Page 33 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
Her eyebrows lift. “Oh, really? Because from where I’m sitting, I’m not allowed to leave the house, I’m not allowed to work, and I’m not allowed to go anywhere without your approval.”
She pushes her chair back slightly.
“That sounds exactly like a prison to me, Mike.”
Her refusal to accept protection unsettles me more than fear ever could.
Most people understand danger when they see it. They shrink from it. They listen.
Ellie does the opposite.
“If this is prison to you, Ellie,” I say slowly, “then so be it. I’ll keep you safe whether you like it or not.”
“Safe?” She lets out a short laugh that carries no amusement. “You’re failing to keep me safe.”
My head lifts. “What?”
She leans forward slightly, eyes blazing now.
“If you were actually capable of protecting me, you wouldn’t have to hide me inside this house like some fragile object.”
The words land like a slap.
“You should be able to prove you can protect me when I’m outside. When I’m actually at risk.”
I feel my jaw tighten, but she keeps going.
“If this is your idea of safety, then I can do the same thing myself. I could lock myself inside my own apartment.”
Her voice sharpens.
“I don’t need to be married to you to do that.”
For a moment, the room feels very still.
Her implication sits between us, heavy and deliberate.
My power. My reputation. My ability to control every threat that comes near me.
She’s questioning all of it.
And she knows it.
The challenge strikes deeper than I allow myself to show.
Ellie pushes her chair back and stands.
For a second, I think she might say something else, but she doesn’t.
She simply turns and walks out of the dining room, leaving the silence behind her.
I sit there for a long time after she’s gone. My meal sits untouched before me, forgotten as I try to make sense of the situation.
I’m not used to problems I cannot solve.
How exactly am I supposed to find the balance between keeping Ellie safe and making her happy?
“Boss?”
