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“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s true.”

His jaw tightens. “What’s true,” he says, “is that I trusted you with my daughter, and today you made me question that.”

I step back. That one hurts more than I expect. Maybe because it should. Maybe because I deserve it.

“I need air,” I say.

“We’re not finished.”

“I am.”

“No, you are not.”

Something in me snaps.

Maybe it’s his tone. Maybe it is the fact that I am embarrassed and guilty and hurt all at once. Maybe it’s because I have heard men say things like that before, and I know how quickly a conversation becomes a trap when you are no longer allowed to leave it.

I look at him. “Don’t speak to me like that.”

His face hardens. “Then don’t behave like someone who needs to be managed.”

I laugh once. It comes out wrong. “Good to know.”

“Elara.”

“No. I got it.” I turn and walk away before he can say anything else.

I make myself walk through the hallway at a normal pace, past the children’s coats, past a father helping his daughter open a juice box, past one of Mrs. Harrington’s staff carrying empty plates toward the kitchen.

My eyes burn, but I refuse to cry.

Not here. Not because of him.

The front door is partly open, and I step outside. The air is cooler than the house, and I keep walking until I reach the side of the townhouse, away from the entrance, away from the windows, away from the sound of children laughing.

Only then do I stop. My hands are shaking. I press one palm against the wall and try to breathe normally.

What the hell am I doing?

I took this job because I was desperate. That’s the truth.

I took it because I needed money, because I needed somewhere decent to stay while I recovered, because I could not keep pretending my life was under control when it clearly was not. Nikolai offered a temporary position, Anya liked me, and I said yes because saying no would have been stupid.

That was all it was supposed to be. A job.

A few weeks. Lessons with Anya. Food I didn’t have to pay for. A room where I could sleep without worrying about rent. Time to send applications and figure out what came next.

Instead, I got attached to his daughter.

I started caring whether she ate breakfast. I started noticing when she was quiet. I started wanting to fix things for her even when they were not mine to fix.

And then I let myself want him.

That’s the part that makes me feel stupid.

He is my employer. He is older, richer, dangerous in ways I still don’t fully understand, and he has never promised me anything.