Page 65 of His Stolen Bride

Enzo’s eyes flick to me. “He’s inviting her.”

“He’s summoning me,” I correct, and I keep my voice calm. “He wants a choice he can claim.”

Mikhail turns at last, and his eyes pin Enzo. “Leave us.”

Enzo goes, and the door shuts behind him. He leans forward, hands on the desk again, and he speaks like every word is chosen. “You go to him under my terms.”

“You don’t get to own the terms,” I say. “You get to set the perimeter.”

Mikhail’s mouth tightens. “You’re pushing.”

“I’m insisting.”

He holds my gaze for a long beat, then he exhales through his nose and nods once.

“Swear it,” I say.

His eyes narrow. “Swear what?”

“That you’ll trust my intelligence as much as your guns,” I answer. “That you won’t override me the moment you get nervous, and that you won’t turn this into a brute-force rescue that gets people killed.”

Mikhail’s jaw flexes.

“Swear it,” I repeat.

He stares at me like he hates the demand and respects it at the same time.

“I swear,” he says finally. “On my name and on our son.”

My throat tightens, and I don’t let it show.

“Good,” I say. “Then I’ll give him what he wants.”

Mikhail’s eyes stay on mine. “You’re going to offer.”

“I’m going to control,” I correct. “I’ll offer a meeting, and I’ll make him think he’s dictating it.”

Mikhail nods slowly. “He’ll frisk you.”

“I’ll wear what passes,” I reply. “No jewelry. No bag. Nothing that looks like a threat.”

He watches my face. “No tracker on you?”

My lower lip curls into a little smile, but I don’t say what I’m thinking just yet.

“No guns either,” he adds.

“I know.”

He steps closer again, and his hand lifts like he wants to touch me, then he stops himself halfway.

“I don’t like this,” he says.

“You don’t have to like it,” I answer. “You have to win it.”

Mikhail’s gaze drops again, and I feel the heat of the earlier kiss still sitting on my mouth like a bruise.

“I’m going to write it,” I say.