My heart thumps. It had hurt to leave, even if I’d had no real ties to most of them. Maybe if I could have said goodbye. “Is she okay?”

“She got in deep with a dealer. He was affiliated with Fedor. We’re working it out.”

Relief and gratitude form a knot in my throat. “Thank you.”

His expression turns stark. “I apologize that I let you think I wouldn’t help.”

He doesn’t just mean Bianca. “I always knew you would help me, Ivan. Sometimes the price was just too high.”

He’s silent a moment. The past whispers between us, spankings and orders and a rough bloody fuck on his bed—somehow beautiful in its brutality.

He nods once, eyes filled with pain. “I’m sorry for that too.”

My eyebrows shoot up. He should sound like a stranger, speaking those foreign words. But he doesn’t. He apologizes like he does everything else—with the entire force of his will.

“Is that why you came?” I’m the one careful now. I’m the one with something to lose. “To say sorry?”

“That. And other things.”

Other things, other things. My imagination can fill in some heartbreaking other things. My hands are shaking as I go to the sideboard. “Do you want a drink?”

A pause. “Candace.”

I rummage through old, empty liquor bottles, glass soft with dust. There’s a bottle of wine I popped when we first moved in. The scent of vinegar makes my nose scrunch up. “Maybe not.”

“Candy.”

I swallow hard. He never calls me that. I force my hands to my sides, still turned away. “Yes?”

“Would you come sit down?”

Dread. That’s what I’m feeling as I turn and face him. And regret. And love. God, is this what love is? It feels like there’s a hole in my chest, because there are only two ways this ends. I can be his property or nothing at all.

The cushions have no strength left. They sink as I sit down, pushing me closer to Ivan. Why is this sofa so tiny? It didn’t seem that way when Sarah Elizabeth and I would chat late into the night, drinking grape juice instead of stale wine.

I hold myself stiffly, keeping one inch away from him. Without that inch I’ll feel his strength, his solidity. Without that inch, I’d have nothing left to hold myself back with. A strip of air is the only thing keeping me safe.

And he knows it. His pale eyes take in my posture, my expression. He looks down at the space between us, and something like defeat crosses his hard features. Then he closes his eyes as if making a decision.

“I’ve brought you a gift,” he says, pulling something from his coat pocket. A slip of paper. “I’m not sure if you want it, but if not, I’m sure my agent in the city can help you dispose of it.”

I take the paper as if it might catch fire. It does burn my fingers, just that faint heat from his body. My hands are trembling so much it’s hard to read, but then I do. And then the paper goes the same way as the basket, right out of my fingers. Not tumbling and rolling this time. It floats gently to the ground.

The deed to the Grand. That’s what he gave me.

I can’t—Why would he—

He stands, voice grave, eyes not quite meeting mine. “I’m glad to see you doing so well, Candace. I thought… Well, the country seems to suit you.”

Then he’s standing, walking away, leaving only the faint impression of expensive fabric and constrained power. I can only stare at the place where he had been, wondering, praying. He’d asked me once, What do you want then?

Something to call mine.

Then I’m standing up, saying his name. He’s already made it to the door, long strides taken quickly. I have to shout, and it echoes back to me from the walls. He stops walking but doesn’t turn. Not until I run toward him, bare feet slapping the floor, graceless and terrified. He’s leaving.

And he’s leaving his heart behind. It’s a hollow man who faces away from me, shoulders tense. He’s leaving his heart behind, that’s what he’s telling me by giving me the Grand. He had a hundred businesses, some of them more lucrative, almost all of them more glamorous than a seedy strip club in the poor part of Tanglewood. It was his heart, and he gave it to me.

“Ivan, wait,” I say, catching up to him. “Please.”

He turns, only halfway. Listening. Waiting. Hoping? “What is it?”

“Take me with you.”

If I’d been hoping for him to take me in his arms, I’d be disappointed. He laughs, a rough sound. “You’re happy here, Candace. Stay happy.”

“No, I’m—” But I can’t lie, not about this. I am happy here, happier than I’ve ever been. My own place, my own place. My own body to dress and move and touch how I please. It’s something I’ve never had before. “I want to be with you.”

He turns to me then, letting me see the ravage on his face, the utter desolation. “You want a mirage. I’m the man you left behind, little one. That will never change.”

My breath catches. Little one. “I don’t need you to change.”

One eyebrow rises, disbelieving. “No? Then why did you leave?”

“Because…” I take a deep breath. “Because I needed to change.”

His gaze sweeps over me, cataloging every change. “Maybe you’re right. I thought you were beautiful before. Now you look even more beautiful. More than that, you look happy.”

He gives me the compliment with such an easy grace, it steals my words. He’d been so closed off before, holding me so tight I couldn’t breathe. Now he’s giving me the Grand, he’s giving me his kindness. He’s so open, and with a sinking heart, I realize this might be the end. Only now can he be this open, when he’s leaving it all behind. He’s finally opening his fist, only for me to realize how much I needed the crush of him, letting me go when I realize how much I want to stay.

My lower lip trembles. Tears fill my eyes. “I’m your little one.”

His expression softens a fraction. “I know.”

“Then how can you walk away?”

“How can I do anything else? I came here to beg for you back, to tell you I could be different, be better. That I wouldn’t need to treat you like a little girl. But I can’t do any of that.” He stalks away two steps and then returns. “Fuck, look at you. You’ve never looked so happy, so innocent. And so damn little.”

I take a step back, away from the fury in his voice. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes, it’s a fucking—I want you like this all the time. And I want you like this in my goddamn lap while I feed you from my plate and then put you to bed. I can’t help wanting it, little one. All I have to do is look at you, and I’m hurting with how much I want you.”

I was afraid of his spankings, of his humiliation. I’m still afraid, even though it turns me on. But taking care of me…that’s what I want too. He held himself back out of some twisted sense of honor, as if maybe kinky spankings were okay when tenderness was not. “Take care of me, Daddy.”

His eyes flash. “Don’t fuck with me.”

“That’s a naughty word.”

He reaches for me, hand tangling in my hair. “Daddies use naughty words sometimes. And they do naughty things, don’t they?”

“Yes,” I say meekly, knowing exactly where this is heading.

He steps forward again. I step back.

“Have you been naughty?” he breathes.

My eyes widen. I don’t want to tell him the truth. Not because I can’t take the physical pain of a spanking. No, I need that pain—yearn for it in the middle of the night. But I can’t take the pain of his coldness, bent over some hard surface while his body is far away, two feet of distance except for his hand against my ass.

I shake my head, lips pressed together.

“No?” he asks, drawing out the word. Another step forward.

Another step back. “I…I don’t…”

The backs of my legs hit the daybed, and then I’m falling backward. He’s right on top of me, kneeling over me, his presence a delicious shadow blocking out the light. I have a brief thought that the old bed might not support his weight, pure muscle, and so much of it—there’s an ominous creak. Then his mouth is on mine, his hands are pressing my wrists above my head, and all thought leaves me.