Page 55 of Shadow Waltz

Troy's smile was small but genuine. “I've been doing this long enough to know the difference between a job and personal feelings. Last night was a job. A pleasant one, but still a job.”

The honesty was brutal but appreciated. At least he wasn't pretending it meant more than it did, wasn't trying to make me feel special when we both knew I was just another assignment. The collar around my throat was reminder enough of my actual status in this arrangement.

Luka's officefelt charged when I entered, like the space itself was holding its breath. He stood before his wall of monitors as always, but when he turned to see me in the doorway, something predatory flickered across his features. His eyes went immediately to the collar, and I saw satisfaction there—not romantic pleasure, but the cold satisfaction of ownership confirmed.

“Sleep well?” he asked, moving toward me with that predatory grace that still made my pulse spike despite everything.

“Don't.” I held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Don't you dare act like last night was some kind of favor.”

Luka's eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn't advance further. “You seemed to enjoy yourself.”

“That's not the point!” The words exploded out of me. “The point is that you handed me off like a fucking party favor without asking what I wanted!”

“What you wanted was Troy,” Luka said calmly, but I could see something dangerous stirring in his eyes. “I could see it in the way?—”

“Stop telling me what I wanted!” I stepped forward, finger jabbing toward his chest. “Stop making decisions about my body, my life, my fucking feelings like you own them!”

The silence that followed was razor-sharp. Luka stood perfectly still, watching me with the kind of attention that suggested he was recalibrating everything he thought he knew about me.

“Don't I?” he asked softly, and his voice carried a gentleness that was somehow more terrifying than if he'd shouted. “Own them?”

“No.” The word came out stronger than I felt. “You own my circumstances. You don't own me.”

Luka smiled then, slow and dangerous and beautiful, like a predator who'd just realized his prey was more interesting than he'd anticipated. “Is that what you think?”

He moved closer, each step deliberate and unhurried, and I forced myself to stand my ground even though every instinct screamed at me to back away.

“I think,” he said, voice soft as silk over steel, “that you're confusing what you want with what you think you should want. I think you're angry because last night felt too good, and that scares you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Already happened. With my explicit permission and careful orchestration.” His smile widened. “Tell me, Ash—when Troy'shands were on you, when he was making you come apart, who were you thinking about?”

Heat flooded my cheeks, but I lifted my chin defiantly. “That's none of your business.”

“Everything about you is my business.” He was close enough now that I could smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his skin. “But I'll tell you who you were thinking about, because I watched the entire thing. You were thinking about me.”

The casual admission that he'd watched made my stomach clench with humiliation and arousal in equal measure. “You're sick.”

“I'm thorough,” Luka corrected, reaching out to trace the edge of my collar with one finger. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, but his words carried steel underneath. “And I'm patient. You can fight this arrangement all you want—in fact, I encourage it. But you'll lose, because deep down, you don't actually want to win.”

I grabbed his wrist, stopping his hand before it could settle on my throat. “You think you know me so well.”

“I know that you've been alone your entire life,” Luka said quietly, not trying to pull away from my grip. “I know that you've never had anyone care enough to orchestrate your pleasure, to ensure your safety, to kill for you. I know that terrifies you because wanting something means it can be taken away.”

His voice was gentle, understanding, and that made it infinitely more dangerous than any threat could have been.

“But here's what you haven't figured out yet,” he continued, eyes locked on mine. “I'm not going anywhere. I'm not getting bored. I'm not trading you for something newer and shinier. You're stuck with me, Ash, and all the complicated feelings that come with being genuinely cared for.”

“This isn't care,” I said, but my voice cracked on the words. “This is control.”

“It's both,” Luka agreed easily. “And you can spend your energy fighting the control, or you can focus on the care. Your choice.”

I wanted to hit him. Wanted to scream and rage and make him understand that people weren't possessions to be managed and orchestrated. But looking into his eyes, I saw something that made my anger falter—genuine affection, carefully controlled but unmistakably present.

“I hate you,” I whispered.

“I know,” Luka said softly, and his free hand came up to cup my cheek with surprising tenderness. “You can hate me all you want, as long as you stay safe while you do it.”