Chapter 16
1176 Words
The first time I realize how little control I have left over my own life, it is not during a gunshot or a shouted order or the sight of armed men moving through the halls of the mansion with quiet precision, but in a moment of stillness, when I am standing alone at one of the tall windows overlooking the back grounds and I understand that even the view has been chosen for me.
The estate stretches out endlessly beneath the fading afternoon sun, manicured gardens giving way to iron gates and tree lines that look beautiful at first glance but quickly reveal themselves as barriers rather than decoration, every path calculated, every open space watched, and I suddenly know with painful clarity that this place is not meant to be escaped from easily, not by accident, not by design.
I wrap my arms around myself, the weight of everything that has happened pressing down on my chest until breathing feels like work, and for the first time since we arrived, fear creeps in quietly rather than violently, settling into my bones instead of crashing through my veins.
This is real.
Cassie is somewhere else in the mansion, being shown guest rooms and security procedures by Alexander, and even though I am relieved she is not alone, the separation leaves me feeling strangely exposed, as if being apart from her for even a short while makes me vulnerable in ways I cannot fully explain.
The door behind me opens softly.
I do not need to turn around to know it is Micheal.
There is something unmistakable about his presence, a shift in the air that I have begun to recognize instinctively, my body reacting before my mind can catch up, and when I finally look over my shoulder, I find him standing a few steps away, his dark suit immaculate despite the long day, his expression calm but observant, as if he has been studying me long before I noticed him.
“You should not stand here alone,” he says gently. “Not yet.”
I straighten instinctively, embarrassed by how small I must look pressed against the glass. “I just needed a minute,” I answer quietly. “Everything feels like too much all at once.”
He nods slowly, as if he understands more than I have said. “That feeling does not fade quickly,” he replies. “But it does become manageable.”
“That is not very comforting,” I admit, forcing a weak smile that disappears almost as soon as it forms.
Micheal’s lips curve slightly, not amused but not unkind either. “I am not in the habit of lying to make people feel better,” he says. “Especially not you.”
Something about that sends a ripple through me, unsettling and grounding all at once, and I turn back toward the window, unsure how to respond.
“I watched them earlier,” I say after a moment, my voice low. “Your men. The way they move. The way they listen to you. It is like everything revolves around you.”
“For better or worse,” he answers. “Leadership is not about control. It is about responsibility.”
I glance back at him, my brows furrowing. “You make it sound noble.”
He steps closer, close enough now that I can feel the warmth of him beside me, though he does not touch me. “There is nothing noble about this world,” he says quietly. “There is only survival and consequence.”
The honesty in his voice tightens something in my chest. “Then why do you stay,” I ask softly. “Why do you carry all of this.”
His gaze shifts to the view outside, his expression darkening just slightly. “Because it was handed to me long before I had a choice,” he says. “And because walking away does not make the danger disappear. It only leaves others to face it without you.”
I think of the delivery man, of our burning apartment, of how quickly innocence was erased, and my stomach twists.
“And now Cassie and I are part of it,” I whisper.
“You are under my protection,” he corrects calmly. “That does not make you part of my world unless you choose to be.”
I laugh softly, the sound hollow. “It feels like that choice was taken from me the moment I opened my door.”
Micheal turns fully toward me then, his attention focused entirely on my face, and the intensity of it makes my pulse jump. “I will not pretend this situation is fair,” he says. “But I will ensure that no harm comes to you while you are here. That is a promise.”
Promises feel fragile to me right now, easily broken, easily burned to ash, but something in his eyes makes it difficult to dismiss his words entirely.
“Why me,” I ask suddenly, the question slipping out before I can stop it. “Why protect me so fiercely when you barely know me.”
For a brief moment, something flickers across his face, something unreadable and dangerous and deeply human all at once.
“Because the moment I kissed you,” he says quietly, “I knew I had already involved you in something far bigger than either of us intended.”
My breath catches, memories of that night flooding back with startling clarity, the music, the mistletoe, the way his lips felt against mine, how safe and reckless it all seemed in that moment.
“I did not expect to see you again,” I admit. “I thought it would just be a story I laughed about someday.”
“And yet here you are,” he replies softly.
“Here I am,” I echo.
Silence stretches between us, heavy with things unsaid, with tension that hums beneath the surface, and I am painfully aware of how close we are standing, of how easy it would be to step forward, to close the distance, to forget everything else for just a moment.
But reality presses in before I can act on the impulse.
“Who were the people who attacked us,” I ask instead, grounding myself in the question. “What kind of family does something like that.”
Micheal’s expression hardens, the warmth fading into something colder and more controlled. “They are a rival syndicate,” he answers. “They have been testing my borders for some time now.”
“And k********g civilians is part of that,” I say, anger creeping into my voice despite myself.
“They wanted leverage,” he replies. “Fear is a language they speak fluently.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. “They killed someone who had nothing to do with this.”
“Yes,” Micheal says quietly. “And they will answer for it.”
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