Page 24

She doesn't look up.
I watch her slumped shoulders, the hopelessness in her posture. It doesn't suit her. The violinist I've been watching for months is fire and steel wrapped in silk. This broken thing before me isn't what I wanted.
"My whole fucking life," she says suddenly, her voice low but razor-sharp. She looks up at me, those stormy blue eyes tempestuous. "My whole life, men have decided what's best for me."
I stay silent. Let her talk. Let her get it out.
"First my father." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Every note I played, every school I attended, every boy I wasn't allowed to date. He controlled everything."
She stands up, pacing now, her hands cutting through the air as she speaks.
"Then Ivan. With his contracts and his promises and his fucking lies." Her voice cracks. "And now you. Another man who thinks he knows what's better for me than I do."
I lean against the dresser, arms crossed. "This isn't about?—"
"Do you know what it feels like?" She cuts me off, stepping closer. "To be completely fucking useless in your own life? To watch everyone else make your decisions while you just... exist?"
Something in her words hits too close. Reminds me of being ten years old, watching my father stand over my mother's body, unable to do anything but breathe.
"I'm not trying to control your life," I say, keeping my voice even.
"No?" She laughs again, bitter and cold. "Then what would you call this? Kidnapping? Imprisonment?"
"Protection." I push off from the dresser, closing the distance between us. "Ivan would've done worse than lock you in a penthouse, Evelyn. Much worse."
"So I should be grateful?" She doesn't back down, tilts her chin up to hold my gaze. "Thank you, Noah, for being a slightly better option than a monster."
"I don't want your gratitude." I reach out, almost touch her face, but then drop my hand. "I just want you alive."
"For how long?" she asks, quieter now. "How long am I your prisoner?"
"Until we handle Ivan." The words come out before I can think them through. "After that... I'll let you go. You can go back to your life, your music. Pretend none of this ever happened."
She studies my face, looking for the lie. "You promise?"
"Yes." The word tastes like nightshade in my mouth. I've never been good at letting go of things that belong to me. And in my mind, she already does.
But that's a problem for another day.
I wait for her anger to rise again, for her to call me a liar. Instead she sighs, her shoulders relaxing slightly.
"Okay," she says, crossing her arms. "Now give me something to eat."
I raise an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." She tilts her head, something like a challenge in her eyes. "If you insist on keeping me alive, you need to feed me. I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon, before the Feretti event."
For a moment I just stare at her. Then a small laugh escapes me.
"What's so funny?" she demands, but there's less bite in her tone.
"You," I say, shaking my head. "One minute you're calling me a monster, the next you're demanding breakfast."
"Well, you're a bad captor if you let me starve to death." She shrugs, and I catch the ghost of a smile on her lips. "Kidnapping 101, Rivera. Keep your victim nourished."
"Is that so?" I move toward the door, gesturing for her to follow. "And what else does Kidnapping 101 teach?"
She follows me into the kitchen, keeping a careful distance. "Decent clothes would be nice. Something that actually fits."