Page 310 of Rosetti Family New York

The distinction hits hard because it's true. Every need met, every comfort given, every vulnerability respected instead of exploited.

"And if I decide to leave?"

"Then I'll watch you go." His voice gets rough, even though he stays calm. "I'll make sure you have everything you need to vanish again, to build any life you want without interference from me or anyone else."

"You'd let me walk away. After all this hunting, after building this elaborate shrine, after proving you can provide everything I never knew I needed."

"Yes." Simple. Direct. Heartbreakingly honest.

I look at his face, searching for any sign of deceit, any hint that this is manipulation. But his gray eyes show only truth, painful, raw, absolute.

"Why?"

"Because keeping you against your will isn't victory. It's just another way of losing you." He steps closer, so close I have to tilt my head back to keep eye contact. "I want you to choose me, Mara. Not as an escape from your situation, not as giving in to a stronger force, but as a recognition that what we have is worth protecting."

His confession makes my throat tight with emotions I'm not ready to name. "And if I stay? What does that look like?"

"Whatever you want it to look like." His hands gently frame my face. "Partnership, if you want equality. Protection, if you need security. Possession, if you crave surrender. Or some mix of all three, decided day by day as we figure out how to build something that works for both of us."

The offer is everything I've wanted and everything that scares me.

"I need to think," I whisper, feeling the weight of real freedom after so long thinking I had none.

"Of course." He steps back right away, giving me space I haven't asked for but need. "Take all the time you require. The decision is yours entirely."

I rush to the balcony, needing air and distance and the anonymity of a city that doesn't know my name. The March wind cuts through my silk pajamas, but the cold helps clear my head of his scent and the pull of his attention.

Manhattan spreads below me. Millions living lives without negotiating freedom with men who turn love into beautiful cages. I could be one of them again, invisible, independent, accountable only to myself.

The thought should excite me. Instead, it feels like considering an amputation.

Seven days ago, I would have run without hesitation. I would have seen his offer of freedom as a chance to escape before he changed his mind.

But these seven days have shown me what I'd be running from: perfect coffee and impossible gifts, attention that feels like worship, control that comes with protection. A man who's studied me so well he knows my needs before I do, who's patient enough to wait years for me to see the difference between being taken and being offered.

The necklace at my throat catches the morning light, sending tiny rainbows across the balcony floor. A physical reminderof the devotion that followed my desperate choices across continents.

When did loving someone become about giving them everything they need to leave you?

The question crystallizes something that's been growing since he showed me the surveillance footage, since I performed for him on my own terms, since he held me while I cried and didn't try to turn vulnerability into opportunity.

This is who I truly am. A person who responds to strength with desire, who finds power irresistible when it's used to protect me.

Then I think about waking up for seven days in silk sheets, having coffee made exactly how I like it, and being surrounded by signs that someone values my comfort immensely. Feeling beautiful under gray eyes that have seen every part of me and found it precious, not flawed. Before this, my life was just anonymous hotel rooms and fake identities, safe but empty. Free but alone.

The choice isn't between freedom and captivity. It's between being alone and having a connection, between being independent and having intimacy, between protecting myself and trusting someone else to protect me better than I could alone.

When I come back from the balcony, Emilio is right where I left him, leaning on the marble island, tablet ignored, looking like a man waiting for a verdict that could either destroy or save him.

"The door," I say quietly. "You said the locks are disengaged."

"They are." His voice is carefully neutral, but it can't completely hide the tension in him.

"Show me."

Something flickers across his face, maybe surprise or pain, but he nods and leads me to the front entrance. The security panel,which glowed red for seven days, now pulses green, showing systems set for leaving, not containing.

"Biometric locks disabled," he explains, sounding professionally detached even though his hands clench and release at his sides. "Elevator access restored. The car will take you anywhere in the city you want to go."