7. Roman
ROMAN
I vy isn’t afraid of me.
Not in the way I expected. Not in the way I prepared for.
And I’m caught even more in the web of obsession as I stare at her every move.
She’s awake now, pacing the suite barefoot in one of the robes I left folded on the end of the bed after she finally fell asleep. She touched nothing for hours. Sat curled in the farthest corner like a cornered stray, eyes too sharp, spine too stiff. She fell asleep that way.
A caged angel waiting for her chance to escape.
I was worried for more than a few hours that she’d wilt under the knowledge that I now kept her freedom in my hands.
But she’s moving now.
Calculating.
I watch from behind the glass wall above her suite, through the cameras that cover every inch of the room.
She can’t see me, but I can see everything.
Hear everything. It’s like I’m standing there with her, even though I can’t be.
Not yet. It’s been two weeks, and she still hasn’t adjusted or given up.
The robe drapes over her like it’s stealing her softness, not offering her well-earned comfort. A false luxury she hasn’t claimed yet, but she wears it like armor anyway.
Ivy is afraid, yes. But not enough. Not of me. Not yet.
She needs to know there’s no escape.
There’s no future without the two of us together, intertwined.
She tried to pick the lock on the suite’s private exit an hour ago. Tore apart the drawer liners and used the metal springs from the notepad holder. Smart. Methodical. The kind of girl who learns by testing.
I love that about her.
It means she’ll stop testing me the moment she learns I’m not a variable.
The tray of food I prepared for her again is still untouched.
I press a button on the panel to warm it again.
She did this the first few days also, refusing to eat until the middle of the night. But now, it’s been too long.
She turns sharply at the soft click the suite makes when it resets the lights to evening mode. I see the way her hand twitches as she still looks for a weapon that isn’t there. I almost smile.
I should wait longer before I go down there. Give her more time to soften. But I’ve never been good at waiting.
Especially not with her.
Definitely not with this.
The door opens with a quiet click.
She spins.
Bare feet skid on marble, one hand gripping the edge of the breakfast table like she’s ready to launch it at me.
Her eyes are wide and wild as they lock on mine. And then something sharper flickers there.
Recognition.
Not of me , but of what I am.
I close the door behind me.
“Hungry?” I ask, as if we’re civilized. As if she’s here by choice.
Her voice is low. “You left me here. For two fucking weeks.”
“I did.”
“You come back while I am asleep.”
“Also true.”
She waits for more. An apology. An explanation.
I give her neither.
Instead, I walk to the tray and lift the cover. The salmon is still warm. I cut a piece, fork it, and offer it across the table.
She stares at it like it might explode.
“You’re insane.” Her words are nothing more than a veiled barb meant to antagonize me into action I won’t take.
Instead, I acknowledge the truth in her claim. “Possibly.”
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“I won’t scream.”
“You already did.” I remind her. “For hours. Days even. No one can hear you. And no one is going to come for you.”
Her mouth presses into a line. I can see the calculus in her eyes. She’s weighing her options. Weighing me .
“You think this is normal?” she says tightly. “You think feeding me fish makes this okay?”
“No,” I reply. “I think you haven’t eaten in over a day, and your blood sugar is likely bottoming out. That’s not strategic. That’s self-sabotage. And I don’t like what the thought of you hurting does to me.”
I set the fork down and sit across from her.
She doesn’t move.
“I had your lease terminated. Your accounts are closed. Records wiped. You don’t exist outside of this compound anymore, Ivy. But that’s what you wanted, right? To be invisible?”
She swallows hard. But when she looks at me again, there’s fire behind her fear.
“You want me to beg before you kill me.”
“No,” I say softly. “I want you to stay. I’ll make you stay.” My fingers clench involuntarily.
“I want you to die,” she whispers.
I smile.
“Then we’re both going to be disappointed.”
“You can’t keep me here.”
She jumps to her feet, shoulders stiff, chin tilted like defiance could become the weapon she’s seeking.
“I can,” I say evenly.
“You shouldn’t ,” she spits. “This is a mistake.”
I take the fork again and lift a piece of fish toward her.
She doesn’t move. “You’ll wake up tomorrow and you’ll know that you’re done with me. You’ll kill me then. Or you’ll get bored and you’ll set me free, damaged and broken.”
“No.” I shake my head with an indulgent smile. “Neither of those things will happen. You belong to me now, Ivy. And I take care of what’s mind.”
Stubbornly she shakes her head.
“You’ll get sick,” I say. “You’re not made of steel.”
“And you’re not made of God.”
“No,” I murmur. “But I’m close.”
She laughs. It’s sharp and raw, not amused at all. “I get it now. You’re one of those men. Obsessed with power. With ownership. You don’t love people—you collect them.”
“I don’t collect,” I say quietly. “I choose.”
“You’re deranged.”
I shrug.
She crosses her arms, then uncrosses them. Her hands are twitching with the urge to throw something—maybe the chair. Maybe herself at me. She paces once, twice, then stops directly in front of me.
“What do you want from me?”
Everything.
But I don’t say that.
Instead, I offer the fork again.
This time, she takes it.
The bite disappears quickly. She chews like it’s a betrayal. Like each swallow wounds her pride.
She leans closer, eyes locked to mine. “I’m not someone you can tame.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Studying you. Claiming you. Teaching you that you’re mine, just like I’m yours.”
I mean it.
Every tick in her jaw. Every way her mouth tightens before she snaps. Every inch of her that wants to scream but refuses to give me the satisfaction.
She sets the fork down with precision.
Then, she lifts the empty water glass and throws it.
It flies fast.
I catch it midair.
She curses and turns away from me, pacing in quick steps.
Her chest is rising and falling in short bursts. Adrenaline. Fury. Something else, too.
I step closer, slow, giving her every chance to retreat.
She doesn’t.
I reach out and gently touch the edge of her hairline, brushing back a stray piece of her decadent hair. Her breath stops. She tilts her face up. Our mouths are close now. Her pulse kicks beneath her skin, frantic and delicate.
She doesn’t lean in.
Neither do I.
Not yet.
Her lips part like she might say something but doesn’t. Whatever it is, it dies between us.
Her hand trembles. She steps back.
I let her.
Because I meant it—I won’t touch her until she asks.
But God, I’m not sure how long I can wait.
I nudge the plate toward her and turn my back, walking away before I break my own rule and claim her lips the way I’m craving.
It’s nearly midnight when I go back, summoned by her movement on the camera.
She’s curled beneath the covers, facing the door like she knew I’d return. Her eyes are open, waiting.
The lights are dim. The whole suite feels soft. Almost like a home.
“I can’t sleep,” she says.
I don’t answer.
She shifts, sits up, and wraps her arms around her knees. “Will you stay?”
I know what this is.
A test. A setup. A trap.
Her tone is light, but her fingers clench the blanket. She’s still in survival mode, just wearing it prettier now. Somewhere beneath that invitation is a shard of broken glass that she’ll use to her advantage.
“Say yes,” she whispers, eyes fixed on me like she’s daring me.
I should walk away.
Instead, I toe off my shoes and cross to the bed.
“You’ll regret this,” I murmur, pulling back the covers.
She doesn’t blink. “Maybe.”
I lie down beside her, on top of the sheets, one arm folded behind my head. She turns to face the ceiling, a breath between us.
She doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t try to speak again.
Minutes pass like hours.
When I glance over, she’s still wide awake, the silver necklace glinting faintly at her throat.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she lies.
I smile in the dark. “Yes, you are. Just not in the way you should be.”
She goes quiet.
Eventually, her breathing slows. But mine never does.
Because I was right.
This is a trap.
And I walked right into it anyway.
I might as well enjoy it before it comes back to bite me in the ass.