Chapter Twenty-Two — His Rules, My Rage

The penthouse went completely dark.

Not dim.

Not emergency red.

Black.

For one second, the city beyond the windows remained visible, a field of distant lights suspended beneath the storm. Then the automated privacy glass darkened too.

The room vanished around us.

Ronan moved before I did.

His hand caught my forearm.

“Do not move.”

“I was not planning to.”

“That would be a first.”

Even now, he found time to irritate me.

Marcus activated the flashlight on his phone.

The narrow beam cut across the living room.

Nothing.

No intruder.

No movement.

But somewhere deeper inside the penthouse, a door had definitely opened.

Ronan released my arm and raised his gun.

“Marcus, stay with Adrian.”

I looked at him.

“No.”

His head turned toward me.

“This is not the moment.”

“It is exactly the moment. Someone entered your penthouse and you expect me to stand here like luggage?”

“I expect you to avoid being shot.”

“I have survived twenty-seven years without your instructions.”

“Your current evening is not strengthening that argument.”

I stepped closer.

His face was only half visible in Marcus’s light.

“Stop treating me like I am fragile.”

Something changed in his expression.

“I am not.”

“Then stop ordering me around.”

“I am ordering you around because your heat is worsening, Cradle is inside my security system, and someone just entered a room that should have been locked.”

“I understand the situation.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then understand this too.”

He stepped closer.

“If I tell you to get down, you get down. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you not to touch something, you do not touch it.”

I stared at him.

“You sound very comfortable giving me rules.”

“Because yours are clearly not working.”

My anger rose instantly.

Marcus sighed quietly behind us.

“Maybe both of you can postpone the dominance issue until after we know whether someone is in the apartment.”

I looked at him.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Mine.”

Ronan almost smiled.

I hated them both for half a second.

Then another sound came from the corridor.

A soft scrape.

The humor disappeared.

Ronan motioned toward the wall.

We moved.

Slowly.

The penthouse had three private bedroom suites, a study, a library, and a secure medical room according to the floor map. Ronan had apparently thought of everything.

Except Cradle.

We reached the hallway.

One door stood open.

Ronan frowned.

“That was locked.”

“Which room?”

“My study.”

Marcus whispered, “Anything valuable?”

“Yes.”

“That sounded ominous.”

“It was meant to.”

Ronan moved ahead.

I followed anyway.

He looked over his shoulder.

I gave him a flat expression.

He decided not to argue.

Smart man.

The study door was open less than a foot.

Ronan pushed it wider with the barrel of his weapon.

No one inside.

The room looked untouched at first.

Bookshelves.

Desk.

A wall of dark glass.

Then Marcus pointed.

“Computer.”

The screen was on.

Ronan stepped closer.

“I shut that down before the gala.”

A single file sat open.

White background.

Black text.

A-04 BEHAVIORAL RESPONSE REPORT

My stomach tightened.

Ronan went still.

I looked at him.

“They have a file on you too.”

“That is becoming obvious.”

He moved to the desk.

The report contained dates.

Academy years.

Business negotiations.

Personal relationships.

Medical histories.

Aggression markers.

Scent response.

I scrolled.

Ronan grabbed my wrist.

“Do not.”

I looked at him.

“That is your file.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And I would prefer to read it before you do.”

I almost laughed.

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“You have spent all night demanding access to my medical history.”

“That was different.”

“No. It was convenient.”

His jaw tightened.

I leaned closer.

“You do not like being studied.”

“No.”

“Neither do I.”

For the first time, he had no answer.

Marcus looked at the screen.

“Someone wanted us to find this.”

I nodded.

“Obviously.”

Ronan pulled the keyboard toward him.

The report continued.

One section was highlighted.

PRIMARY MATCH PROTECTIVE RESPONSE: HIGH

Another:

POSSESSIVE RESPONSE UNDER O-17 DISTRESS: CONFIRMED

I looked at Ronan.

His face hardened.

“This is nonsense.”

“Is it?”

He looked at me.

I raised one eyebrow.

“You have threatened three people, shot one, carried a gun into my gala, put your hand around my waist in front of the board, and brought me to your private penthouse.”

“That was security.”

“Of course.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“A little.”

Then my amusement disappeared.

Another line loaded.

SUBJECT A-04 DISPLAYS STRONGEST BONDING RESPONSE WHEN O-17 RESISTS AUTHORITY.

We both went silent.

Marcus wisely looked away.

Ronan’s expression became unreadable.

I felt heat crawl up my neck for reasons unrelated to my cycle.

“This program is sick.”

“Yes.”

His voice was quiet now.

I scrolled again.

A final note appeared.

COHABITATION WINDOW EXPECTED TO INCREASE SCENT DEPENDENCY WITHIN 24 HOURS.

My pulse changed.

“Dependency?”

Ronan read the next line.

O-17 physiological distress should decrease under prolonged A-04 proximity. Separation may trigger destabilization.

I stared at the screen.

“No.”

Ronan looked at me.

“You felt better in the car.”

“I was exhausted.”

“You felt better in the stairwell too.”

“Because you covered my scent.”

“And now?”

I hated that question.

The heat had become more manageable since entering the penthouse.

Not gone.

But quieter.

And Ronan had been near me the entire time.

“That proves nothing.”

His expression softened slightly.

“I know.”

That was somehow worse.

The security panel chimed again.

Marcus turned.

“Movement.”

“Where?”

“Medical room.”

Ronan swore.

We ran.

The medical room door stood open.

Inside, every cabinet had been opened.

One refrigerated case remained on the counter.

Ronan approached carefully.

A handwritten note rested on top.

I read it.

O-17 REQUIRES STABILIZATION.

Inside the case were six injectors.

My suppressant.

Or something made to look exactly like it.

I stepped closer.

Ronan blocked me.

“Do not touch them.”

“I was looking.”

“You were reaching.”

“I was not.”

“You absolutely were.”

I looked at him.

“There it is again.”

“What?”

“The rules.”

His expression remained hard.

“Yes.”

I crossed my arms.

“And what happens if I ignore them?”

“Tonight?”

He stepped closer.

“I physically stop you.”

The heat inside me reacted immediately.

I hated that too.

“You would not dare.”

“Try me.”

For one dangerous second, neither of us moved.

Then Marcus cleared his throat.

“Again, perhaps later.”

Ronan looked away first.

He picked up the note.

There was writing on the reverse side.

His expression changed.

“What?”

He handed it to me.

ONE OF THE SIX IS REAL.

Below that:

FIVE WILL ADVANCE THE CONCEPTION PROTOCOL.

My stomach dropped.

Ronan’s voice went cold.

“They want you to choose.”

“No.”

“They want us to choose.”

I looked at him.

A timer appeared on the medical room monitor.

23:11:42

Counting down.

Then another message appeared.

WITHOUT SUPPRESSANT, O-17 ENTERS FULL HEAT BEFORE DAWN.

My mouth went dry.

Ronan stared at the six injectors.

“Do not touch any of them.”

I looked at him.

“I may not have a choice.”

“You do.”

“And what exactly is that?”

He turned toward me.

His voice became quiet.

“You stay here.”

I stared at him.

“With you.”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Until we know which dose is real.”

“And if none of them are?”

His gaze held mine.

“Then I keep you alive until morning.”

The heat inside me surged at the promise.

I hated how much my body believed him.

Marcus’s phone vibrated.

He checked it.

His face changed.

“Sir.”

I turned.

“What?”

“We have a new message.”

He handed me the screen.

It came from my father.

Only one sentence.

DO NOT LET RONAN KEEP YOU IN THAT PENTHOUSE FOR TWENTY-FOUR HOURS.

My blood went cold.

A second message followed.

THAT IS HOW THE BONDING PHASE BEGINS.