Page 69 of Shadow Waltz

“I'll consider your proposal,” I said, slipping the card into my jacket pocket. “But you should understand that some choices, once made, can't be unmade. Are you prepared for the possibility that the outcome might not be what you're hoping for?”

“I'm prepared for Mr. Carter to make whatever decision is best for him,” Reddick replied, standing with the measured movements of someone ending a negotiation rather than a conversation. “With full knowledge of his options.”

As he moved toward the door, he paused and looked back at me with something that might have been genuine concern rather than professional obligation.

“For what it's worth,” he said quietly, “I hope you care about him enough to let him choose freely. Because if you don't, I will find a way to remove him from this situation, regardless of the legal complications involved.”

The threat was personal rather than professional, and that made it infinitely more dangerous. Personal meant he might be willing to take risks that could compromise his career, might be driven by motivations that extended beyond building a case.

“Detective,” I called as he reached for the door handle. “What makes you think he wants to be saved?”

Reddick's smile was sad and knowing and completely without mercy. “Because everyone wants to be saved, Mr. Markovic. The question is whether they remember that they deserve it.”

The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded like a judge's gavel, leaving me alone with his words echoing in my head and his business card burning a hole in my pocket. For the first time since acquiring Ash, someone was offering him a genuine alternative to the life I'd constructed around him.

The question was whether I was secure enough in what we were building to let him choose freely, or whether the fear of losing him would make me exactly the monster Reddick believed me to be.

Walking back to my office, I found myself thinking about the way Ash had said my name, the concern in his voice when he'd asked me to be careful, the subtle shift from resistance to acceptance that had been building over the past few days. Was that genuine feeling, or just survival instinct disguised as Stockholm syndrome?

The distinction mattered more than I wanted to admit, because if Reddick was right—if what I thought was growing between us was just trauma response and psychological manipulation—then everything I'd built my happiness on was an illusion.

Ash was exactly where I'd left him. But when he turned to face me, I found myself studying his expression with new intensity,

“How did it go?” he asked, and his voice carried the kind of casual concern that suggested real interest rather than obligation.

“He wants to meet with you,” I said, deciding that honesty was the only way to test him. “Alone. To make sure you're here voluntarily.”

Ash's expression didn't change, but I caught a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or calculation as he processed the implications.

“And what did you tell him?”

“That I'd consider it,” I replied, studying his face for any sign of relief or hope that might suggest he wanted the rescue Reddick was offering.

Ash was quiet for a long moment, looking out at the city sprawling below us. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful rather than emotional.

“Do you want me to meet with him?”

The question caught me off guard because it turned the power dynamic on its head. Instead of me deciding what was best for him, he was asking what I preferred, treating this as a partnership decision rather than a unilateral choice.

“I want you to do whatever you think is right,” I said, surprised by how much I meant it.

Ash turned from the window to face me directly, and in his eyes I saw something that made my chest tighten with emotions I wasn't ready to examine too closely.

“Then I'll meet with him,” he said simply. “Because I want him to understand that this is my choice.”

The certainty in his voice sent heat racing through my veins, because it meant he'd chosen me. Not because he was afraid of the alternatives, not because he didn't understand his options, but because after weighing everything available to him, he'd decided that wearing my collar was preferable to whatever freedom Reddick was offering.

“You're sure?” I asked, needing to hear him say it again.

Ash's smile was small but genuine, transforming his face from beautiful to devastating. “I'm sure. But Luka?” The use of my name still sent electricity through my nervous system. “AfterI talk to him, we need to discuss what this really is between us. Because if I'm choosing you, I want to know what I'm choosing.”

The honesty was brutal and necessary, forcing me to confront the fact that what had started as ownership had evolved into something more complex. Not love, not yet, but the possibility of something that could grow into love given time and care and the kind of honest communication that had been missing from every relationship I'd ever attempted.

“After you talk to him,” I agreed, “we'll figure out exactly what this is.”

As evening settled over the city and transformed Manhattan into a circuit board of light and shadow, I realized that Reddick's visit had given us both something unexpected—the chance to choose each other freely, with full knowledge of the alternatives.

Whatever happened next, it would be built on choice rather than coercion, partnership rather than ownership. And for someone who'd spent fifteen years believing that power was the only thing worth having, that felt like the most dangerous gamble I'd ever taken.