The silence in the study stretched long enough to feel like a noose.
Jemma stood there, chest still rising and falling fast, the adrenaline from her near escape not yet gone. She half expected him to start yelling, to drag her somewhere and make an example of her, the way she'd been told he'd handled others who crossed him. But Xavier just stood a few feet away, watching her with that unblinking intensity that made it impossible to tell what was going on in his head.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low. "Sit."
She stayed standing. "No."
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't repeat himself. Instead, he leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms, studying her like she was a puzzle piece he was still deciding where to place. "You almost made it out," he said again, this time softer. "Do you know what that does to me?"
Jemma smirked, even though her heart still hammered. "Good. Maybe it'll make you let me go."
His jaw flexed. "It makes me imagine finding you in a ditch somewhere because you were too stubborn to ask for help. It makes me think about people who would pay very well to take you from and how they wouldn't keep you breathing for long."
She flinched, barely, but covered it with a sharp, "I didn't ask you to care."
"I didn't ask to," he shot back, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. His eyes softened for just a second, then hardened again. "But here we are."
The room felt tighter. Her defiance burned in her, but she could sense something else in him , not just anger, but something closer to fear.
She realized suddenly that he hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't touched her again since letting go of her wrist.
Xavier pushed off the desk and walked toward the door. "Luca!"
The door opened almost instantly, one of his men appearing. "Don?"
"From now on, she doesn't move out without eyes on her. Two guards minimum"
Jemma's stomach dropped. "What?"
He didn't look at her. "No side doors. No gardens without permission. If she so much as leans too close to a window, I want to know about it."
Luca nodded, already making mental notes. "Understood."
"And double the perimeter shifts. Nobody gets in or out without me knowing."
Jemma's hands curled into fists. "You can't—"
"Understand?" Xavier finally looked at her, and the word 'understand?' carried more weight than if he'd shouted.
She glared at him. "No. I don't understand why you care so much if I leave."
Something flickered in his expression again, something she couldn't name. He stepped closer, his voice dropping low enough that only she could hear. "Because I can't watch you die, Jemma. I can't."
She blinked, stunned for a fraction of a second before masking it with sarcasm. "How touching."
He almost smiled at that, almost. But then his voice went cool again. "Get used to it You're not going anywhere."
It was early morning, the sky still bruised with hints of dawn, and she caught him in the hallway outside his room, coat over his arm, phone pressed to his ear.
"You're going somewhere," she said, not even bothering to hide the suspicion in her tone.
He ended his call without answering, his eyes narrowing slightly as if calculating how much to tell her. "Business," he said simply. "Out of the country. A few days."
Her lips curled. "So the prison warden's going on vacation?"
He didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he stepped closer, speaking low, as if the walls themselves might be listening. "While I'm gone, you don't leave this house. Not the garden, not the gates, not even the second floor without someone with you. Understand?"
She tilted her head, deliberately slow. "And if I don't?"
His eyes darkened, not with anger, but with something colder. "I've doubled security. There are men in every hallway, every entrance. And I've tied into the security feed remotely. I'll see you wherever you are, Jemma."
Her brows lifted. "You're going to watch me from another country?"
"Yes," he said without hesitation. "And if you try what you tried last time…" He trailed off, his jaw tightening. "Don't."
It was said like an order, but it felt more like a plea.
The day he left, she realized just how serious he'd been.
The guards who used to stay at a distance were now planted directly outside her door. Another sat near the stairs. She could see the outline of two more by the main entrance. Even in the library, her supposed sanctuary, she spotted a discreet camera tucked into the corner, its little red light a constant reminder that somewhere, hundreds or thousands of miles away, Xavier was still watching her.
It was maddening. Every time she moved from one room to another, she felt the weight of eyes she couldn't see. The cameras weren't new, she'd always known they existed, but now, knowing he was actively on the other end, it made her skin prickle.
Once, in the kitchen, she turned toward one and muttered, "Enjoying the show, warden?" just to see if she'd get a reaction. She didn't, at least not immediately. But the next morning, she woke to find one of the guards stationed inside her bedroom.
Her fury burned hotter than ever.
The first day without him was the worst.
Not because she missed him, God, no! but because she could feel him everywhere.
The cameras were like a second set of eyes that she couldn't shut out. Every hallway, every room, every movement she made felt weighed, judged, and catalogued somewhere far away where Xavier sat behind a screen.
By the third day, the fury that had simmered since their last argument boiled over.
She was done being watched like some exotic animal in a gilded cage.
So, she decided, if he wanted to watch, she'd give him something to watch.
Her first move was subtle, almost innocent.
She walked into the garden, barefoot, hair loose, and struck up a conversation with one of the younger guards near the fountain. Nothing inappropriate. Just… comfortable. Laughing a little too easily. Standing a little too close.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
It wasn't about the guard, she didn't even remember his name, it was about Xavier, miles away, seeing her lean in and smile at someone else.
Seeing her look relaxed, unbothered, maybe even… happy, without him.
She saw the guard shift nervously, his eyes darting to the nearest camera. "Miss Jemma, maybe we shouldn't—"
She smiled sweetly. "Why? Is the warden going to get jealous?"
The guard stiffened, clearly uncomfortable, and excused himself, muttering something about a security sweep. She let him go, satisfied.
The next day, she pushed harder.
She lingered in the kitchen with the chef, pretending to help chop vegetables, humming off-key just to be annoying. When one of the guards glanced in, she caught the camera's lens in her periphery and with deliberate slowness licked the tip of her finger after tasting the sauce.
It was petty, yes. But pettiness was a weapon, and she intended to use it.
But Jemma didn't stop there.
If Xavier was watching her every move, then she'd make every move something that chipped away at his control, even if it was tiny. She'd rearrange books in the library just to irritate his meticulous order, spend hours in the garden where she knew the cameras caught her in perfect clarity.
It wasn't about escaping. Not yet.
This was war.
And she wanted him to know she wasn't afraid to provoke him, even from half a world away.