The Cage Called Protection

Emilia's POV,

For the first time in days, I walked into a hospital room without a Whitmore administrator hovering by the door pretending to check a clipboard.

Dr. Reyes met me at my father's bedside, warm and unhurried, answering every question I threw at her without making me feel like I was wasting her time, the way Dr. Patel's staff always had.

She walked me through his numbers, his medication schedule, the specialists who'd already reviewed his file overnight.

"He's stable," she said gently. "Weak, but stable. And he's not going anywhere unless you decide to move him."

The tightness in my chest finally eased. My shoulders dropped, and I took a slow breath, realizing only then how tense I'd been.

My father was asleep by the time I pulled a chair beside his bed, his breathing slow and even, the machines around him beeping in a rhythm that no longer felt like a countdown. I sat there for over an hour, just watching him breathe, letting the sight of him safe and sleeping sink in.

It was the first time in weeks I hadn't felt like something was about to go wrong.

I didn't tell him about Gerald. Didn't mention the contract, the fake engagement, or any of it. He didn't need that weight added to everything else he was already carrying.

When I finally returned to Brody's car, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving my hands shaky and my body suddenly heavy with exhaustion.

"Thank you," I said quietly, staring out the window. "For today. For everything."

"You don't have to thank me." He kept his eyes on the road.

"I know. But I want to." I turned toward him. "Just don't forget what this is, Brody. It's still a contract. Whatever's going on with our families doesn't change that.”

His jaw tightened, then relaxed. "Understood.”

××××

The penthouse staff greeted me like I was already someone who mattered, which unsettled me more than if they'd ignored me completely.

A woman named Delphine showed me to a room down the private wing, chattering pleasantly about thread counts and views while I stood frozen in the doorway.

The closet alone was bigger than my old apartment.

Dresses, shoes, a jewelry box that probably cost more than my father's entire treatment plan before Brody had wired it away like pocket change. Everything in my size, down to the shampoo on the bathroom counter that I'd mentioned exactly once, in passing, days ago.

I found Brody in the study and didn't bother knocking.

"What is this?" I held up a designer blouse still on its hanger like evidence in a trial. "Are you trying to buy me into dependency, Callahan?"

He didn't look up from his tablet. "I'm trying to make sure my fiancée doesn't show up to a press event looking unprepared."

"I don't need you dressing me like a doll."

"No one's dressing you." He finally met my eyes, completely unfazed by my tone.

That only irritated me more.

"You'll choose what you wear. I just made sure you had options.”

"I'll choose what I wear," I repeated, "and I'll pay for whatever I use. I'm not walking around wrapped in clothes I didn't earn."

"Fine."

"And I keep my own space. My room, my things, my boundaries. None of this–" I gestured at the closet, the tray of jewelry, the absurdity of it all, "—buys you access to any of that."

"Agreed." A faint curve touched his mouth, like he was enjoying this far more than the situation warranted. "Anything else, wildcat?"

"Stop looking so amused."

"Can't help it." He set the tablet down. "You're the first person in years who's argued with me over free clothes."

I refused to acknowledge how that landed somewhere warm in my chest, and left before it showed on my face.

It was later that evening, doing a slow lap of the wing to get my bearings, that I noticed the man stationed outside my door. Broad-shouldered, earpiece, arms crossed, watching the hallway like it owed him money.

"Why is there a guard outside my room?"

Brody appeared from his own doorway across the hall, sleeves rolled up, looking entirely too unbothered by my tone for the second time that night. "Serena's already targeting you. You're not walking around unprotected in a fight you didn't start."

"I don't need a babysitter in my own hallway, Brody."

"You need to still be alive next week." His voice hardened. "I'm not compromising your safety to make you feel less like a possession. Those are two different things."

"Are they?!" I stepped closer, temper flaring. "Because from where I'm standing, it feels exactly the same. The clothes, the room, the guard outside my door, you're building a cage and calling it protection!"

"You walked into my world willingly, Emilia." He didn't back down, closing the distance instead until there was barely a foot between us. "This is what my world looks like. I didn't build the threat. I'm just refusing to let it touch you."

"That's not the same as asking me."

"Would you have said yes if I'd asked?"

I opened my mouth to argue and found I didn't actually have an answer.

We stood there, closer than either of us had planned, close enough that I could see the fine ring of darker blue at the edge of his irises, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him in the cool hallway air.

Neither of us moved or spoke. Whatever we'd been arguing about seemed to disappear. His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingering for just a second before he looked back into my eyes.

I stepped back first, heart hammering harder than it had any right to.

"I'm sleeping alone," I said, too fast, too defensive.

"I didn't say anything." But his eyes said plenty, and we both knew it.

I retreated toward my door, refusing to look back, though I could feel him watching every step of the way.

"Emilia." His voice stopped me at the threshold. "Our first public appearance is tomorrow morning. And Serena's already called an emergency press conference for this afternoon."

I closed my door without answering, back pressed against it, heart still refusing to slow down.

The war hadn't even started yet, and already the lines were blurring in places I hadn't prepared for.