Theron looked at me with scrutiny, with appraisal.
"How was your day?" he was smiling slightly, as though he were pleased by something after asking the question.
He had never asked anything of the sort.
How I was. What I had been doing. Any normal human questions.
From him there usually came an order or a statement — a decision already made, of which I was simply informed.
Since when such changes?
"You most likely already know how my day went," I pulled away, removing my hand from his suit. Reminding myself that the security was always nearby.
Of course, he would not tell where he had been or with whom. It was naïve to think he would share anything at all — even after admitting that he could not do without me.
Or without the peace I give him.
"You still didn't answer," he insisted.
"Neither did you," I parried, turning toward the window.
We were driving slowly, as though we were in no hurry.
As though we were looking for a place to stop.
"Stop," he ordered the driver.
The car parked smoothly. The driver immediately got out, leaving us alone.
I had already reached for the door handle, but Theron intercepted me by the coat and gently, yet inexorably, pulled me toward him.
I slid awkwardly across the seat, almost collapsing onto him.
"What do you want to know?" he asked, burying his face in my shoulder.
For a moment it seemed to me that he was exhausted. Not physically — deeper.
"Nothing," I answered calmly. "It was only a sarcastic impulse."
He moved closer to my neck and slowly inhaled my scent.
Probably not the most pleasant — I'd been on my feet all day. I tried to pull away, but he did not allow it.
"I had a Christmas dinner with the family and the whole clan," he said quietly. "Not the most pleasant event. But if you want, there's still a New Year's one ahead. I can invite you."
A soft chuckle slipped from his lips, and I felt the warmth of his breath at my neck.
"No," I answered at once. I wanted to get involved even less.
"Want to know whether I was alone or—"
"No," I cut him off immediately.
He was again breathing in my scent, holding me by the coat, almost without touching.
"I was alone," he smirked.
Today he was in a strangely good mood. Even through the fatigue.
"Then it's your turn to answer. Don't want to go somewhere? A restaurant, a bar… anything," he suggested.
"You're exhausted. You need rest," I said honestly.
I had never thought that seeing him like this would be unpleasant. Or rather — unfamiliar.
"Did you prepare a gift for me?" he asked unexpectedly.
I had not even thought about it.
And what could I possibly give a man with endless zeros in his accounts?
I kept silent, not knowing what to answer.
"Then give me the night," he said calmly, without a smirk now, burying himself deeper into my collar.
"Seriously?" now it was I who felt amused.
A night as a gift. How many had already been between us.
"I'll take that as agreement," he lifted himself from my shoulder, took out his phone, made a couple of short taps.
The driver immediately returned. The car moved.
Theron still held me close, resting his head on my shoulder.
About fifteen minutes later we pulled up to a familiar building.
The very one where he had brought me after giving the tie in front of Amy.
We went upstairs. The security remained outside the door.
I began to undress, and Theron, like a gentleman, removed my coat.
I crouched to pull off my winter boots, ridiculous-looking in this apartment. He went down on one knee and helped me remove the shoes.
His movements were smooth, careful.
I froze. It did not embarrass him.
Having finished, he stood and undressed himself, not looking at me. The clothes flew onto the sofa.
And suddenly a memory burst into my consciousness: he had been exactly the same — gentle, careful — with Amy. Always, when I saw them.
An unpleasant bitterness rose to my throat.
With me he had never been like that.
With me he had been a dictator — demanding, taking, greedy for my body.
And now, as though avoiding touch.
Perhaps before it had also only been profit, but it had been a passionate game.
And now…
What now?
He opened the door leading to the kitchen and bar, as I remembered, and gestured for me.
To the right, in the same minimalist style, was the kitchen. To the left, closer to the window, a mini-bar with a high table. By the glass itself, a dining table with a view of the city.
And then I understood: both in the office and here all the tables faced the city.
Coincidence or his principle?
"Are you hungry?" he asked, sweeping a glance over the kitchen and noticing the prepared dinner.
"No," I walked to the table by the window, studying the city.
Out there, beyond the glass, Christmas lived.
And here — bare walls and muted light.
As though he deliberately fenced himself off from the holiday.
"You don't like Christmas?" I ventured to ask.
He unbuttoned his jacket and carelessly tossed it together with the holster onto one of the bar stools.
A pistol at a family celebration?
I held my gaze on it — so domestic, calm, almost homely. Already familiar.
"Wine?" he asked, taking out a corkscrew.
I narrowed my eyes, letting him understand: he had not answered again.
"I simply don't have time for holidays," he continued opening the wine. "I treat them calmly. And you?"
He poured white wine and, coming over, handed me the glass.
I took it. He pulled out a chair, inviting me to sit.
Again that gentlemanly gesture.
And it was not that it displeased me.
Simply every time, seeing him, I remembered how he had done this for her.
I did sit down. He settled beside me.
"Do you like holidays?" he asked calmly, not taking his eyes off me.
"I don't even know. I celebrate them because of my sister. For the sake of form," I shrugged and did not avert my eyes either.
A quiet, comfortable pause hung between us.
In our gazes there was neither passion nor impatience — as in the air around.
We simply sat and looked at one another.
Where had it come from — this calm silence?
It had been there from the very beginning.
"And did you prepare a gift for me?" I was the first to break that serenity.
"Anything you wish," he smirked.
"Then I want a couple of small office buildings, an apartment in Manhattan, two cars, and several expensive pieces of jewelry," I became curious how he would react if I were capricious, like all the "normal" girls.
But his smile only widened.
More alive. More natural.
He, damn him, had never smiled like that. Like that — for real.
My hand tightened on the glass — from feelings that might surface if I did not control myself.
"As you wish, sun," his soft, sincere smile did not leave his lips. "And to the new phone I can add passes to all the libraries of the city and the suburbs."
He took a sip.
He knew. He had searched.
It would be hard to tear away from him. Hard to leave.
Everything turned out more complicated than I had imagined when agreeing to his work.
"If you have such a large apartment, why do you always squeeze into mine?" I smiled back. His eyes seemed tired. "You should sleep."
As soon as I said it — he stood and, taking me by the hand, led me to the bedroom.
"Take a shower if you want," he threw shortly, turning into the dressing room.
And then I remembered the words of his maid.
"What kind of apartment is this? It's always so clean and… not mine. As though you're here rarely."
Theron stopped at the door.
"This is my home," he said and went in.
His home? So empty?
And what about the family estate?
I did not ask further. I went to the bathroom, quickly took a shower, washing the whole day off myself.
When I came out, wrapped in a towel, I saw on the bed already prepared clothes for me — his T-shirt and shorts.
He himself, as usual, was already under the blanket.
I dressed and, going around the bed, lay down on the other side. Slipped under the blanket.
His hands immediately found my waist and pulled me closer. Settling on me habitually.
"You won't go to the shower?" I asked quietly.
My heart knocked anxiously when his soft, careful hands closed around me.
This is not good.
Mirey, this is wrong, I repeated to myself.
"Tomorrow. Everything will be tomorrow," he repeated, tightening his arms around me.
Perhaps I would regret this later, but I slid my fingers into his hair, softly massaging his head.
We often slept together — exactly like this. But today he seemed truly relaxed.
Or simply exhausted to the limit.
I fell asleep after him — quickly and deeply.
In the morning I woke, much later than he.
From the study came his tense conversation on the phone.
I had not been there yet. And did not know whether I could enter.
But what, essentially, was I losing?
I pushed the half-open door and saw Theron — he was walking about the study, just as cold and minimalist.
In the center stood a work desk. A little closer to the window — a sofa with a coffee table.
And again — everything oriented toward the city.
Along the wall stretched an enormous bookcase. Seemingly thousands of volumes.
All black. With white titles on the spines.
As though the same strict aesthetic were kept here too.
Seeing me, he briefly told into the receiver that he would call back later, and all his attention switched to me.
"My conversations woke you again?" something like an apology sounded in his voice. It looked unfamiliar. "Isabel prepared breakfast."
"Isabel?" I repeated.
"Yes. The maid."
Most likely the very woman I had seen earlier.
Looking him over I noticed: the same set of clothes, fresh, after a shower.
I myself felt strangely relaxed here, if I had slept so soundly.
"You have problems again?" I nodded at the phone.
"For me it's not problems but life, sun," he softly pulled me toward the kitchen.
There was an almost perfect table set: juice, water, fruit. Only the hot was lacking.
Isabel was nowhere in sight.
Theron, like a gentleman, seated me, removed the covers from the dishes and arranged the food.
A typical rich breakfast: eggs, salmon, salad, crispbread with sauce.
My usual breakfast — a sandwich and coffee.
While we ate, he put the phone so that I would not see it. Or so it seemed to me.
"The first time I decided this was your guest room. Where you bring girls. But it… is too correct," I said. I still wanted to know. "How many like me have been here before me."
"A guest room?" he laughed aloud. "Like a hotel room?"
"Yes," I answered calmly, not understanding his reaction.
"Believe me, sun, no one comes here except Isabel. Even the security. Even Ostin has not been here," he was still smiling, finishing breakfast.
"Why is that so funny?" I asked. His laughter was contagious.
"I did not think you would take my interior for a place where I bring girls to have fun," he stopped and looked at me too pleased.
The phone vibrated in his pocket, cutting off his mood.
He dropped the call. Again. And again.
"Answer. It's probably important," I insisted.
"No," he cut sharply.
He noticed my surprise. Took out the phone and turned it completely off.
"Then why did you bring me here?" I finally asked.
"Because you are my peace. And only you can make this place even more like a home," he said.
But I saw: his body tensed for a moment.
Why was he ignoring the calls if they were important?
It began to unsettle me.
"If you have work, after breakfast I'll go home," I said.
"No," again hard.
I set down the utensils and turned to him with my whole body.
"Stop. Be as before," my voice also became sharper. "If you have business — deal with it. That's normal. You don't need to walk around me… unless you're hiding something from me."
"I am hiding nothing," at once, firmly. "I simply wanted at least one morning to be calm," he adjusted a strand of my hair behind my ear.
Too softly. Too deliberately.
We finished breakfast and went to dress.
He turned the phone on again and already on the move was speaking with someone.
"Good. Calculate from which office the leak was this time," he said muffled.
Thoughts spun. And one — wrong. The very one, from the past, from which I had sworn to keep away.
But curiosity and thrill took over.
Theron came out of the dressing room: black suit, black shirt, the top button undone.
And I did ask:
"Can I help with something?"
He froze. Anger instantly showed on his face.
"No," he cut off. "You will sit in the office, check papers. And that's all."
His gaze changed. The softness vanished. The beast I knew returned.
"Is it because I complicate everything?" I smirked.
"No," again hard. "You will never again participate in such situations. And that is not discussed."
"Why?" I flared. "Before you yourself threw me into this."
"No and that's all," he gestured to the exit.
I did not move.
"What is with you?" his behavior was чужим. "Forgot how you sent me alone to Phoenix, where the director threatened me? Or how your brother—"
"No. I have not forgotten. Precisely therefore — no," he stepped closer. The tension in him grew. "Precisely therefore I will no longer allow such a thing."
He took my hand.
I expected a hard grip. But he held carefully — even now.
I immediately pulled my palm free.
"You yourself said it turns you on when I work," I insisted.
"You don't understand. We close the topic. You no longer do this. Period," he tried again to take my hand. I stepped back.
"Don't say you're going to keep me in a golden cage?" I retreated as far as the distance allowed.
"I will not allow something dangerous to happen to you again. I already said. No one knows what may happen. Don't make me repeat," he was coming at me.
"You yourself want me to be near. You will not be able to shield me from everything," another step back.
I already knew: I would regret. But I had gone too far.
"So that you run away again?" he finally shouted. "So that my problems swallow you again, and you disappear once more? Or worse?"
I was wrong.
This was not anger.
This was despair.
Now, when he knew the truth about me.
"I won't run," I said loudly. Without confidence.
"No…" he exhaled, trying to regain control.
On one hand, he was right.
On the other — if he truly wanted me in his world, shielding me from it was pointless. It would reach me anyway. Sooner or later. As it had with Amy.
But better to be inside and prepared than to sit aside and remain a target.
"I have a mind. Observation. Analytics. I can do ordinary, safe things," I insisted. "If you want me near — allow me."
His gaze darkened even more.
"I am not going to sit in a room and wait until you come so that you may be calm. I will not do that."
I began to gather my things and, passing him, went out into the living room to put on my boots.
"I liked when you believed in me. Wanted me. And not this… overprotective attitude."
I nervously pulled on the boots.
His hands reached for the second boot. I immediately snatched it and put it on myself.
He picked up my coat from the sofa — I just as sharply took it away.
I headed for the exit.
He again intercepted me by the coat and pulled me toward him. I jerked, trying to free myself, but this time he held tighter. Not me — the fabric. Again not touching directly.
"Enough. Let go," my voice rose involuntarily.
What angered me was not that he was holding.
But that he was not speaking.
Not trusting. Not allowing.
Then what did he want at all? That I be a convenient pillow? Quiet, safe, domestic?
When I worked — sorting papers, running through offices — I forgot the inner cracks. I felt almost alive.
"Then why did you run?" his shout turned me inside out.
"Because I was afraid," my voice broke.
He was opening what I did not want to let him into.
"And I was afraid not of a dead stepfather. I was afraid that you allow her to play with me. And always will allow. Her. Your brother. I may be broken, but I will not let the last part of myself be destroyed. The one I cling to every day."
"I will no longer allow anyone," he pulled me closer and embraced. "Precisely therefore I do not want you to become part of my problems."
"You want me to sit and wait like a coward while your problems reach me? So that they see I broke and hid? Or will you allow me to solve it together with you — within my limits?"
"I am afraid too," he squeezed me almost painfully. "Afraid to trembling," the voice became almost a whisper.
But I heard.
"That they will break you. That they will get to you while I am distracted. That you will run again…"
The words scattered in my hair.
Either he said them. Or I wanted to hear.
"Your security is now always with me…"
"You do not know what may await you," he interrupted. "You do not know."
"I won't run. I will believe that you are with me," the words burst out themselves. "Therefore you also believe in me. As before."
"No," the whisper fell on my neck.
I tried to pull free, but he did not let go. Theron exhaled heavily.
"I will no longer believe you at your word," he pulled away. "I need your ID and bank card."
"What?" I froze.
"Without them you will not run far. I will make concessions if they remain with me."
I laughed.
"You think if a person wants to leave, that will stop them?"
"These are my conditions," Theron said seriously.
I took out the documents and bank card.
"But I need money."
"You will use mine. And take out the new phone."
The commanding tone returned.
I held out the phone. He immediately snatched it, dialed a number — his own vibrated.
"Keep it in the shade," he put the phone back into my bag.
"So now you will tell me everything?" I asked cautiously.
"Only the part you will be able to handle."