POV: Emilia Conti
I waited until the penthouse settled.
You could feel it when things quieted—not the absence of sound, but the easing of tension. Guards rotated. Radios lowered. Doors locked into their night pattern. The building exhaled, convinced it had contained everything worth containing.
That was when I decided to leave.
Not dramatically. Not running. Just… walking out like a person who belonged to herself.
I changed into the clothes they'd laid out for me—comfortable, neutral, designed to blend in rather than draw attention. I pulled my hair back, slipped on the flats, and took a steadying breath.
If I was going to test the limits of this cage, I needed to do it calmly.
The hallway was empty when I stepped out. The lights adjusted automatically as I moved, soft and unobtrusive. I walked at an even pace, heart steady, posture relaxed.
No alarms.
No voices.
Good.
The elevator waited at the end of the hall, doors already open. That was new. Usually, they didn't open unless summoned.
I stepped inside.
The panel lit up, displaying only two options.
Penthouse. Lobby.
I pressed Lobby.
Nothing happened.
I pressed it again, harder this time.
Still nothing.
The doors slid shut.
The elevator didn't move.
"Of course," I muttered.
A soft chime sounded, followed by his voice through the hidden speaker.
"You're up early."
I didn't bother hiding my irritation. "You're watching."
"Always."
I crossed my arms. "I'm leaving."
A pause. Not long. Not surprised.
"No," he said calmly.
The doors slid open again.
Alessio stood there, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. He looked rested. That irritated me more than it should have.
"You didn't even let me get to the lobby," I said.
"You wouldn't have made it past the doors," he replied. "I saved you the walk back."
I stepped out of the elevator. "I want to leave the building."
"I know."
"Then move."
He didn't.
The space between us felt charged now—not dangerous, but deliberate.
"You treated my man yesterday," he said.
"Yes."
"You did it well."
"That's my job."
"And you negotiated terms," he continued. "You didn't raise your voice. You didn't threaten."
"I don't threaten," I said. "I decide."
His gaze sharpened. "Then decide wisely."
"I am," I replied. "I'm going out. I need air. Space. Proof that I'm not a prisoner."
"You're not a prisoner," he said again.
"Then unlock the door."
Silence stretched between us.
"I can't," he said finally.
I laughed, sharp and humorless. "You won't."
He corrected smoothly, "I can't allow it."
"And you think that difference matters to me?"
"It should," he said. "One is refusal. The other is necessity."
"Your necessity," I snapped.
"Our reality."
I took a step closer. "You told me yesterday my autonomy was negotiable."
"It is."
"Then negotiate."
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Not this," he said.
"Why?" I demanded. "Because it's dangerous?"
"Yes."
"Because someone might see me?"
"Yes."
"Because it weakens your control?"
A beat.
"No," he said. "Because it paints you as movable."
I frowned. "What does that even mean?"
"It means," he replied, "that if you walk out today, they'll assume they can reach you tomorrow."
"And if I stay hidden forever?"
"You won't," he said. "You're not built for that."
I hated that he was right.
"I need to see my life," I said quietly. "I need to know it still exists."
He studied me for a long moment, something thoughtful flickering behind his eyes.
"You want proof," he said.
"Yes."
"Then listen carefully," he continued. "If you step outside this building without preparation, without planning, without protection—someone will test it. Not because they want you. But because they can."
"You don't know that."
"I do," he said flatly. "Because I would."
That landed like a slap.
"You're admitting you'd use someone like me," I said.
"I'm admitting," he replied, "that visibility without power invites violence."
I shook my head. "You're using fear to justify control."
"I'm using experience."
I met his gaze, refusing to back down. "Then take me with you."
His eyes narrowed. "Where?"
"Anywhere," I said. "A meeting. A drive. A place where the sky isn't filtered through glass."
"No."
"Why not?" I pressed. "If visibility protects me, like you keep claiming, then I should be seen with you."
"That kind of visibility," he said, "comes with assumptions."
"Let them assume."
"They already are," he replied. "That's the problem."
I exhaled slowly, forcing my voice to stay steady. "You can't keep me here indefinitely."
"I'm not."
"You moved me into a locked suite."
"For your safety."
"You control my phone. My schedule. My access to the outside world."
"Yes."
"That's imprisonment."
"That's containment," he said. "There's a difference."
"To you," I replied. "Not to me."
We stood there, neither of us moving, the air between us tight with unspoken consequences.
Finally, he spoke again. "If you walk out that door today, I won't stop you."
My heart jumped. "Then open it."
"But," he added calmly, "I won't be able to protect you."
I stared at him. "You're threatening me."
"I'm informing you."
"You're saying I'm only safe if I obey."
"I'm saying you're safe if you understand the cost of defiance."
Anger flared, hot and sharp. "You don't get to decide that cost for me."
"I already have," he said quietly. "Because you're not the one they're watching."
"And you think that gives you the right to own my movement?"
"No," he replied. "It gives me the responsibility to limit it."
I took a shaky breath. "You're calm because you're used to people giving in."
"I'm calm," he said, "because I don't need to force you."
That made my stomach drop.
"You think I'll choose to stay."
"I know you will."
"And if you're wrong?"
His gaze held mine, unwavering. "Then I'll deal with the consequences."
I looked past him, toward the distant doors at the end of the corridor. Freedom, so close I could almost feel it.
Then I thought of the man in the dark. The flowers. The cameras going black.
I swallowed.
"You're not letting me leave," I said softly.
"No," he agreed. "Not today."
"And tomorrow?"
"We'll see."
I stepped back, something inside me tightening painfully. "This isn't over."
"No," he said. "It's just beginning."
I turned away from him then, walking back down the hall toward my suite. The doors opened automatically, silently welcoming me back into my cage.
As they closed behind me, I leaned my forehead against the glass, breathing slowly.
He hadn't raised his voice.
He hadn't touched me.
He hadn't needed to.
That was the most frightening part of all.
Because I hadn't stayed because I was forced.
I stayed because I was afraid.