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She comes with a broken cry, her body shuddering violently. I don't stop, working her through each wave, drawing out her pleasure until she's pushing at my shoulders, oversensitive and spent.

When I finally look up, her face is flushed, her eyes half-closed in bliss. All the tension has drained from her features, replaced by a languid satisfaction that makes pride surge through me.

I hold Olivia against my chest as her breathing evens out. Her body is warm, soft, completely relaxed now as she drifts off to sleep. The weight of her feels right in my arms, like she belongs here. Her dark hair spills across my skin, and I find myself running my fingers through it, mesmerized by its silky texture.

Something twists in my chest as I look down at her peaceful face. The fierce, guarded woman who stood up to me is vulnerable now, trusting me enough to fall asleep in my arms. When was the last time anyone trusted me like this?

Fuck. This wasn't supposed to happen.

I've built walls around myself for years, keeping everyone at a safe distance. Even my closest men don't truly know me. It's how I've survived, how I've kept my sanity intact while rebuilding what my family lost.

But Olivia is finding cracks in those walls without even trying.

I close my eyes, willing the feeling away. This can't happen. I can't let her matter. The moment someone matters is the moment you give your enemies leverage. In my world, feelings are liabilities, and liabilities get exploited.

She shifts in her sleep, nestling closer, her hand coming to rest over my heart. Can she feel how fast it's beating? How much she affects me?

I should leave. I should extract myself from her bed and put distance between us. But my arms tighten around her instead.

I listen to her soft, even breathing for what feels like hours, all while fighting the war inside me. Every instinct honed from years in my world screams to pull away, to rebuild the walls she's somehow slipped through. But my body refuses to move.

"What the fuck am I doing?" I whisper to the shadows.

This wasn't part of the plan. Keep her close, ensure her silence, maintain control — those were the objectives. Not this. Not lying in her bed with her curled against me, not feeling this ache in my chest that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with something I can't afford to name.

Her fingers twitch against my skin, and I wonder what she's dreaming about. Is it peaceful? Or is her mind still caught in thestorm that broke her earlier? I hope it's the former. I hope, for a few hours at least, she finds some peace.

Tomorrow, I'll remember all the reasons why this can't happen, why she and I are impossible.

But tonight? Tonight, I allow myself this moment of weakness. This brief escape from the weight of my name and all the responsibilities that come with it.

THIRTY

Olivia

I'm alone in the mansion. Again.

It's become a thing over the last week when I come home by dinner, as agreed upon, only for Roman to tell me that Sam is out for the evening. I eat alone, even after prodding the young woman on his staff to join me. She shook her head like it was a trap and scurried back into the kitchen.

Ever since my grandfather’s meltdown when Sam came to save the day, he's been distant. I'm not sure if he's avoiding me or if he really has been busy atwork. The idea of calling what he does for a living “work” makes my brain ache.

I'm still coming to terms with reconciling that he's a criminal, but he's not a bad guy. The two things have never been synonymous in my entire life, rewiring my brain to believe it’s taking time.

It also means I have to come to terms with the fact that I don't hate Sam anymore. It feels strange to admit that to myself. Hating him is what has been fueling me since he forced me to move into this lavish mansion.

Things are easy when they're black and white. Hate Sam. Play his game. Earn my freedom back.

But now?

I'm not even sure what I want.

I do know that I'm getting tired of spending my nights alone. Sam gave me the best orgasm of my life, and now, he’s left me high and dry.

Like the last few nights, I move to the courtyard after dinner and curl up with one of the books from the library. But tonight, it isn't as calming.

Probably because I feel like a caged animal.

If he's going to trap me here, he should at least be here with me!