elevator required biometric clearance, which I did not possess. Even the stairwell, which was hidden behind a panel near the service corridor, required a code that reset every twelve hours.
I had tested everything, but I still continued to look for a way out.
I waited until Fyodor left that morning, dressed in black, his expression carved from stone after a quiet exchange in Russian with Viktor before the door shut behind him. My Russian had never been strong, so it had been difficult to comprehend what they were saying. But as soon as he was gone, I moved.
I started with the obvious. The balcony, once again, was thirty stories above the city. The glass railing was solid and unyielding, and the building had no drainpipes or adjacent rooftops close enough to jump without shattering every bone in my body. I paced the perimeter, counting the hidden cameras which were scattered everywhere. One of them was above the sliding doors, and another was angled from the opposite corner.
