She shrugs, placing a piece of the sky with terrifying accuracy. "Because you always look scrunchy when he walks by, and then you look sad when he leaves."
I don't have an answer for that because, unfortunately, she’s right. I’m tired of being managed. I’m tired of the laptop restriction, the constant "stay here," "don't go there" instructions. I proved myself in that boardroom. I held my own against a room full of dangerous men. I’m not a pet, and I’m not a prisoner anymore. At least, not in the way he thinks.
I stand up, smoothing out my leggings. "I’ll be back in a minute, Maeve."
"Okay! Bring me a juice box, please?"
"If I can find one."
I walk toward his office, my feet hitting the floor harder than I mean them to. I don't stop to think about whether this is a good idea. I just need him to acknowledge me. I need him to stop acting like I’m a piece of furniture he’s trying to ignore.
He’s just coming out of his office, talking to one of his guards, when he spots me. He stops mid-sentence, his expression immediately shifting into that familiar, unreadable mask. He dismisses the guard with a nod, and then he’s just standing there, waiting for me to speak, his hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets.
"Can we talk?" I ask.
"I’m busy, Atara."
"You’re always busy. That’s the default setting," I snap, my frustration bubbling over. "I’m tired of the restrictions. The laptop, the 'don't go past the foyer' rule. I proved I’m smart enough to be here. I proved I’m not going to run to the cops the second I get a chance. You can stop treating me like a security risk."
He listens, his face completely blank. He doesn't move. He doesn't look angry; he just looks... tired. There’s a smudge of exhaustion under his eyes that I hadn't noticed before, and for a second, my chest feels like it’s been hit with a lead pipe.
I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe a shout. Maybe an argument. But he just stares at me, and it feels like he’s seeing right through the frustration, right to the fact that I’m standing here looking for any excuse to get him to look at me.
"Are you finished?" he asks.
"No, I—"
He takes a step closer. The air shifts. He reaches out, and for a split second, I think he’s going to grab me. Instead, he just raises his hand and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers are calloused and warm, and they linger against my skin for just a second too long.
He looks like he wants to say something. His mouth opens slightly, his gaze dropping to my lips, and there’s a flicker of raw, naked vulnerability in his eyes—the same look he had at the dinner table. Then, he closes his eyes, shuts it off, and pulls his hand away as if he’s been burned.
"Go back to Maeve," he says, his voice flat.
He turns and walks away. I’m left in the corridor, staring at his broad shoulders, and I feel a sudden, violent urge to throw something at the back of his head. My skin is crawling where he touched me, buzzing with a desperate, pathetic longing. I’m not worried about the laptop anymore. I’m worried about him. I want to find a way to fix whatever is eating him alive, and that realization makes me want to cry.
That evening, the house is too quiet. I’m sitting in the kitchen, staring at a half-finished book, and I realize I need to talk to someone who isn't a five-year-old or a grumpy crime lord.
I need Tania.
I know he doesn't let me use the house phone, but he’s currently in the basement, and I know where he keeps his personal cell. He left it on the kitchen counter when he came in for dinner. He’s careless, or maybe he just doesn't think I’d dare.
I look at the phone. My heart is doing that annoying, frantic tap-dance against my ribs again. I grab it, slide into the pantry, and dial Tania’s number before I can talk myself out of it.
"Atara? Oh my god! Where have you been? Are you okay?" Tania’s voice is frantic on the other end.
"I’m... I’m okay, Tania. I’m safe," I whisper, trying to keep my voice down.
"Safe? You’ve been gone for weeks! My god, I just knew that stupid text message wasn’t from you! I thought you were dead, but no one would believe me when I say, even though it really looks like it, this is not how Atara chats! Where are you? Tell me, I’ll call the police right now."
"No! Don't call the police," I say, and then I stop. Why am I protecting him? "Tania, listen. I’m in... I don't even know where I am. It’s a compound. And the man I’m with…”
"Is he hurting you? Do I need to find my chainsaw? Is he a monster?"
I think about the way he touched my hair in the hallway. I think about the way he held my neck in the boardroom. I think about the way he looks at Maeve.
"He’s not a monster," I say, and the words feel like a shock. "He’s just... he’s complicated. He’s angry, and he’s dangerous, but he’s not... he’s not someone I'm afraid of."
"Atara, are you having Stockholm syndrome? Tell me you’re not having Stockholm syndrome."
