I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the painting.
Every time I opened them, I saw his face.
Carolus Vale hadn't touched me.
That was the problem.
Men like him didn't need to.
The next morning, I told myself I wouldn't go.
I stood in front of my apartment mirror, hair still damp, coffee untouched on the counter.
One email.
One signature.
One photograph that could destroy a man powerful enough to erase me without consequence.
I could forward it.
End this.
Walk away clean.
Instead, I put my phone in my bag and left.
The building wasn't marked.
No sign.
No plaque.
Just a private elevator that opened after my name was verified without me giving it.
That should have scared me.
It didn't.
Carolus was already inside.
He stood by the window, city spread beneath him like something owned.
No jacket this time.
Shirt sleeves rolled, cuffs precise.
A man who understood control down to the smallest detail.
"You came," he said, without turning.
"I haven't agreed to anything," I replied.
"Of course you haven't," he said calmly. "You're still deciding."
He faced me then.
His gaze flicked once—to my bag.
To my hands.
He knew.
"You saw the file," he said.
My spine stiffened. "You sent it."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I don't enjoy surprises," he replied. "And neither do you."
That was when I understood this wasn't blackmail.
It was trust.
The twisted kind.
"You're asking me to protect you," I said.
"No," he corrected. "I'm asking you to choose."
He gestured toward the table.
A tablet lay there.
Unlocked.
On the screen—auction listings.
Private.
Encrypted.
Paintings I recognized.
Paintings officially declared lost or destroyed.
"This is illegal," I said.
"Yes."
"And dangerous."
"Very."
I looked up. "You brought me here to intimidate me?"
"No," he said. "If I wanted you afraid, you wouldn't be standing."
The words settled uncomfortably in my chest.
"What do you want from me?" I asked.
Carolus studied me.
Not my body.
My expression.
"I want your eyes," he said. "Your judgment. Your silence."
"And in return?"
"You stay alive."
That was not reassurance.
That was a warning.
"You're asking me to become complicit," I said.
"Yes."
The honesty was brutal.
"I should report you."
"You could," he agreed. "And in forty-eight hours, the paintings disappear, the records burn, and the men responsible move on."
"And you?"
"I adapt."
I clenched my jaw. "You don't even deny it."
"Denial insults intelligence," he said softly. "Yours, especially."
I hated that he respected me.
I hated that it mattered.
"Why give me the evidence, then?" I asked.
He stepped closer.
Again—not invading.
Claiming.
"Because if you stay," he said, "I want it to be because you chose to."
My heart pounded.
"And if I don't?"
His gaze darkened.
Not angry.
Calculating.
"Then you walk away," he said. "And spend the rest of your life wondering who else will notice what you see."
That was the third trap.
The cruelest one.
Curiosity.
I turned toward the tablet.
I shouldn't have touched it.
The moment my fingers brushed the screen, the door behind me locked.
A soft click.
Almost polite.
I froze.
Carolus didn't move.
"Relax," he said. "That isn't for you."
"Then for who?" I asked.
He checked his watch.
"Someone who shouldn't be here."
As if summoned by his words, my phone vibrated.
Unknown Number.
DON'T TRUST HIM.
My breath caught.
Another message followed.
YOU'RE NOT THE FIRST CURATOR HE'S BROKEN.
I looked at Carolus.
He was watching my face now—carefully.
"What is this?" I asked.
"Someone testing my patience," he replied.
The tablet chimed.
A new listing appeared.
One I recognized instantly.
The same painting.
The one from yesterday.
"Why is it back?" I whispered.
"Because," Carolus said, "someone wants to see what you'll do."
The door handle rattled.
Not violently.
Deliberately.
Carolus stepped between me and the sound.
"You should leave," he said quietly.
"You just locked the door."
"Yes," he said. "So you wouldn't be the one they took."
My chest tightened.
"Who are they?" I demanded.
"People who believe possession is proven through pain," he replied. "I disagree."
The handle stopped moving.
Silence pressed in.
Carolus turned to me.
"Decide," he said. "Now."
My phone vibrated again.
FINAL WARNING.
GET OUT.
I looked at the evidence in my bag.
At the locked door.
At the man who could ruin me—or protect me—from both.
And for the first time since I met him, I understood the truth.
This wasn't about art.
Or crime.
Or money.
This was about control.
And whether I was willing to surrender mine—
before someone else took it from me.
The silence after my hesitation was worse than the threat.
Carolus didn't rush me.
That alone told me how dangerous he was.
He knew time was his ally.
"You're shaking," he said quietly.
"I'm not," I lied.
"You are," he corrected. "But not because you're afraid of me."
I swallowed. "Then why?"
"Because you understand," he said. "Once you decide, there's no version of you that goes back to who you were yesterday."
The door creaked.
Not opening.
Testing.
The sound slid straight down my spine.
"Those messages," I said, forcing my voice steady. "They know me."
"Yes."
"How?"
"Because you're visible now," Carolus replied. "Talent always is."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one that matters."
I tightened my grip on my phone. "If I stay… what happens to me?"
For the first time, he didn't answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was lower.
"You stop being untouched," he said. "Not physically. Not yet."
Yet.
"You stop being neutral."
I laughed weakly. "You say that like it's mercy."
"It is," he replied. "Compared to the alternative."
The handle rattled again—harder this time.
A fist struck the door.
Once.
Measured.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Carolus moved.
One step.
Two.
Not toward the door.
Toward me.
"I won't force you," he said. "But I won't lie either."
He reached past me and pressed a button on the wall.
The rattling stopped.
Whoever was outside had retreated.
Or been removed.
"How did you—" I started.
"You don't want the answer," he said.
I believed him.
"You could've let them take me," I whispered.
"Yes."
"But you didn't."
"No."
"Why?"
His eyes locked onto mine.
"Because," he said, "once someone notices you, I don't share."
The words should have repulsed me.
Instead, they landed somewhere dangerous.
Warm.
Protective.
Claiming.
I took a step back.
"This is insane," I said. "You're insane."
A faint smile touched his mouth.
"And yet," he murmured, "you're still here."
I closed my eyes.
Just for a second.
When I opened them, I knew.
I reached into my bag.
Pulled out the file.
The evidence.
I didn't give it to him.
I slid it into my coat pocket instead.
Carolus watched without interrupting.
"That's your answer?" he asked.
"For now," I said.
His gaze darkened with something unreadable.
Approval.
Possession.
Relief.
"All right," he said. "Then listen carefully."
He stepped closer.
Close enough that I could smell his cologne—clean, restrained, deliberate.
"No one else touches you," he said. "No one else questions you. And if they try—"
He stopped himself.
"That's my problem," he finished.
My pulse raced.
"And what am I to you?" I asked.
His eyes didn't leave mine.
"A liability," he said. "And my greatest risk."
The words echoed between us.
I should have walked away.
Instead, I nodded.
"Okay," I said.
The moment the word left my mouth, I knew—
I had crossed something.
Not a line.
A threshold.
Carolus exhaled slowly, like a man who had just secured something irreplaceable.
"Good," he said softly. "Then we begin."