He was holding me in a bridal carry.
As if I were precious.
As if I hadn’t just tried to run.
My arms were instinctively curled near his chest, my face turned slightly away, lashes wet, breathing uneven. The mansion doors stood tall in front of us, already beginning to open—light spilling out like it was ready to swallow me whole.
Panic whispered again
Once I go inside… it’s over.
So I changed tactics.
I softened.
I let my voice shrink, wobble—almost childish.
“M-my… my heels…” I murmured, pointing weakly toward the garden.
“They’re still there.”
Karl stopped.
The doors froze mid-motion.
I felt his body tense beneath me. His eyes dropped to my face, studying every breath, every blink—like he was searching for the lie hidden inside the innocence.
“Can I go bring them back?” I added quietly, lips trembling just enough.
“I… I really love that pair.”
For a moment, the world held its breath.
The guards looked away.
The doors waited.
Karl didn’t move.
“You tried to escape barefoot,” he said slowly. “And now you’re worried about heels?”
I nodded, sniffing, playing the part perfectly. “They were a birthday gift… my favorite.”
He stared at me for a long, dangerous second.
Then—unexpectedly—his grip tightened slightly, protective rather than punishing.
“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered.
He turned his head toward the head of security. “Bring them.”
My heart skipped.
He looked back at me, eyes sharp again, voice low enough that only I could hear.
“But listen to me carefully, princess,” he said. “This is the last time you try to be clever with me.”
I blinked up at him innocently. “I’m not being clever.”
One corner of his mouth lifted—not a smile.
“That,” he said, “is exactly what scares me.”
A guard jogged off toward the garden.
I relaxed against karl’s chest, hiding the tiny victorious smile curling on my lips.
Step one, I thought.
Make him underestimate me.
The doors finally opened.
Karl carried me inside, crossing the threshold I feared most—unaware that the girl in his arms wasn’t surrendering.
She was learning.
And somewhere deep inside his chest, karl Casanova felt it too—
This wasn’t a caged bird.
This was a storm pretending to be fragile.
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