Elena barely slept.
Victor's words echoed through her mind long after she'd retreated to her room. Once you say yes, there's no returning. The thought both terrified and thrilled her. She had entered this arrangement believing it was temporary, manageable. But nothing about Victor Hale was small or temporary.
By morning, she had made no decision—only promises to herself not to be weak.
She dressed carefully for the charity luncheon Victor insisted she attend. Elegant, understated. Armor disguised as silk.
When she reached the foyer, Victor was already waiting.
He looked different today. Not softer—but focused. Decisive.
"You're late," he said mildly.
"By two minutes," she replied.
A corner of his mouth lifted. "You noticed."
They arrived at the venue together, stepping into a room filled with social elites, donors, press. Elena felt every gaze land on them. Normally, Victor would move ahead, commanding the space.
Today, he didn't.
Instead, he slowed, letting her walk beside him.
The whispers began almost immediately.
"That's her…"
"Is she the one?"
Victor didn't ignore them.
He addressed them.
When a familiar investor approached, smiling politely, Victor introduced her without hesitation.
"This is Elena Moore," he said. "She's with me."
Not a guest.
Not an assistant.
With me.
The words sent a ripple through the room—and straight through her chest.
Camilla appeared moments later, impeccably dressed, eyes sharp.
"So it's official," she said coolly.
Victor didn't flinch. "It is."
Camilla looked at Elena, then back at him. "You don't waste time."
"No," he agreed. "I waste uncertainty."
For the first time, Camilla had no response.
Throughout the luncheon, Victor made no attempt to hide their association. He stood close. He spoke her name easily. He listened when she spoke.
Elena felt exposed—and protected all at once.
During a brief lull, she pulled him aside. "You didn't ask me."
He met her gaze calmly. "I told you my decision. I didn't say it depended on yours."
Her pulse spiked. "You said I had a choice."
"You do," he replied. "This is mine."
"And if I walk away?" she asked quietly.
His jaw tightened just slightly. "Then I look foolish. And I don't enjoy that."
She exhaled. "You're unbelievable."
"I know."
Yet when he looked at her, there was something different there—vulnerability hidden behind iron control.
As the event ended, Victor leaned in, his voice low. "You held yourself well."
"That wasn't easy," she admitted.
"I never said it would be," he replied. "But I don't place value on fragile things."
Her heart clenched.
That night, back at the mansion, Elena stood on her balcony, city lights glowing below. Victor joined her quietly.
"You're thinking about leaving," he said.
She nodded. "And staying."
He didn't speak.
Finally, she turned to him. "If I stay… it's because I choose to. Not because you claimed me."
His gaze locked onto hers. "Good. I don't want possession without consent."
The words surprised her.
Slowly, she reached out—not touching, just close. "Then stop acting like I'm a trophy."
He exhaled. "I don't show what matters to me."
"Learn," she said softly.
He studied her for a long moment. Then, quietly, "I am."
The city hummed below them, full of noise and movement, but between them, everything was still.
She hadn't said yes.
But she hadn't said no.
And Victor Hale, for the first time in a very long while, was willing to wait.