Page 15 of Her Obedience (Ruin & Gold #1)

"It is generous, compared to alternatives." His gaze hardens. "Your father would have you drugged and compliant for a quick ceremony followed by permanent residence in a private facility, with public statements about your 'unfortunate nervous condition.' A few phone calls would make that happen."

A chill runs through me at the casual way he describes what would effectively be imprisonment and forced medication. "And you're the hero for offering a more humane captivity?"

"I'm the pragmatist offering a sustainable arrangement with mutual benefits.

" He leans forward, elbows on knees. "Your performance this past week was impressive, Penelope.

The cooperative fiancée, gradually accepting her situation.

If you hadn't mapped the surveillance blind spots so methodically, I might have believed it. "

My breath catches. He knew. All along, he knew I was planning escape.

"You monitored my activities in your office."

"Of course." He almost smiles. "I knew you were planning something. I simply wasn't certain of the timing or methodology."

"So you let me run, knowing you could track the ring." The realization burns like acid. Even my rebellion was permitted, controlled.

"I wanted to see what you would do," he admits. "How you would approach escape, what resources you would leverage, how far you were willing to go. Information that helps me understand you better."

"I'm not a psychology experiment."

"No, you're my future wife. Understanding how your mind works is essential to building a marriage."

I stare at him, trying to reconcile his cold calculation with the hint of genuine curiosity in his expression. "You could have stopped me before I left the estate."

"I could have," he agrees. "But then we wouldn't be having this conversation. We wouldn't have established with absolute clarity that escape attempts are futile."

He rises, moving to the windows overlooking the lake. Morning sunlight creates a halo effect around his tall figure, a visual reminder of the power imbalance between us.

"So what happens now?" I ask, dreading the answer. "Increased security? Restricted movement? Some form of punishment for my disobedience?"

He turns, studying me with that unsettling intensity. "Now we adapt our arrangement to reflect reality. You've demonstrated that you cannot yet be trusted with conditional freedom. Until that changes, your movements will be more closely monitored, your access to potential escape routes eliminated."

"A shorter leash for the unruly pet," I say bitterly.

"Temporary restrictions for the untrustworthy partner," he corrects. "The duration and severity depend entirely on your choices going forward."

He returns to his seat, his posture relaxed despite the tension between us. "I don't enjoy restricting your freedom, Penelope. It creates inefficiency and resentment that serve neither of us. But I will do what's necessary to maintain our arrangement."

"Why?" The question bursts from me, frustration overriding caution. "Why this insistence on me specifically? There must be dozens of women with appropriate social backgrounds who would willingly accept your proposal. Why continue this battle when you could have a willing partner?"

"Because the alternative candidates lack what you possess in abundance."

"Which is?"

"Spirit," he says simply with a shrug. "Intelligence.

Resilience. The qualities that drove you to escape your father's control, build a business from nothing, and attempt a genuinely impressive escape from my security.

The same qualities that will make you an exceptional partner once properly directed. "

"You want to break me," I realize. "To take those qualities and bend them to your purposes."

"Not break," he corrects. "Channel. There's a significant difference."

He rises again, moving to refill his coffee cup. "There's another factor you haven't considered."

"What's that?"

"I've invested a decade in this arrangement. Protecting your father from prosecution, monitoring your development, creating the conditions for you to prove your capabilities independently. That investment deserves return."

The coldly transactional framing sends a chill through me. "So I'm what—a long-term stock option finally paying dividends?"

"A strategic acquisition with value beyond immediate financial return." He returns to his seat, expression thoughtful. "Though I admit, there are additional factors I didn't anticipate when the arrangement was first made."

"Such as?"

He studies me for a long moment, as if deciding how much to reveal.

"I find myself... interested in you, Penelope.

Not merely as an acquisition or a contract fulfillment, but as an individual.

Your reactions. Your adaptations. The way you process challenges and setbacks. It's... unusual in my experience."

The admission unsettles me more than his earlier threats.

"Interest doesn't justify captivity," I say quietly.

"No," he agrees unexpectedly. "But the legal agreement with your father does. My interest merely makes the arrangement more personally satisfying than I initially anticipated."

He checks his watch, then rises. "We should return to the estate. Your absence has likely been noted by now, and I prefer to control the narrative rather than allow speculation."

"What will you tell them?"

"That we had an early breakfast meeting to discuss wedding arrangements." He extends a hand to help me up, which I pointedly ignore. "Details of your escape attempt will remain between us. No one else needs to know."

I stand on my own, maintaining what little independence remains available to me. "Why would you protect me from that humiliation?"

"Because public humiliation serves no purpose except to create resentment," he says practically. "And because I respect the intelligence and resourcefulness your attempt demonstrated, even while ensuring it doesn't succeed."

He moves toward the door, clearly expecting me to follow. I remain rooted in place, one final act of defiance.

"What if I refuse to go back?"

He turns, expression suddenly weary. "Then you force an unpleasant scene that changes nothing about the ultimate outcome. I will carry you to the car if necessary, Penelope. But I would prefer not to begin our public relationship with such a display."

The quiet certainty in his voice, the absolute confidence that he will prevail regardless of my resistance, finally breaks something inside me. Not surrender—never that—but recognition of the futility of immediate physical defiance.

I walk to the door without another word, preceding him to the waiting car. The morning has fully arrived now, sunlight dancing across the lake's surface. Beautiful and unreachable, like the freedom I've lost.

The drive back to the estate passes in silence.

He's right about one thing: I am resilient. This setback won't be my last word.

As we approach the estate gates, Gage finally breaks the silence. "Your father will be informed that your escape attempt was unsuccessful. I suggest you prepare for his reaction, which will likely be less measured than mine."

"When is he coming?"

"This evening. He's bringing the final wedding plans for review."

My stomach clenches at the accelerated timeline. "I thought we had weeks still."

"That was before your escape attempt suggested the need for a more expedited schedule."

The gates open silently, admitting us to the manicured grounds of my beautiful prison. Staff members visible near the entrance quickly make themselves scarce as we approach, confirming my suspicion that my absence was indeed noticed.

Gage parks near the main entrance, turning to me before I can exit.

"One more thing, Penelope. The next time you attempt escape—and we both know there will be a next time—remember that I will always find you.

Always. The only variable is how uncomfortable the retrieval process becomes for those caught in the crossfire. "

I step from the car without responding, spine straight, expression carefully neutral as I enter the mansion.

The game continues, with higher stakes and fewer options.

But not zero options. Never that.

I ascend the stairs to my suite, aware of Gage's eyes tracking my movement, of the subtle shift in staff demeanor confirming that everyone knows something significant has occurred, even if they don't know exactly what.

In my room, I find fresh flowers on the bedside table—black dahlias.

I move to the window, gazing out at the beautiful grounds that form the boundaries of my world now.

Gage Blackwood will never willingly release me. His determination has been tested and proven unshakeable.

Which means my only path forward is to make him believe he's won. To surrender so completely, so convincingly, that his vigilance eventually relaxes. Days, weeks, months of performance—whatever it takes to create an opportunity for a more carefully planned escape.

I remove the engagement ring, studying the massive diamond that concealed the tracking device that led to my capture. Such an obvious precaution in hindsight. How many other safeguards has he built into my cage that I haven't yet detected?

I slip the ring back on, accepting its weight as part of my current reality.

He's won this round. But the game is far from over.