Chapter 20 - Nathan
She's still sleeping when I wake.
The morning light filters through the villa's windows, painting Eve's red hair in shades of copper and gold across my pillow. She's on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting on the space where I'd been. Even in sleep, she reaches for me.
The thought fills me with a satisfaction so profound it's almost painful.
I watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips part slightly with each breath. The sheet has slipped down to her waist, exposing the pale curve of her shoulder, the delicate line of her collarbone. She's utterly beautiful. Utterly mine.
For the first time, I feel something close to peace. Not the manic energy that's driven me all these years. Not the obsessive need that's colored every decision. Just... quiet.
Eve is where she belongs. In my bed. In my world. Safe.
I reach out carefully, trailing my fingers through her hair without waking her. Silk. Everything about her is soft, where I'm all hard edges and sharp intent. She's the warmth that's been missing from my carefully constructed empire.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand—Bjorn, confirming the jet is ready. Time to take her home. To the penthouse where she'll wake up every morning just like this, within arm's reach.
I allow myself one more minute of watching her sleep, memorizing the peaceful expression on her face. Then I press a kiss to her temple and slip from the bed to make the arrangements.
Every piece is falling into place.
***
The jet's engines hum beneath us as we level out over the ocean. Eve sits across from me in the cream leather seat, staring out the window at the endless blue below. She's been quiet since we left the villa, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.
"Your things are being moved to the penthouse," I say, my voice calm and matter-of-fact. "By the time we land, everything will be settled."
Her head turns sharply, green eyes finding mine. "What?"
"Your loft was never secure," I continue, as if this is the most logical thing in the world. Because it is. "Too many access points. Too many variables I can't control. The penthouse has state-of-the-art security. You'll be safer there."
"You're moving me in." It's not a question. Just a flat statement of fact.
"Yes."
She turns back to the window, and I watch the emotions play across her reflection in the glass. Resignation. A flicker of something that might be relief. No fight. No argument.
"What about my lease?" she asks quietly.
"Handled. Your landlord was very understanding when I offered to buy out your contract.
" I lean back in my seat, studying her. "Everything you need will be waiting for you.
I've had your favorite things brought over—your books, your grandmother's quilt, the photos from your desk.
I will leave some last things that you may want to sort through yourself. "
Her jaw tightens slightly, and I see her hands fist in her lap. But she doesn't protest. She's learning that resistance is pointless. Learning to trust that I know what's best.
"Okay," she whispers.
Two letters. One word. Complete surrender.
I reach across the small table between us and take her hand. Her fingers are cold, and I warm them between my palms, stroking my thumb across her knuckles.
"You're safe with me, Eve," I murmur. "That's all that matters."
She nods, still looking out the window, and doesn't pull her hand away.
***
The moment I return to the city, restless energy floods through me. Eve is being settled into the penthouse by Maria and the staff, and I need to burn off this anticipation before I do something rash.
My home gym becomes a battlefield.
I attack the heavy bag with brutal efficiency, each strike a manifestation of the power coiling through my muscles. Left hook. Right cross. The chain rattles with the force of my hits.
She's in my home. Permanently. The thought sends electricity singing through my veins.
Sweat drips down my spine as I push harder, faster. The bag swings wildly, and I imagine every threat I've eliminated, every obstacle I've destroyed to get to this moment. Bryce's smug face. Fred Greyhound's arrogance. Every man who ever looked at her and thought they had a right.
Mine. She's mine.
I shift to weights, loading the bar until my muscles scream. The burn feels good. Grounding. Each rep is a countdown to the moment I can walk into my bedroom and find her there, in my space, surrounded by my scent.
When I finally stop, my body is thrumming with controlled violence and raw possession. I stand in front of the mirror, chest heaving, and see the truth reflected back at me.
I'm a man who's finally claimed his kingdom. And every inch of my fortress is designed to keep my queen exactly where she belongs.
***
Lucy Page is waiting in the conference room when I arrive at Sinclair Designs headquarters. She stands the moment I enter, her face flushed with anger and fear.
"Where is she?" Lucy demands. "Where's Eve? She's not answering my calls—"
"Sit down, Miss Page." I don't raise my voice. I don't need to.
She remains standing, defiant. "I want to see Eve. Now."
I move to the head of the table, buttoning my suit jacket with deliberate calm. "That won't be possible. Eve's communication protocols have changed."
"Communication protocols?" Lucy's voice rises. "She's not a military installation, she's a person! My best friend!"
"A person who requires protection," I correct smoothly. "From this point forward, if you wish to contact Eve, you'll submit a request through my assistant. I'll determine if and when contact is appropriate."
Lucy stares at me in disbelief. "You can't be serious."
"I'm always serious when it comes to Eve's safety." I meet her gaze with cold certainty. "You've been feeding her doubts. Encouraging her to question decisions that are in her best interest. That ends now."
"Decisions in her best interest?" Lucy's laugh is sharp and bitter. "You mean your control over her life?"
"I mean the carefully constructed security that keeps her alive.
" My voice drops to that tone that makes board members nervous.
"You don't understand the threats she faces.
The enemies who would use her, hurt her, destroy her to get to me.
But I do. And I won't allow anyone—including well-meaning friends—to compromise her safety. "
"This is insane," Lucy breathes. "You've completely isolated her."
"I've completely protected her." I straighten my cuffs. "Now, you have two choices. Accept the new communication protocols and maintain a supervised relationship with Eve. Or refuse, and lose access entirely. What's it going to be?"
Lucy's hands shake with rage, but I see the moment she realizes she has no power here. No leverage. No way to fight me and win.
"You're a monster," she whispers.
"Yes," I agree calmly. "But I'm her monster. And I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Even from the people who think they're helping her."
I walk to the door and open it. "My assistant will provide you with the contact protocols. Good day, Miss Page."
She leaves without another word, and I watch her go with cold satisfaction. Another thread severed. Another voice of dissent silenced.
Eve is mine, and the world is finally learning to accept that fact.
***
The call to Bjorn is brief.
"The Bryce Royston situation," I say into the phone as my driver navigates through afternoon traffic. "It's time to resolve it permanently."
"Sir?" Bjorn's voice is confused.
"I’ve been monitoring him, listening to him talking on his phone.
He’s planning his next move against Eve, is even more set on destroying her now that he has nothing but time on his hands.
He’s hired someone to kidnap her," I continue, watching the city slide past tinted windows.
"So remove Bryce. Make it look like complications from his injuries. Clean. Untraceable."
"Consider it done."
I end the call and slip the phone back into my pocket. No guilt. No hesitation. Bryce Royston threatened Eve, and men who threaten what's mine don't get second chances.
It's simple pest control. Nothing more.
***
Eve is in the bedroom when I find her, standing in the doorway of the massive walk-in closet with a strange expression on her face.
"Is something wrong?" I ask, moving to stand behind her.
She gestures helplessly at the interior. Every piece of clothing she owns has been unpacked and organized with military precision. Her dresses hang in color-coordinated rows. Her shoes are lined up on custom shelves. Even her jewelry has been sorted and displayed in velvet-lined drawers.
Mixed among her things are new additions—pieces I've selected for her. Silks and cashmeres in jewel tones that will set off her coloring. Designer labels that whisper wealth and taste.
"You did all this," she says quietly.
"I wanted you to feel at home." I rest my hands on her shoulders, feeling the tension in her muscles. "Everything you need is here. Everything you could want."
She reaches out and touches a familiar green sweater, one of the few casual pieces she wears regularly. Seeing it hanging among the luxury feels like a small victory—her old life seamlessly integrated into her new one.
"It's perfect," she whispers.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. "You're home, Eve. Finally."
She doesn't pull away. Doesn't argue. Just stands there in my arms, staring at the perfectly organized closet that represents her perfectly organized new life.
Mine to dress. Mine to keep. Mine to protect.
Mine.