Chapter 40 The Approval
EMILY
The zinc railing of the balcony is freezing beneath my bare hands, biting into my skin as the midnight air fills my lungs with a sharp chill.
A thick mist has rolled in over the estate grounds, swallowing the manicured hedges and turning the stone fountains into ghostly shapes in the dark. Down below, the wet gravel crunches as a pair of bright headlights slices through the gloom. Alistair’s massive black SUV sweeps around the driveway, its engine roaring loudly to signal the end of his long absence. He’s been gone for hours now, and I didn’t expect to miss him as much as I did.
The driver’s door opens, and a guard steps out to pull open the passenger side. Alistair emerges into the dim light of the carriage lamps. He stands nearly a head taller than the staff surrounding him, his broad shoulders filling out a heavy wool coat that accentuates his massive build.
I lean over the iron bars, a bright smile stretching across my face, and wave my hand enthusiastically to get his attention. At first, he doesn’t see me, but soon enough when I start waving manically, he looks up. His chiseled face remains a perfect, expressionless slab of stone under the porch light.
He doesn’t wave back. He doesn’t even nod. He simply turns his back and walks under the stone portico, leaving my hand hanging in the empty air. A sudden wave of awkwardness flushes through my cheeks. I pull my arm down, shoving my cold hands deep into the sleeves of my oversized sweater.
I step back inside the bedroom, sliding the glass doors shut to block out the howling wind. The room still carries the faint aroma of his expensive, woodsy cologne, a constant reminder of the contract that binds me to this fortress. I need him on my side if I ever want to secure the licensing for my cardiology formula with Dr. Aris.
Financial independence is my only true escape from the reach of the Vance family, and I have to be smart about how I play my cards. Beatrice is going to be locked away in the Meditation Room for a week, but the rest of the Wolfe elders still look at me like I’m an infection. And I’m sure they don’t plan to warm up to me anytime soon.
I walk over to the oak door and push it open a few inches, leaving it slightly ajar so I can track his progress down the hall.
I sit on the edge of the plush mattress, my legs swinging nervously against the side of the bed. The silk sheets are cool against my calves.
Earlier, I slipped down to the kitchen and begged the chef for a small plate of homemade butter cookies, sweet and still carrying the warm scent of vanilla. The small porcelain dish sits right next to my seat on the nightstand, keeping a bit of the kitchen’s warmth.
When the door finally creaks open, Alistair walks in. His dark tie is loosened slightly around his stiff collar, and his charcoal suit jacket is unbuttoned, revealing the crisp white linen underneath. He looks exhausted, his jaw set in its usual rigid line, bringing the scent of rain and cold tobacco into the room. His presence completely dominates the entire space.
"You’re back late," I say, offering a warm smile that feels a bit forced given how he ignored me outside. I pick up the small plate, letting the sweet aroma of the baked goods fill the small space between us. "The kitchen made these earlier. They’re still fresh. Do you want one?"
Alistair stops in the middle of the room. He looks at the cookies, then his gaze moves up to my face, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He doesn’t reach for the plate. Instead, he crosses his massive arms over his chest, the fabric of his jacket straining against his shoulders.
"Get to the point, Emily," Alistair says, his voice flat and steady. "You don’t offer baked goods at one in the morning unless there’s a price tag attached. What do you want from me?"
I set the plate back down on the nightstand with a tiny click, my fingers tightening against the porcelain. My throat feels incredibly dry. I force myself to stand up and face him directly, trying to match his height, though I still have to tilt my chin up significantly to look into his eyes.
"I spoke with Leo earlier," I say, keeping my hands steady at my sides. "I want him to teach me how to fight. I want him to give me combat training."
Alistair’s jaw tightens instantly, the subtle lines of his face hardening back into a mask of pure disapproval. "No." The word is absolute, slicing through the air before I can even expand on the idea. "Absolutely not."
I step closer to him, refusing to let his physical size push me back. I need to be strong for the baby, and I refuse to be a helpless victim ever again.
Thomas and Lydia Vance spent years making me feel small, hiding me away like an embarrassment in their storage room. I’m done being the weakest person in the room. If I am going to survive in this house of vipers, I need teeth.
"Listen to me, Alistair," I say, my tone sharp and logical. "Look at what happened today at the river. If I knew how to defend myself, I would have been able to do something smarter that didn’t require using a dangerous weapon. I’m carrying your heir. I’m surrounded by people like Beatrice who want me gone. If I can’t protect myself, I’m just a walking target in your estate." I bite my lip and steal the line he used earlier so I can make a more convincing point. "I don’t want to be your vulnerability. I don’t want to be the weak spot your business rivals use to bring you down. If I can fight, I can keep our child safe, and I can take care of myself when your security detail is looking the other way."
Alistair stands perfectly still, his eyes scanning my face as if he’s calculating the risk factors of a corporate merger. The silence stretches between us, the only sound being the steady patter of rain against the glass. Slowly, the rigid set of his shoulders drops by a fraction of an inch.
"Fine," Alistair says, his tone clipping the air with authority. "But under one condition. Dr. Aris must be present and on standby for every single session. If your heart rate goes too high, or if the baby is put at risk for even a second, the training ends permanently. Do you understand?"
A rush of relief floods my veins, hot and dizzying. My brain completely shorts out under the sudden wave of excitement. Without thinking, I snap my feet together, straighten my spine, and bring my right hand up to my brow in a crisp, military salute.
"Understood, captain!" The words escape my lips before I can process them.
Alistair stares at me, his thick eyebrows twitching upward in pure, unadulterated confusion. A dark flush of heat instantly rushes up my neck. I drop my hand, clearing my throat loudly to mask the sudden embarrassment.
"I mean, thank you," I mutter, looking down at my shoes.
Alistair turns away without another word, unbuttoning his silver cufflinks as he strides into the massive walk-in closet. The moment the door clicks shut behind him, I dive onto the bed and snatch my new replacement phone, my thumbs flying across the glass screen.
*He said yes,* I text Leo. *We start tomorrow.*
A minute later, the phone vibrates in my palm. Leo’s reply is short and direct. *Intense combat is out, Mrs. Wolfe. The pregnancy makes martial arts too risky for the abdomen. But I can teach you self-defense counters and firearms proficiency. We’ll start with shooting targets.*
My eyes go wide as I stare at the glowing screen. A gun. He wants to teach me how to shoot. A thrill of pure excitement courses through me. A firearm levels the playing field completely. I remember the heavy weight of the pistol I held at the lake, the cold metal against my palm, and the smell of gunpowder. It doesn’t matter how big or strong the enemy is if you have a weapon and a steady hand. This is exactly what I need to secure my safety. I quickly type back a single word: *Deal.*
I toss the phone onto the nightstand and slide under the heavy silk sheets, my mind spinning with images of target ranges and brass casings. I lie flat on my back, staring at the dark ceiling, completely unable to sleep.
The adrenaline is still surging through my system, making my toes curl under the blanket.
Unconsciously, my hands move out from under the blanket. My fingers wrap around an imaginary grip, locking together. I extend my arms straight up toward the ceiling, closing my left eye as I align my right thumb like a sight, miming the steady weight of a pistol. I pretend to pull the trigger, absorbing the imaginary recoil in my wrists.
"What exactly are you doing?" Alistair’s voice shatters the quiet room.
My eyes snap open, and my arms drop instantly against the mattress like lead weights.
Alistair is standing by the bathroom door, a white towel draped carelessly around his neck. He’s wearing a simple dark gray bathrobe, the fabric tied loosely around his narrow waist. Fresh from the shower, the steely, dangerous intensity he projects during his business meetings has completely vanished. He leans lightly against the wooden frame, looking completely relaxed.
His broad shoulders are bare at the collar, and the heavy muscles of his chest are faintly visible where the fabric opens, still carrying tiny droplets of water that glisten under the lamp. His dark hair is damp and slightly messy, falling over his forehead in a way that makes him look younger, entirely approachable, and utterly alluring.
I feel my throat go completely dry. I swallow hard, my eyes stuck on the hard line of his chest. The man is a walking temptation, a seductive distraction that is currently making it very difficult to remember my rules of survival.