"You want to break me," I realize. "To take those qualities and bend them to your purposes."
"Not break," he corrects. "Channel. There's a significant difference."
He rises again, moving to refill his coffee cup. "There's another factor you haven't considered."
"What's that?"
"I've invested a decade in this arrangement. Protecting your father from prosecution, monitoring your development, creating the conditions for you to prove your capabilities independently. That investment deserves return."
The coldly transactional framing sends a chill through me. "So I'm what—a long-term stock option finally paying dividends?"
"A strategic acquisition with value beyond immediate financial return." He returns to his seat, expression thoughtful. "Though I admit, there are additional factors I didn't anticipate when the arrangement was first made."
"Such as?"
He studies me for a long moment, as if deciding how much to reveal. "I find myself... interested in you, Penelope. Not merely as an acquisition or a contract fulfillment, but as an individual. Your reactions. Your adaptations. The way you process challenges and setbacks. It's... unusual in my experience."
The admission unsettles me more than his earlier threats.
"Interest doesn't justify captivity," I say quietly.
"No," he agrees unexpectedly. "But the legal agreement with your father does. My interest merely makes the arrangement more personally satisfying than I initially anticipated."
He checks his watch, then rises. "We should return to the estate. Your absence has likely been noted by now, and I prefer to control the narrative rather than allow speculation."
"What will you tell them?"
"That we had an early breakfast meeting to discuss wedding arrangements." He extends a hand to help me up, which I pointedly ignore. "Details of your escape attempt will remain between us. No one else needs to know."
I stand on my own, maintaining what little independence remains available to me. "Why would you protect me from that humiliation?"
"Because public humiliation serves no purpose except to create resentment," he says practically. "And because I respect the intelligence and resourcefulness your attempt demonstrated, even while ensuring it doesn't succeed."
He moves toward the door, clearly expecting me to follow. I remain rooted in place, one final act of defiance.
"What if I refuse to go back?"
He turns, expression suddenly weary. "Then you force an unpleasant scene that changes nothing about the ultimate outcome. I will carry you to the car if necessary, Penelope. But I would prefer not to begin our public relationship with such a display."
The quiet certainty in his voice, the absolute confidence that he will prevail regardless of my resistance, finally breaks something inside me. Not surrender—never that—but recognition of the futility of immediate physical defiance.
I walk to the door without another word, preceding him to the waiting car. The morning has fully arrived now, sunlight dancing across the lake's surface. Beautiful and unreachable, like the freedom I've lost.
The drive back to the estate passes in silence.
He's right about one thing: I am resilient. This setback won't be my last word.
As we approach the estate gates, Gage finally breaks the silence. "Your father will be informed that your escape attempt was unsuccessful. I suggest you prepare for his reaction, which will likely be less measured than mine."
"When is he coming?"
"This evening. He's bringing the final wedding plans for review."
My stomach clenches at the accelerated timeline. "I thought we had weeks still."
"That was before your escape attempt suggested the need for a more expedited schedule."
The gates open silently, admitting us to the manicured grounds of my beautiful prison. Staff members visible nearthe entrance quickly make themselves scarce as we approach, confirming my suspicion that my absence was indeed noticed.
