Chapter 29 Actuarial Concern
He dragged me through the glass doors leading to the Apex hospitality suites and finally into his small, private briefing office. The door slammed shut with the force of a detonated bomb, silencing the paddock noise instantly.
The instant the door sealed, Rhys released my wrist. The sudden absence of his heat was almost a physical shock. He immediately slammed my laptop onto the polished mahogany desk, the sound loud and accusatory. He ran a hand through his dark hair, the movement jerky and furious, finally shattering the illusion of his perfect control.
"Betrayal?" I shot back instantly, rubbing the red imprint on my wrist. "What pathetic, professional excuse are you using now? I found two hundredths of a second! You sacrificed a tactical advantage—Apex’s margin—just to drag me away from a desk. Explain that with your actuarial crap, Rhys!"
His eyes narrowed. "I don't have to explain anything to you," he bit out, pivoting toward me. "And don't you dare hide behind data. You weren't in there working, Ellie. You were in there defying me."
"I was doing my job!"
"No," Rhys snarled, stepping into the small space between us. "You were proving a point! You heard my instruction this morning—my supposed actuarial concern—and you immediately ran to the one person in this entire paddock guaranteed to trigger a response. You ran straight to Hayes!"
The venom he injected into Kian’s name was staggering.
"He's a client," I argued, though the lie felt flimsy now. "He treats me like a consultant, not a captive. Which is more than I can say for you."
"Hayes treats you like a fool because he doesn't understand the rules," Rhys roared, closing the distance until his chest was inches from mine. "You deliberately sought him out because you knew it would challenge my authority. And don't insult my intelligence by claiming that request was legitimate. Kian Hayes reports his data issues to his chief engineer, not his competition's strategist! You lied to me."
The cold realization hit me: he had known it was a lie the second I spoke it. His immediate withdrawal that morning hadn't just been distance; it had been calculation.
I tried to step back, but the office was too small. I hit the edge of the large leather briefing chair.
"And if I did?" I whispered, looking up at him, refusing to look away from the dangerous storm in his eyes. "If I lied? What gives you the right to ruin Apex’s margin just to make me sit in your office? You just handed your enemies the deepfake evidence they needed. Are you trying to destroy everything?""
He leaned in, his clean, expensive scent—now mixed with a feral sweat—overwhelming the antiseptic smell of the room. He trapped me against the chair, his hands resting on the arms, caging me completely. The possessive heat was back, suffocating and furious.
"You want the reason?" Rhys’s voice was now a low, dangerous growl, devoid of any professional pretense. "You want the true parameter of your value?"
He pressed his body closer, the hard width of his thighs against mine. The physical threat was unmistakable, but beneath it, I recognized the terrifying, complicated hostility I saw in my own nightmares. The proximity was too much, yet the pressure was intoxicating. I noticed the sharp, defined line of his jaw, damp with a slight sheen of sweat, and the way his collar now gaped, revealing the hard, tense column of his throat. My gaze dropped, involuntarily lingering on the muscles of his chest straining against the pristine white cotton. It wasn't just fear; a desperate, shameful flicker ignited in my core.
Stop it! I screamed internally, furious at my body’s betrayal. He hates you. This is rage, not heat. Cut it out!
"I won't tolerate it," he stated, the words clipped and absolute. "I won't tolerate you finding solace, or safety, or professional respect from anyone but me. I won't watch another man smile at you, treat you as an equal, or make you forget the rules."
He didn't confess love, but he gave me the reason for the rage, cloaking it in the volatile, complicated hatred I perceived. It was the purest form of territorial possession, a declaration that even my mind belonged only to him.
"You are mine to protect, Ellie. You are mine to command. And you are mine to keep visible where I can see you," he finished, his breath hot against my ear. The rough texture of his voice vibrating against my skin was an indecent physical sensation. I felt the powerful, coiled tension in his hips pressing against me, and the panicked voice inside my head was suddenly drowned out by a low, desperate sound of my own. Why does his anger feel like a claim I want to answer?
Then, Rhys froze.
The tiny, almost imperceptible hitch in his breath was the only warning. His eyes snapped shut for a fraction of a second, the overwhelming fury abruptly replaced by a terrible self-reproach. The contact—the devastating, silent proximity—was instantly too much for him to sustain.
He ripped himself back, pushing off the chair arms as if the metal had burned him. The sudden physical distance was as violent as his initial claim. He took two staggering steps back, turning his profile to me, running both hands over his face in a harsh, wiping motion.
The dangerous man was gone, replaced by the exhausted, cold CEO.
"You will remain here," Rhys commanded, his voice shaking with the effort of control. He picked up my laptop, the snap of the closure sounding final and absolute. "You will review the T compound 000data in isolation. If you require assistance, you will contact Julian only. Your next task is to prepare the final Q3 strategy."
He didn't wait for a response, didn't look back at me, still trembling and pinned against the chair. He simply grabbed the doorknob, opened the door, and walked out, slamming the door shut.
The silence that rushed in was deafening. He had pulled away at the last second, prioritizing the price of his control over the devastating chaos he created. The rules—the cold, hard rules—were back in place.