"I'm Not Yours to Manage"
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The fire in the library wasn't for warmth.
It was for the illusion of it.
Crackling quietly in the stone hearth, it threw soft light across the bookshelves and the deep leather chairs, creating the kind of cozy setting where people pretended to speak honestly.
Kade didn't sit.
He stood near the window, spine straight, fists tight in the pockets of his slacks, jaw locked as Aria walked in and closed the doors behind her.
Neither of them spoke right away.
She stood near the desk, arms folded, still in the backless gown from the summit—gorgeous, composed, a picture of calm control. But her pulse was a war drum in her throat.
"You handled yourself well," Kade said finally, voice low and even. "Too well."
She tilted her head. "Is that a compliment or an accusation?"
"It's an observation."
"No," she said, walking slowly toward him. "It's control. Again. You don't know how to exist next to a woman who doesn't orbit you."
He turned to face her now, and there it was again—that shadow in his eyes, more than anger. Something closer to panic.
"Do you know who Gideon is?" he asked.
"No," she said. "But I saw what he does to you."
Kade stepped closer, his presence charged.
"He's not harmless, Aria. He's not charming. He's not a social flirt with too much red wine. He's a predator."
"So are you."
His eyes narrowed. "You think this is a game? That because you smiled for the board and stole a headline, you understand how power works?"
She didn't back away.
"I understand that I'm not yours to manage," she said, every word slow and clear. "You put me in a cage and gave me a script. I memorized it. Then I rewrote it."
He stared at her for one long, loaded beat.
"You're going to get hurt," he said finally. Quietly. "And it'll be my fault."
Aria's breath caught—not because of the threat. But because it wasn't one.
It was the first true thing he'd said since the contract.
And that terrified her more than anything.
The library emptied after midnight.
Kade had walked out without another word, the door shutting softly behind him.
Not slammed.
Not thrown.
Just… closed. Deliberately.
Aria sat in his absence for a long time, watching the fire burn down to embers.
It wasn't rage she felt.
It was calculation.
And a whisper of guilt.
But guilt didn't stop her.
She left the room, barefoot on polished floors, the gown whispering around her legs like something not meant to be worn by the same girl who once shared a two-bedroom apartment with a leaking kitchen sink.
She moved quietly through the halls, back to the guest wing where her personal belongings had been placed—at least the ones deemed "acceptable" by Ryuu standards. Her tablet was still in the drawer. She powered it on and began to search.
Gideon Raithe. Raithe Global. Education. Investments. Scandals. Deleted.
That last result caught her eye.
She dug deeper.
Encrypted articles. Archived web pages. Buried comment threads. Pieces of stories that had been stripped from the record. But not all of them.
One photo survived in a foreign publication. Grainy. Black and white.
Kade.
Younger. Early twenties. Bloody lip. Collar torn.
Gideon beside him, hand fisted in Kade's jacket, yelling at someone out of frame.
Caption: "Rumored altercation between Ryuu heir and Raithe executive following boardroom fallout. No charges filed."
No charges.
But blood.
More digging revealed a sealed court proceeding tied to Raithe Global—internal accusations of embezzlement and coercion, sealed by non-disclosure agreements and private arbitration.
Kade's name was never officially listed.
But it didn't have to be.
Because she recognized the shape of the silence around it.
Someone had tried to bury him.
And someone else had paid to keep it that way.
She was still staring at the photo when the guest wing door creaked open behind her.
She turned.
Kade stood in the doorway.
Shirt unbuttoned at the throat, expression unreadable, voice rough with something she didn't expect.
"You found it."
Aria didn't speak. She just held the tablet up, the photo glowing between them.
"You were what—nineteen?" she said finally. "When he did this?"
Kade stepped into the room, slowly.
"He was my father's protégé. I was the heir getting too much attention. That didn't sit well."
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"I did. And then I learned what happens when the truth costs more than silence."
She stared at him, the image still between them.
"You never wanted revenge, did you?"
His eyes met hers—gray and exhausted.
"No," he said. "I wanted control. Because the last time I trusted someone to protect me, I got this."
He pointed to the photo.
"But you still wanted me to believe I was the enemy," she whispered.
"Because it was easier than admitting I'd already lost once."
And in that moment, something between them shifted.
Not healed.
Not forgiven.
But exposed.
And that was more dangerous than either of them realized.