Page 33 of Arranged with Twins
“Control.” I repeat the word scathingly. “That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Not my safety, but your need to control everything and everyone around you.”
“If keeping you alive means controlling your environment, then yes.” He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with the metallic scent of dried blood. “I won’t apologize for that.”
“I’m not some helpless princess who needs rescuing.” My voice rises despite my efforts to stay calm. “I’m not a pawn for you to move around the board whenever it suits your strategy.”
“Then stop acting like one.” The words come out harsh and cutting. “Stop pretending you don’t understand the danger you’re in. Stop believing that your parents’ connections or your expensive education will protect you from men like Adrian.”
The accusation stings because there’s truth in it. I have been naïve and sheltered, living in a world where money and social position provide safety. Tonight shattered that illusion like brittle glass.
“You think I don’t know that?” My hands shake as I speak, adrenaline, fear, and frustration combining into something volatile. “You think I don’t realize everything I believed about my life was a lie? That I’m completely out of my depth in your world?”
“Then let me protect you.” His voice softens slightly, but the intensity remains. “Let me keep you safe until this is over.”
“And then what? You’ll decide when it’s safe for me to go back to my own life? When I’m allowed to make my own choices again?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s not protection, Leo. That’s just another cage.”
We stare at each other in the elevator, tension crackling between us like electricity before a storm. When the doors open on his penthouse floor, he steps out first, leaving me to follow.
His apartment is exactly what I expected and similar to mine in layout but more lavish. It’s elegant, expensive, and completely impersonal. Tall windows offer a view of Manhattan that probably costs more than most people make in a year. Everything is tasteful, sophisticated, and utterly cold.
“Your home is very...” I search for the right word. “Pristine.”
“I don’t spend much time here.” Leo moves to a bar cart and pours himself a scotch. “Drink?”
“No.” I wander toward the windows, needing distance from the intensity radiating off him. “Do you spend time anywhere? Or do you just move from one business meeting to another, one public appearance to the next, and one shady event to another?”
“Is that what you think of me?” He doesn’t sound offended, just curious. “That I’m some sort of machine programmed for profit and control?”
I turn to face him, studying his expression in the city lights filtering through the glass. There’s something vulnerable in his question that doesn’t match the man who ordered my life rearranged without consultation. “I think you’re afraid.” The words come out before I can stop them. “I think you’re terrified of not being in control, so you build walls around everything and everyone to keep them safe. Including me.”
“Maybe I am afraid.” He sets down his glass without drinking. “Maybe watching my parents die when I was seventeen taught me that the people you care about become targets.”
The admission hangs between us, raw and honest in a way that makes my chest ache. This is the first time he’s really talked about his parents and the first glimpse behind the carefully constructed façade.
“I’m sorry.” My voice comes out softly though I’m still angry with him. “I can’t imagine losing them so young.”
“Vincent and Katherine took me in afterward.” Leo’s smile holds no warmth. “For three months, while I consolidated power and eliminated the men responsible, they offered me a safe placeto land and regroup. Your parents saved my life, and now, I’m trying to save yours.”
The revelation reframes everything I thought I understood. Our engagement, his protection, and even his cold distance are about repaying his debt to my father and honoring an obligation that goes back to the worst period of his life. He doesn’t care about our social connections. That’s just a pretense that gives him an excuse to proceed with the merger between us, to help my father save face.
Knowing that softens my anger but not my irritation with the whole situation. “That doesn’t give you the right to make all my decisions.” I step closer, drawn by something in his expression I can’t name. “I’m not seven years old anymore. I can handle the truth about what’s happening.”
“Can you?” He moves toward me, eliminating the space between us until I feel heat radiating from his body. “Can you handle knowing Adrian tortured three people to death last month? Or that he’s building an arsenal specifically designed to destroy everything I’ve built? That being engaged to me makes you a target for every enemy I’ve made in twenty years?”
Each word is terrifying, painting a picture of violence and danger I never imagined. Yet instead of sending me running, it makes something fierce flare in my chest. “Yes.” My voice doesn’t falter despite the fear coursing through me. “I can handle it because I’m stronger than you think and stronger than my parents raised me to be.”
He seems surprised, but there’s a hint of respect in his expression too. “You’re not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Someone who would break under pressure and run at the first sign of real danger.” He reaches up to touch my face, brushing his thumb across my cheekbone. “Someone who wouldn’t stand here arguing with me when most people would be begging for mercy.”
“I’m not most people.” The words come out breathless as his touch sends heat spiraling through me. “I’m tired of being treated like I’m your property, and I have no reason to need mercy. You’re protecting me, not hurting me.”
The air between us charges with something electric and dangerous. I should step back to maintain the distance we’ve carefully built over the past nine weeks. Instead, I lean into his touch, drawn by something I can’t resist. “This is a bad idea.” My words contradict my actions as I move closer.
“Probably.” He settles his other hand on my waist, pulling me against him. “I seem to make a lot of bad decisions where you’re concerned.”
“Like what?”
