I straighten, feeling more like myself than I have in months. "Freedom to run my business as I see fit. Social independence—I can see friends, attend events, make plans without askingpermission. Financial autonomy over my personal accounts. The right to travel for business or pleasure, with reasonable security but not surveillance."
"And in return?"
The question catches me off-guard. I'd expected resistance, argument, perhaps even anger. Not negotiation.
"In return?" I repeat.
"What do I receive for these concessions? What assurance do I have that you won't use this freedom to disappear with my child?"
The directness of his concern surprises me with its honesty. No pretense about love or partnership—just the practical man who's never learned to trust.
"You have my word," I say simply.
He smiles at that. "Forgive me, but given your history of escape attempts, your word requires... reinforcement."
Heat flares in my chest. "Then what would you require?"
He's quiet for a long moment, fingers steepled as he considers. "A formal agreement. Legal documentation of the new terms, including financial penalties for breach of contract. Continued residence at the estate. Joint custody arrangements should the marriage end. And..." He pauses, something almost vulnerable crossing his features. "Your acknowledgment that you're choosing this life, not simply accepting it under duress."
The last requirement stops me cold. He wants me to admit that I've begun to want him. To choose him.
I move around his desk slowly, noting how his eyes track my movement. When I reach him, I place my hands on the arms of his chair, leaning down until our faces are inches apart.
"And if I don’t like these terms?" I ask, voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb tracing my lower lip. "Then we continue as we are. Comfortable, secure,predictable. But you'll always wonder what freedom might have felt like."
The touch sends unwelcome heat through me, but I don't pull away. "You're so certain of my feelings," I murmur, letting my lips brush his ear. "But what about yours? What do you get from this arrangement beyond ownership?"
His sharp intake of breath tells me I've hit something true. "What do you think I get?"
I pull back to study his face, seeing past the controlled mask to something more vulnerable beneath. "I think you're as trapped as I am. You've never had anyone choose you without something behind it. You want me to want you, not just submit to you."
"And do you?" he asks, voice roughened. "Want me?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with months of history, resistance, and unwilling attraction. I could lie. Instead, I tell him the truth.
"Yes." The admission costs me, but it's liberating too. "I hate that I want you. I hate how my body responds to you. I hate that you've made me crave things I never knew existed. But yes, I want you."
His pupils dilate at my words, hand tightening slightly on my face. "Then we have a foundation for renegotiation."
"Do we?"
He nods slowly. "I trust you to choose what's best for our child. And I believe you've come to understand that what's best for them includes their father."
He's right, though I'll never tell him so directly. The child growing inside me deserves better than a father who's only a memory or a stranger who visits on weekends.
"Fine," I say, straightening to my full height. "Draw up the papers. But I want my lawyer to review them."
"Agreed." He reaches for his phone, presumably to call his legal team. "Though there's one more condition."
I raise an eyebrow. "Which is?"
His hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me down until his lips brush mine. "Tonight, we celebrate the new arrangement. Properly."
The kiss that follows is different from his usual claiming—softer, more questioning, as if seeking permission rather than taking what he considers his. When I respond, parting my lips to allow him deeper access, his groan vibrates against my mouth.
"Is that a yes to my condition?" he murmurs against my lips.
