Page 82 of Under His Control

He smirks. “Yet here you are. Defending his hotel, his name…maybe even his legacy.”

I swallow. “I’m defending my brother.”

I say it, but I know it’s not true. This isn’t just about Chris—not anymore.

“Fair enough,” he says. Then, more quietly, “but it won’t be enough.”

The silence that follows is heavy. I can feel him studying me, weighing everything—my reactions, my tone, my posture. He’slooking for something, and I don’t know whether I’m giving it to him or not.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he says after a beat.

I shrug. “I’ve had a long day. So yeah, quiet’s all I’ve got left.”

His eyes narrow, sharpening.

Damn it.

I keep my face neutral, but inside, I’m cursing myself. That was too much. Too honest. A crack in the armor.

He doesn't comment. Doesn't smile. Just lets the tension stretch between us.

“Does Anatoly know?”

The question hits like a punch to the gut.

I do what I’ve learned to do when I don’t have control.

I stay quiet.

The elevator dings, announcing the penthouse floor.

Finally.

The doors open with a soft whoosh, and I step out like I’ve got steel in my spine, even though my legs feel like jelly. Damas follows, just a few steps behind, silent and composed like he’s not the human equivalent of a coiled viper.

I hesitate before unlocking the door. My fingers are stiff, and I move slowly. The keycard nearly slips once before I slide it home and push the door open.

I walk in slowly, arms crossed, trying to hide the shiver.

I don’t know whether he overheard Chris’s dig and connected the dots, or he’s just toying with me. This could be his next move in whatever sick game he thinks he’s playing.

I don’t know what Damas wants—from me, from Anatoly, from this entire twisted inheritance mess.

I glance over my shoulder and catch him watching me again, a creepy smile on his face.

Like he already knows something I haven’t said.

My hand drifts to my stomach instinctively.

One way or another, the truth is coming.

And I need to be ready.

CHAPTER 33

ANATOLY

Iglance at my watch, irritation simmering. The real estate meeting dragged on, driven by a parade of bureaucrats too enamored with their own voices. They waste time quibbling over minor zoning variances while I try to envision the future.