I couldn't sleep that night.
The house was too quiet.
Silence had a way of forcing your own thoughts to scream at you.
Two men stood outside my door.
Guards, watchers—it didn't matter.
Freedom wasn't an option here.
I expected him to be alone at breakfast.
I was wrong.
A woman sat at the table. Beautiful. Too beautiful.
Confident, comfortable—like she belonged there.
She studied me.
I studied her back.
You're late," she said with a smirk,
as if she owned the place.
Without breaking eye contact, I replied,
"This is my house. Time works according to me."
Her smile faltered.
His gaze, however, never left me.
"Who is she?" I asked, turning to him.
"An old friend," he replied. Too brief to be honest.
I pulled out a chair and sat down.
I heard her lean closer and whisper,
"He doesn't belong to anyone."
I turned to her.
"Perfect," I said. "Neither do I."
The air grew heavy.
She stood up.
"I'm leaving," she said to him,
but her eyes were on me.
When the door closed, the silence returned—
thicker this time.
"You didn't have to do that," he said.
"Which part?" I asked.
"Staying—or challenging her?"
He stood and walked around the table until he was in front of me.
"Were you jealous?" he asked mockingly.
I smiled.
"Funny question coming from a man obsessed with control."
A brief silence followed.
Then he took my hand—firm, hesitant.
"Games are dangerous in this house," he said.
I didn't pull away.
"But I like danger."
His eyes darkened.
For the first time, I didn't step back—
and for the first time, he hesitated.