She packed her bags.
Security didn't stop her.
Nyangtsi stood in the doorway.
"If you leave," he said quietly, "everything I've built for you disappears."
She hesitated.
Not because of the contract.
Because she wasn't sure who she'd be without him anymore Not dramatically. Not in anger.
Quietly.
Each folded dress felt like a small betrayal—of him, of herself, of the strange life she had slipped into without realizing when it began to feel familiar. The room looked the same when she finished, pristine and untouched, but something inside her had shifted out of place.
She dragged the suitcase toward the door.
Security didn't stop her.
That was the first crack.
They simply stepped aside, eyes lowered, as if this moment had already been anticipated. As if it had been allowed.
Her chest tightened.
The elevator doors never opened.
Instead, Nyangtsi stood in the doorway of the penthouse, his presence filling the space so completely that it felt like the walls leaned toward him. He wasn't angry. That was worse. His face was calm, controlled—dangerously so.
"If you leave," he said quietly, "everything I've built for you disappears."
She froze.
Not because of the threat.
Because of the certainty in his voice.
She tightened her grip on the suitcase handle. "You can't own my future."
"I already do," he replied. "I just let you pretend otherwise."
She turned to face him fully then, eyes blazing. "You think this is protection? This is control."
"Yes," he said. "And it's the only reason you're still standing."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and raw.
"I didn't ask for this life," she said, her voice cracking despite her effort to stay strong.
"No," he agreed. "You were pushed into it. Just like I was."
She laughed bitterly. "Don't compare us."
"I'm not," he said softly. "I'm explaining."
He took a step closer. Then another. Not rushing her. Never rushing her. That was his cruelty—patience.
"You walk out that door," he continued, "and Blackwell protection vanishes. Your brother loses his shield. Your name becomes expendable again."
She swallowed hard.
"You'd let that happen?" she asked.
His jaw tightened. "I'd let the world take what it's owed."
"And me?" she whispered.
His gaze dropped to her face, then lower, as if memorizing her. "You," he said quietly, "would survive. You always do."
That hurt more than any threat.
She looked at the door. Freedom was right there. Cold. Unforgiving. Honest.
Then she looked back at him.
And that was the moment she understood what terrified her most.
Not the contract.
Not the power imbalance.
Not even the danger.
She wasn't sure who she'd be without him anymore.
The woman who had walked into Blackwell Holdings desperate and furious felt distant now. This version of herself—stronger, sharper, aware—had been forged in his shadow.
"You planned this," she said slowly.
"Yes."
"You knew I'd try to leave."
"Yes."
"And you're still standing there," she whispered, "letting me choose."
"For now," he replied.
Her fingers loosened on the suitcase handle.
Just slightly.
"If I stay," she said, "it's not because I'm afraid."
His eyes darkened. "I know."
"It's because I want the truth," she continued. "About what you did. About why you chose me. About what this really is."
He studied her for a long moment.
Then he stepped aside.
The door remained open.
"Unpack," he said quietly. "Tomorrow, I stop lying."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Slowly—deliberately—Victoria pushed the suitcase back into the room.
The door closed behind her with a soft, final click.
And for the first time since signing the contract, she realized something chilling:
She hadn't been trapped.
She had chosen the cage.
And Nyangtsi Andesunn Tom was about to show her exactly why.
The truth did not come the next morning.
It came slowly—deliberately—like everything Nyangtsi did.
Victoria woke to silence again, but this time it felt heavier, as if the penthouse itself was holding its breath. Her suitcase sat unopened near the bed, an accusation she couldn't escape. She stared at it for a long time before forcing herself up.
She didn't see him at breakfast.
That unsettled her more than his presence ever had.
Lira served the meal without comment, her expression carefully neutral. When Victoria asked where her husband was, Lira only said, "Mr. Tom is occupied."
Occupied.
With what? Or with whom?
The thought twisted in her chest, sharp and unwelcome.
It wasn't jealousy, she told herself. It was control. She needed to know where he was because her life now existed on his chessboard. That was all.
Still, she ate nothing.
Hours passed. She wandered the penthouse, touching nothing, pacing everything. Every room reminded her that she had stayed. That she had chosen this.
By afternoon, her patience snapped.
She found him in the private study—the same one where she had found the file. He stood by the desk, sleeves rolled up, tie discarded, phone pressed to his ear. His voice was low, dangerous, threaded with authority.
"No," he said. "Not yet. Let them panic."
He ended the call and looked up.
Their eyes locked.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he said, "You didn't unpack."
"That wasn't the truth you promised," she replied.
A pause.
"You're angry," he observed.
"Yes," she snapped. "Because you told me to stay. Because you said you'd stop lying. Because I did—and you disappeared."
Something unreadable passed through his eyes.
"I needed to make sure the truth wouldn't cost you your life," he said.
She laughed sharply. "You say that like it's normal."
"In my world," he replied, "it is."
He gestured toward the chair across from him. "Sit."
"I'm not—"
"Victoria."
Her name on his lips stopped her. Not commanding. Not cold.
Careful.
She sat.
He remained standing, resting his hands on the edge of the desk. The posture made him look caged for once, tension pulled tight through his frame.
"You want to know why I chose you," he said. "I'll start there."
Her pulse quickened.
"Your father," he continued, "wasn't innocent."
She stiffened. "Don't."
"He wasn't corrupt either," Nyangtsi added. "He was… inconvenient."
The word hit harder than any accusation.
"He refused to sell," Nyangtsi said. "Refused to bend. Refused to play the game. Men like that don't survive long in my world."
"You destroyed him," she whispered.
"Yes."
The admission was blunt. Unapologetic.
"And then?" she asked, voice tight.
"Then I watched you," he said quietly.
Her breath caught. "Watched me?"
"You fought," he continued. "You didn't disappear. You didn't beg. You didn't sell yourself to anyone else. You went to banks. Lawyers. Courts. You failed—but you didn't break."
Her hands curled into fists. "You call that admiration?"
"I call it recognition."
Silence fell.
"You married me," she said slowly, "because I reminded you of him."
"No," he said immediately. "I married you because you reminded me of myself."
That stole her breath.
"I destroyed your family because I could," he continued. "I protected you because I chose to. Those two things can exist at once."
She stood abruptly, chair scraping the floor. "You expect me to accept that?"
"I expect you to understand it."
She shook her head, tears burning behind her eyes. "You're a monster."
"Yes," he said. "But I'm an honest one."
She turned to leave.
His voice stopped her.
"If you walk away now," he said, "you won't get the rest."
She didn't turn back. "The rest of what?"
"The part where I tell you why I'm losing control."
Her hand froze on the door.
Slowly, she turned.
He was no longer composed. The mask had cracked, just enough. His jaw was tight. His eyes dark with something raw, restrained, dangerous.
"I didn't plan to want you," he said. "That was the mistake."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"I planned to own you," he continued. "That I understand. Wanting you? That's chaos."
She took a step toward him before she could stop herself. "Then stop."
He laughed softly—bitter, broken. "I don't know how."
They stood there, too close, breathing the same air.
This time, when his hand lifted, she didn't flinch.
He stopped just short of touching her face.
"If I touch you," he said hoarsely, "this becomes something I can't control."
Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "And if you don't?"
His gaze dropped to her lips. "Then this will destroy us anyway."
The space between them trembled with possibility.
Outside, the city moved on.
Inside, Victoria realized the truth Nyangtsi had been circling all along:
She hadn't stayed because she was afraid of losing everything.
She had stayed because she was afraid of wanting him back.
And that fear was only growing.