CHAPTER 4
RULES
ALEX
Olivia’s apartment had six windows, two doors, one fire escape, and at least twenty ways to fail her.
I checked all of them.
She stood in the middle of the living room with her arms folded while I inspected the latch on the balcony door for the third time.
“Are you planning to interrogate the furniture next?” she asked.
“The sofa has already confessed.”
Her mouth twitched before she could stop it.
I noticed. I noticed everything about her, which was becoming less defensible by the hour.
The apartment occupied the twelfth floor of a renovated warehouse overlooking the river.
Exposed brick, tall windows, pale wood floors.
It looked temporary despite the expensive furniture.
No family photographs. No art she could not carry alone.
Olivia had moved back to Chicago without allowing the city to believe she intended to stay.
I hated the idea of her leaving again.
I hated more that I had no claim on the decision.
The envelope lay inside a clear evidence sleeve on the kitchen counter. Team security had photographed it, dusted the hallway, reviewed the building cameras, and found nothing useful. Eleven minutes of footage had been overwritten by a system update no one had scheduled.
Someone kept reaching into protected places and turning locks into decoration.
I tested the bedroom window.
“Alex.”
The warning came from behind me.
I turned.
Olivia stood in the doorway. “You are in my bedroom.”
“The window is accessible from the fire escape.”
“You did not ask.”
There it was. The line we had drawn hours earlier, and I had crossed it without thinking.
The instinctive answer rose first: I was checking a threat. Her safety mattered more than her irritation.
I swallowed it.
“You’re right.”
She stared as though I had begun speaking another language.
“I should have asked,” I said.
Suspicion remained in her eyes. “Are you concussed?”
“Possibly. The Reapers hit late.”
“I noticed.”
“I noticed you noticing.”
Her expression cooled. “Get out of my bedroom.”
I stepped into the hall.
She closed the door behind me, then looked toward the duffel I had placed beside the guest room.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You are not moving in.”
“I am staying tonight.”
“Also no.”
“Someone placed a photograph under your door while two security officers waited downstairs.”
“Then the security officers failed.”
“They did.”
“And your solution is to replace them with yourself?”
“Yes.”
“At least you are honest about the arrogance.”
I picked up the duffel.
She stepped in front of the guest room. “You agreed to ask.”
I tightened my grip on the strap. “Will you allow me to stay here tonight?”
“No.”
The word struck harder than it should have.
I looked at the windows again. At the narrow hall leading to her bedroom. At the lock someone had already proven they could reach.
“Then you come to my place.”
“No.”
“A hotel under another name.”
“No.”
“Your father’s house.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Olivia.”
“Alex.”
We stood three feet apart and rebuilt an old battlefield.
She was wearing a black silk blouse and trousers from the game, but she had removed her heels. Barefoot, she barely reached my shoulder. It did nothing to reduce the force of her presence.
“You do not get to turn a threat into ownership,” she said.
“This is not ownership.”
“You entered my bedroom, announced you were sleeping here, and offered to relocate me when I objected.”
“I offered options.”
“You issued alternatives to the same command.”
I wanted to tell her the photograph had cut through every controlled part of me. That the words NEXT TIME SHE DOES NOT MAKE IT HOME had become a picture in my head I could not stop seeing.
Instead I said, “What would make you feel safe?”
The question changed her face.
Not because she had no answer.
Because she had not expected me to ask.
She glanced toward the windows. “New locks. A security professional who does not report to my father. Control of the camera access. And no one in my home unless I approve them.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight, the deadbolt remains locked, the alarm stays active, and I sleep with the panic button Mark gave me.”
“That will not stop someone already inside.”
Her eyes snapped to mine.
I regretted the words immediately, not because they were untrue, but because I saw the fear they created.
I set the duffel down.
“I will wait in the hall.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Outside your door. You keep control of the apartment. I keep the corridor secure.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“I have done more ridiculous things.”
“For example?”
“Playing through a separated shoulder because Adam bet me I could not finish the period.”
“You are both idiots.”
“Agreed.”
She studied me for a long moment.
Then she stepped away from the guest-room door. “One night.”
Relief hit so hard I nearly showed it.
“Guest room,” she continued. “Door open. My bedroom remains private. You do not touch my phone, laptop, files, or mail. You do not contact my father. You do not tell your teammates anything beyond what they need to know.”
“I need access to the building cameras.”
“You ask me first.”
“I am asking.”
“I will authorize Noah to review them.”
“Why Noah?”
“Because Mark said he has a security contact, and because you trust him.”
I did. Noah Parker said little, remembered everything, and had grown up with a mother who designed network systems for banks. His last name was an unfortunate coincidence Richard had already tried to exploit.
“Fine.”
“And,” Olivia added, “you do not use this arrangement to interfere with my personal life.”
My body reacted before my face did.
“What personal life?”
Her eyes brightened with malicious satisfaction. “Exactly the response I expected.”
“Are you seeing someone?”
“That is not your business.”
“It becomes my business if Parker can use him to reach you.”
“Him?”
I heard the mistake.
Her head tilted. “Interesting.”
“I do not care who you date.”
“Your left hand is crushing the duffel strap.”
I released it.
She smiled fully this time.
It was the first real smile she had given me since returning to Chicago, and I resented the unnamed man who might receive it without earning it through combat.
“Security only,” I said.
“Good.”
“Anyone who enters your life gets checked.”
“No.”
“Then do not bring anyone here while there is an active threat.”
She crossed her arms again. “You realize you are negotiating the possibility of me bringing another man home while you sleep in my guest room.”
The image arrived with enough force to make violence seem reasonable.
“Do not.”
The word came out lower than intended.
Her smile faded.
The air changed.
I took one step toward her before remembering the rule. Before remembering that wanting to close the distance did not create permission.
Olivia did not move either.
“You said you do not care,” she whispered.
“I lied.”
The honesty surprised both of us.
Her throat moved as she swallowed.
Three years ago, I had wanted her with the same ruthless concentration I brought to a final minute power play.
I had buried it because Robert Carter owned the team, because Olivia deserved someone who did not solve conflict with his fists, and because needing her made me vulnerable in a way I could not survive.
Then she defended me in her father’s office.
I repaid her by cutting deep enough to make her leave.
Now she stood barefoot in front of me, and every reason to keep my distance had become less convincing.
Her phone rang.
The moment broke.
She looked at the screen. “My father.”
“Do not tell him.”
Her gaze hardened.
I corrected myself. “Are you going to tell him?”
“No.”
A strange satisfaction settled through me. Not because she chose my side. Because she chose her own.
She answered and placed the call on speaker without warning.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Security says Morgan is at your apartment.”
I looked toward the ceiling.
The building’s private cameras had reported my arrival faster than expected.
Olivia’s expression became neutral. “He brought paperwork from the game.”
“At midnight?”
“He reads slowly.”
I almost smiled.
Robert did not. “Put him on.”
“No.”
A pause.
“Olivia.”
“Was there something else?”
“You are leading a sensitive internal review. Being alone with the captain creates an appearance problem.”
“Then perhaps your security team should stop reporting who enters my home.”
“They are protecting you.”
I watched the words hit her.
Protection. Control. The language men used when they wanted gratitude for taking choices away.
“Good night, Dad.”
She ended the call.
“You enjoyed that,” she said.
“A little.”
“He is still your employer.”
“He has tried to trade me twice.”
“He says that is normal roster management.”
“He says many things.”
She went to the kitchen and poured two glasses of water. She handed me one before apparently realizing the domestic intimacy of the act.
We drank in silence.
Outside, the river reflected broken lines of city light. Snow collected along the balcony rail. Somewhere below, traffic hissed over wet streets.
“Why did you really come back?” I asked.
“My father hired me.”
“You could have refused.”
“I almost did.”
“What changed?”
She looked into her glass. “The first leak included a photograph of a player’s medical file. The date was seven years ago.”
Evan Hale.
“You knew before the gala.”
“I knew someone had accessed old foundation records. I did not know Parker was involved.”
“Why not tell me?”
“Because you had not yet beaten a man beneath the arena and forced me into an alliance.”
“I did not force you.”
Her look made the argument die.
I changed direction. “What was leaked?”
“Part of an insurance settlement and a physician’s clearance. The player’s name was hidden.”
“Robert asked you to contain it.”
“He asked me to find the source before the board saw it.”
“Not the league.”
“No.”
The answer confirmed what I already knew about Robert. Reputation first. Truth when convenient.
Olivia set down her glass. “What happened between you and him three years ago?”
“You were there.”
“I was there for the hearing. I was not there for whatever made you hate him before it.”
I looked toward the guest room.