I read the same row of numbers for the third time, the figures still refusing to reveal their inconsistency. The black ink blurred as I stared at the column, searching for the error I knew was there. The study in my estate was quiet at this hour, most of the household already retired to their rooms. A fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows across the polished floor.

  Our first night back at the estate after the mainland. The journey had concluded just before midday as expected, and the hours since had been consumed with settling Ross and Lilach into their quarters, reassuring staff, and reviewing the new security protocols. Now, exhaustion pulled at my limbs, yet sleep eluded me.

  I traced my finger down another column, comparing cargo weights against the previous quarter's records. The ledger contained shipping manifests from my business ventures, a stack of work that had accumulated during our absence. These discrepancies needed my attention, yet my mind kept returning to Joy.

  She had been quiet during our arrival, her eyes taking in the familiar surroundings of my estate with a new wariness.

  The soft click of the door latch pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up to see Joy slip into the study, her movements tentative. She wore a simple tunic and soft trousers that had been laid out in her room, her white hair loose around her shoulders.

  She froze when she saw me, her eyes widening slightly. One hand remained on the door handle.

  I kept my voice steady. "Come in. I was just reviewing some business."

  Joy hesitated, body angled toward the door. Ready to flee. After a moment, she released the handle and stepped fully into the study, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.

  She moved to the nearest bookshelf, trailing her fingers along the spines without seeming to read the titles. Her steps carried her from one shelf to another, meandering without purpose. She paused at a window, looking out into the darkness, then resumed her wandering, circling the perimeter of the room.

  I tried to return my attention to the ledger but found myself tracking her movements instead. The rustle of fabric as she moved. The soft pad of her bare feet against the wooden floor. The occasional clink of her claws against book bindings.

  She completed one full circuit of the study, then began another, her pace slightly quicker. The restlessness in her movements grew more pronounced. She picked up a small statuette from a side table, turned it in her hands, then set it down again. Not quite where it had been before.

  "Your pacing is distracting."

  Joy stilled, her back to me. The muscles in her shoulders tensed visibly beneath the thin fabric of her tunic.

  "I'm sorry." Her voice was barely audible. She turned slightly toward the door. "I'll go."

  "No. Sit with me." The words emerged before I could consider them, an instinct rather than a command.

  She remained motionless for several heartbeats. I watched the slight rise and fall of her breathing, waiting for her to either leave or stay.

  Slowly, she turned to face me. Her expression was carefully neutral, but something flickered in her eyes. Uncertainty. Fear. She took one step toward me, then another, her gait slightly uneven still.

  I expected her to take one of the plush chairs by the fire.

  Instead, she crossed to where I sat in an armchair and knelt at my feet.

  The ledger tumbled from my grip, my surprise at her choice making my fingers clumsy. Joy snatched it from the air before it hit the floor. A small, knowing smile touched her lips as she passed it back to me, clearly pleased at having disrupted my composure.

  "Keep working." Her voice was soft as she settled beside me, her head coming to rest against the outside of my thigh. "I just need..." She trailed off, unable to find the words.

  Something primal stirred in my gut at the sight of her kneeling there, this powerful warrior, royal guard, the dangerous blade. My grip tightened on the ledger until my knuckles whitened. I forced my breathing to remain steady.

  What I wanted in that moment was dangerous. The part of me that had made me a successful businessman, a feared competitor, a ruthless negotiator—surged forward, demanding I claim what was being offered. Take control. Establish dominance. Mark her as mine in ways that would leave no question.

  I returned my attention to the shipping records, forcing myself to focus on the numbers rather than the warm weight against my leg. Not for the first time, I wondered at the strange turn my life had taken. I'd found myself irreversibly changed by her presence, my carefully constructed world tilted on its axis.

  I lifted my hand, giving her time to pull away. When she remained still, I brushed my fingers against her hair, letting the white strands slide between my fingers. The silken texture of it against my skin urged me to grip, to pull, to control.

  I tamped it down, transforming the impulse into a gentle stroke.

  "You can stop this anytime," I whispered.

  She leaned slightly into my touch. "I know."

  Her voice sounded stronger than it had in weeks. The quiet confidence in those two words made my chest tighten. She trusted me to be the firm hand she needed without becoming the cruel one she feared. That trust was a responsibility I wouldn't take lightly.

  "I know about you and Selwyn."

  Her body tensed, but she didn't pull away. The warmth of her shoulder pressed against my knee. I continued stroking her hair, establishing a rhythm that seemed to ease the tension from her shoulders.

  Throughout our journey back, I'd watched her turn to my brother. I'd seen the gentle way Selwyn treated her, handling her like delicate glass. I'd witnessed her respond to his patience, his careful approach. I'd swallowed my jealousy, buried it deep.

  "I won't ask you to choose between us." The admission cost me something, but I pushed through. My fingers never ceased their gentle motion through her hair. "Whatever is between you and my brother, that's yours. I won't interfere."

  She tilted her head to look up at me. A question lingered there, something unspoken seeking confirmation.

  The darkness surged again, demanding I stake my claim. I allowed a fraction of it to surface, just enough to give my next words weight.

  "But if you stay with me, you're mine too." I let her hear the steel in my voice, the unyielding certainty that was as much a part of me as breath. "Can you accept that?"

  Joy held my gaze for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. Then she shifted, turning her face to press against my thigh. Her hand slid up to rest on my knee. The gentle weight of her head against my leg answered more clearly than words.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  We remained like that for several minutes, the only sounds the occasional turn of a page and the soft crackle of the fire. The tension gradually eased from her shoulders. Her breathing slowed, deepened.

  Without lifting her head, she broke the silence. "Selwyn helps me remember who I was before." Her voice was soft but steady. "He sees the parts of me that are still... wounded. Knows how to help them heal without breaking them further."

  I absorbed her words, understanding what she was telling me about my brother. Selwyn's gentleness, his patience, his healer's instinct—these were what she needed for certain wounds.

  "But that constant care, that awareness of my brokenness..." She paused, searching for words. "Sometimes that's..."

  "Exhausting," I finished for her.

  She nodded against my leg, a small but definite movement. "With him, everything is my choice. My pace. My decision. Sometimes I don't want to choose. Sometimes I just want someone else to..."

  "Decide." The word hung between us, weighted with meaning. "I know."

  She lifted her head then, eyes meeting mine. "That's why I came to you tonight. Not him."

  The admission sent warmth blooming through my chest. I understood now what she was seeking from me—not comfort or healing, but the freedom that comes from surrendering choice. The certainty of boundaries. The relief of following rather than leading.

  "With you, I don't have to be broken." Her voice lowered. "I can just be. You expect strength from me, even now."

  "Because I know it's there." My fingers traced the shell of her ear. "Beneath everything Marcelo did."

  I thought of how I'd chosen those strong-flavored foods for her at our meal after arriving today, refusing to treat her as fragile. Her silver eyes had met mine across the table with something like gratitude.

  Joy's lips curved in the smallest smile, but it was genuine—the first I'd seen since before Marcelo took her. "I need you both," she admitted. "For different reasons."

  "I understand what you need," I said quietly.

  Time passed differently with her beside me. The fire burned lower. The shipping records became a pretense as my attention remained fixed on the woman at my feet. She shifted occasionally, adjusting her position as her muscles grew tired.

  Joy's hand traced patterns on the carpet, her claws making soft scratching sounds against the thick pile. After nearly an hour, she eased away from my leg. For a moment I thought she might be leaving, but instead, she stretched out on the rich carpet in front of me. She lay on her side, her back to the fire, facing away but still close enough that her shoulder brushed against my calf. The white length of her hair spread across the dark carpet like spilled moonlight.

  "These numbers don't align," I murmured, more to myself than to her.

  Joy rolled onto her back, looking up at me. "What doesn't?"

  "Shipping manifests from the southern route." I tapped the page. "Something's being skimmed."

  She made a noncommittal sound, then reached up to pluck at the hem of my pants leg. The light touch was distracting in ways I couldn't afford to dwell on.

  "Is it important?" Her fingers continued their idle exploration of the fabric, tracing the seam up to my knee and back down.

  I cleared my throat. "Important enough."

  A small smile played at the corners of her mouth. She knew exactly what she was doing. This was a different Joy than I'd seen since her rescue—playful, almost mischievous. The shadows hadn't left her eyes, but something of her former self flickered through the cracks.

  "I could stop." Her fingers stilled against my calf, though she didn't remove her hand.

  I met her gaze steadily. "Did I ask you to?"

  Her smile deepened slightly. She resumed her touches, attention seemingly focused on the texture of the fabric. But I felt the weight of her awareness, her deliberate choice to distract me. Another kind of power exchange—one where she controlled my attention even from her position at my feet.

  She shifted to sit up slightly, craning her neck to see the pages in my lap.

  "Clever," she murmured, eyes catching glimpses of the figures as I turned the page. "They're reporting the full cargo but splitting the manifests between ships."

  I stared at her in surprise. "How did you—"

  "Numbers are just another pattern." She shrugged one shoulder, the movement fluid even in her relaxed state. "Patterns are what kept me alive."

  This unexpected glimpse of her analytical mind—so different from the physical warrior I'd first purchased—reminded me of how little I truly knew about her. For all our time together, for all I'd seen of her strength and vulnerability, Joy remained in many ways a mystery.

  She shifted again, rolling back onto her side, this time facing me. Her hand returned to my leg, this time curling loosely around my ankle. The slight weight of it grounded me, a physical reminder of her presence.

  Between the late hour, the dying fire, and the increasingly distracting touch of Joy's fingers, my concentration had abandoned me entirely.

  She seemed to sense this, a small, satisfied smile playing across her lips as she watched me struggle to focus. Another yawn overtook her, which she made no effort to hide.

  "Stop that," I said without heat.

  "Stop what?" Innocence didn't suit her, but the attempt was endearing.

  "Yawning is contagious."

  She yawned again, more deliberately this time. "Is it?"

  I set the ledger aside with a sigh of defeat. "You're impossible."

  "Hmm." She stretched, the movement languid and cat-like. Her tunic rode up slightly, revealing a slice of pale skin at her waist. My eyes caught on it before I consciously redirected my gaze to her face.

  Too late. She'd noticed. Something flickered in her expression—not fear or discomfort, but acknowledgment. She didn't adjust the tunic.

  "You said I was distracting earlier." She rolled fully onto her back, looking up at me with eyes that caught and held the firelight. "I'm still distracting you."

  "Deliberately now."

  She nodded, unrepentant. "It's different."

  "How so?"

  "Before I was..." She searched for the word. "Unsettled. Now I'm just tired."

  The simple admission carried weight. Tired implied trust. Safety. The willingness to be vulnerable.

  The fire had burned down to embers, casting the study in amber shadows. Outside the windows, darkness pressed against the glass, the moon hanging high in the night sky. The household around us was silent, Ross and Lilach likely settled into their assigned quarters, the staff long since retired to their beds.

  I reached down, brushing a strand of white hair from her face. "It's late."

  She nodded, making no move to get up. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, the alertness in her gaze softened by exhaustion. This was a different kind of vulnerability than she'd shown me before—not the emotional openness of our conversation, but the simple physical surrender to tiredness in my presence.

  No longer pretending interest in work, my hand moved to cup her cheek, thumb tracing the edge of her jaw. She didn't flinch from my touch.

  "Stay with me tonight," I murmured.

  She stiffened, eyes widening slightly.

  "Not for that." I let my hand fall away, giving her space. "Just sleep beside me. I need..." The words caught in my throat.

  What did I need? To know she was safe? To feel her breathing beside me? To prove to myself that she could choose me without fear or obligation?

  "I need you near," I finished simply.

  Joy's gaze searched my face, looking for something. Whatever she found there seemed to satisfy her.

  "Why now?" The question hung between us. Why now, after our return to the estate? Why now, when she'd been spending her days with Selwyn?

  "Because I'm tired of pretending I don't want you." I held her gaze steadily. "Because tonight you came to me."

  Her eyes drifted closed. "I didn't know you'd be here."

  "But you stayed."

  A small nod.

  "You tempt me beyond reason." My voice dropped lower. "But tonight, I just want your company. Nothing more."

  Something in her expression softened, looking up at me with eyes that caught and held the firelight.

  "Your room or mine?"

  "Mine." The word emerged with absolute certainty, brooking no debate.

  A small smile curved her lips, genuine and somehow pleased—as if my decisiveness was exactly what she'd been hoping for.

  I rose from the chair, towering over her. My hand extended toward hers, not quite touching. "On your feet, warrior."

  She took my offered hand, allowing me to help her rise, steadying herself against my grip as she straightened. "Yes, sir," she murmured, the playfulness in her tone barely masking something deeper.

  My grip tightened fractionally around her fingers. "Careful with that," I warned, my voice dropping lower. "I could get used to hearing it."