Page 38 of Sadistic

But Elfe's right—this is bigger than my pride now.

So I take the keys, feel the weight of them in my palm.

"This doesn't mean I'm okay with the surveillance," I say.

"I know."

"Or the controlling behavior."

"Noted."

"Or—"

"Revna." He steps into my space, not touching but close enough that I smell his cologne. "The surveillance doesn't stop. Not until you're under my roof. Then it's just protection."

"What's the difference?"

"One keeps you safe from others. The other keeps you safe from yourself."

"I don't need?—"

"Thirteen men, little wolf. Thirteen men who thought they had a chance. How many more do you think are out there, waiting for a moment of weakness?"

"So you'll what? Monitor every breath I take?"

"If necessary." He brushes a strand of hair from my face, the touch ghosting over my skin. "You're mine now. That comes with privileges and restrictions. The sooner you accept both, the easier this will be."

"And if I don't?"

His smile is sharp, predatory. "Then we'll have an interesting marriage."

"The windows are bulletproof," I say, running my fingers along the glass. "The doors are reinforced. This thing probably costs more than most people's houses."

"Safety is expensive," Doran says simply.

"This isn't safety. This is paranoia wrapped in luxury."

"Is there a difference in our world?" He moves closer, and I catch that scent again—expensive cologne mixed with something darker. "How many attempts have been made on your father's life? Three? Four?"

"That's different. He's the president."

"And you'll be my wife. That makes you a target." His fingers ghost over my wrist, just above my pulse point. "Every enemy I have becomes yours. Every weakness they can't find in me, they'll look for in you."

"So I'm a liability."

"You're an asset. But only if you're breathing." He pulls out his phone, shows me something on the screen. "Facial recognition tied to the ignition. It won't start for anyone but you, me, or Mikhail in an emergency."

"You gave yourself access to my car?"

"I gave myself the ability to find you if someone takes you." His voice drops. "And before you argue about privacy, remember—two prospects are dead. The cartel doesn't play by rules."

I want to be angry, but there's something in his eyes—not just possession, but like he’s actually concerned.

Like maybe all this insanity comes from a place of fear, not just control.

"What are you so afraid of?" I ask quietly.

He goes still. "I'm not afraid of anything."

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