Chapter 19 RESTRAINT ONCE, NOT AGAIN
NIKOLAI:
Matthew didn’t speak until the door closed behind her.
I adjusted the cuff of my shirt over the bandage she’d wrapped, slowly, as Matthew leaned one shoulder against the bookshelf.
“You’re bleeding differently these days.”
I didn’t look at him.
“It was glass,” I replied.
“That’s not what I meant.”
I flexed my arm once. The wrap was precise. It was firm enough to hold, but tight enough to restrict. What a great job she did.
“She helped you out,” Matthew continued casually. “Voluntarily.”
I finally lifted my eyes.
“Careful.”
He smirked slightly. “Relax. I’m not questioning your authority. I’m questioning your restraint.”
Restraint. I walked back behind my desk, reclaiming my space, my control.
“She overstepped,” I said. “She attempted to escape. She is correcting her behaviour.”
Matthew gave a quiet huff of amusement.
“That’s what you call it?”
I didn’t answer, because that wasn’t what it was.
She didn’t clean my wound to negotiate. She didn’t do it to manipulate. She did it because I was bleeding. And that was… inconvenient.
Matthew pushed off the shelf and walked further into the room.
“I saw her hand on your wrist,” he said. “And I saw you let it stay there.”
“I don’t recall asking for your observations.”
“You didn’t,” he agreed easily. “But I’ve known you a long time.”
He stopped in front of my desk.
“You don’t let people touch you, not like that.”
We both paused for a minute.
“You especially don’t let them see you bleed.”
The words settled heavier than they should have.
I leaned back in my chair.
“She is under my protection. That requires proximity.”
Matthew raised a brow, teasing me. “Protection doesn’t usually involve staring at a woman the way you did.”
“What way exactly?”
“A way that shows… interest.”
My jaw tightened slightly.
“So. Do you like her?”
The question was ridiculous.
“Define like.”
He laughed softly. “You’re impossible.”
I stood, and whenever I did that, that mostly ended the conversation in most rooms.
But it didn’t end this one.
“You tightened security after she tried to escape,” Matthew continued. “But you gave her the call. You let her speak to her ex. You probably inserted yourself into the conversation.”
“That was strategic.”
“Mmm.”
He didn’t believe me.
I moved toward the window, clasping my hands loosely behind my back.
“At first, she sounded attached,” I said. “But afterwards, she sounded finished.”
“Or maybe,” Matthew said carefully, “that’s how you wanted her to.”
I turned my head slightly.
“Explain.”
“I don’t know, Don. But what I saw, tells me a whole lot is about to change.”
“What you saw was nothing.”
“So why did you let her call him?” He asked calmly.
“I was trying to access possible threat.” I replied reluctantly.
“No,” Matthew said quietly. “You were assessing competition.”
The word irritated me. Competition?
“David Gutta is not competition.”
Matthew shrugged. “Did you interfere while they spoke?”
“I did.” I replied curtly.
“Why?”
Because he raised his voice at her. Because he asked where she was. Because she hesitated before answering. Because when she said she wasn’t alone, something territorial rose in my chest before I could calculate it.
But none of those were acceptable answers.
“She belongs here until this situation is neutralised,” I said instead.
Matthew’s gaze sharpened. “Until what situation exactly is neutralised?”
“Enough, Matthew!” I yelled, slamming my palm against my desk.
It startled him so, that he winced at the sound.
“My apologies.” He managed to utter.
“When you walked in,” I continued, “what you saw was nothing. You’re reading too much into a minor incident.”
He sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.”
We were silent for a while. Then he spoke.
“I’m heading out.”
He was obviously trying to sidestep the awkwardness of the room.
I let him. I slipped, and lost control for a second. I should have been more composed, because the way I lashed out at him, only proves him right.
I took out a bottle of whiskey to quell my nerves, tightening my grip slightly around the bottle.
The memory replayed in my mind whether I liked it or not:
Her steady fingers, her breath warm against my knee, the way she tightened the bandage when I pushed her, the flicker in her eyes when I said I don’t like mess.
And when her hand rested over my pulse, she felt it.The shift, the acceleration. She felt that.
I set the glass down harder than necessary. The sound echoed, sharper.
I exhaled slowly through my nose, forcing my breathing back into rhythm. Loss of composure over a woman was unacceptable. Over anyone, unacceptable. And yet the irritation under my skin refused to settle.
I ran a hand down my face. Four years ago, a man tried to slit my throat in a dining room full of allies. I didn’t flinch. Two years ago, I watched a warehouse burn with twenty million dollars inside it and didn’t blink.
But tonight, tonight, a woman knelt in front of me with disinfectant and gauze, and my pulse betrayed me.
Ridiculous!
I poured the whiskey into a glass instead of drinking from the bottle.
She should have resented me after I revoked her privileges. She should have refused to touch me. She should have stood back and let staff handle the injury.
Instead, she stepped forward.
“Let me.”
As if I was the one who needed permission. My jaw tightened again at the memory.
Without thinking, I walked toward the desk and opened the security tablet, and the screen lit up instantly.
I switched to her hallway camera. It was empty. Then I switched to the interior feed of her room.
She was there, sitting on the edge of her bed with her head slightly bowed, and her fingers resting in her lap.
I zoomed slightly, watching her turn her hand over. Even from the grain of the camera feed, I could see the faint smear of dried blood near her thumb. She hadn’t wiped it off completely.
My chest tightened in a way I refused to name.
I turned the screen off abruptly. This was all unnecessary. Monitoring her should be about safety, not curiosity.
I walked back toward the window, finishing the whiskey in one swallow and set the glass aside. Then I walked toward the door of the study, pausing only briefly before opening it.
A guard straightened immediately.
“Double the perimeter tonight,” I ordered calmly.
“Yes, boss.”
“And no one approaches her wing without my approval.”
The guard nodded.
I stepped back into the study and closed the door again.
Protection. That is all this is.
Nothing more.
I sat back down slowly, staring at the untouched bottle of whiskey. But the truth sat heavier than the silence in the room.
When she knelt in front of me tonight, it wasn’t control I was struggling with.
It was restraint.
And if she tests it again… I’m not certain I will choose the same way twice.