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"I know Cain," I say without blinking. "If I asked him, he'd lock me in his house and tell me to read a book. He won't let me do a single thing."

Malachi lets out a sharp, genuine bark of laughter, clearly enjoying his brother's predicament. He taps his long fingers against the wooden armrest, considering me for a beat.

"As it happens," Malachi says, his dark eyes gleaming with entertainment, "Elijah is currently drowning in paper. We need someone we can trust to organize and cross-reference information on every restaurant, hotel, and underground club the Devlin syndicate operates out of. It’s temporary, it’s paid, and it keeps you inside a safe house twelve hours a day. Think you can handle that?"

A rush of relief hits my chest. "Yes, I⁠—"

The door behind me slams open with a deafening crash, hitting the wall so hard the glass fixtures rattle.

"What the fuck are you doing, Alexis?" Cain snaps, storming into the room like a localized hurricane.

"Malachi, don’t entertain this," Cain rumbles, ignoring me completely as he turns his dark, stormy gaze on his brother. "She’s not doing any work."

I stand up from the leather chair, crossing my arms over my chest, refusing to let him intimidate me into submission. "I am doing it, Cain. And what are you even doing here?"

Cain steps further into the office, his presence instantly shrinking the wide room. "You think I wouldn’t know the second you left the house?"

My eyes narrow as a sharp realization hits me. "Are you tracking me?"

Cain rolls his eyes, letting out an irritated breath like the answer should be obvious.

"Look at the logic here," I insist, stepping closer to him so he has to look down at me. "I’ll be inside a heavily guarded Kavanagh property, doing legitimate administrative work, and earning my own money instead of losing my mind staring at your walls. It’s completely safe."

Malachi chuckles from behind the desk, taking a slow sip of his drink. "She’s got a point, brother. It keeps her off the streets, keeps her behind our security, and gets Elijah off my back about the Devlin files. It’s a win for everyone."

Cain looks between Malachi and me, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitches in his cheek. He holds my gaze for several long, tense seconds, searching my face for any sign of backing down. Finding none, he lets out a low, defeated growl, gritting his teeth.

He’s giving in. He hates it, but he’s giving in.

A small, quiet surge of victory sparks in my chest—I actually won this argument.

Malachi smirks, resting his elbows on the desk as he watches Cain's dark scowl. "Having a woman who doesn't blindly obey your every command might actually be good for you, Cain. Keeps you sharp."

Cain snaps his head toward Malachi, throwing him a sharp, lethal frown that could wither steel.

Without another word to his brother, Cain reaches out, his large, warm hand wrapping firmly around mine. He tugs me gently but unyieldingly toward the doorway, leading me out into the hallway before I can say another word.

The moment we reach the privacy of his car, the tense silence between us finally breaks.

"No more sneaking off, Alexis," Cain rumbles, leaning over to click my seatbelt into place before taking his own seat behind the wheel.

"If you want to go somewhere, you tell me. You're not a prisoner here. In fact, I already assigned a car and a personal driver to you this morning. He'll be at the estate whenever you need him."

A warm, unexpected wave of gratitude washes over me, and I can't help the soft smile that touches my lips. "Thank you, Cain."

He throws the car into gear and pulls out into the afternoon traffic, keeping his dark gaze fixed on the road ahead.

"There’s a family dinner tomorrow night. Riley and Jade are organizing it at the main house, and I want Grandma Milly to be there. It’ll help her get out of the house and have fun.”

My heart softens instantly, a lump catching in my throat at how thoughtful the gesture is. I turn in my seat to look at his sharp profile. "Are you sure? Will your family really not mind having her there?"

Cain rolls his eyes, letting out a low hum of annoyance at the question. "I'm absolutely sure, doll. And no, my family won't mind."

"Okay," I say softly, the warmth in my chest spreading.

"Which means we have to go shopping for dresses today," Cain continues, his tone leaving zero room for negotiation. "For both you and your grandmother."

I open my mouth to protest—to tell him I can buy our own dresses with my own money—but before I can get a single word out, Cain throws me a sharp, warning glance.