“Hm… ahemm… ahemm…”
I cleared my throat deliberately, shifting slightly in his arms.
“karl…”
Another fake cough.
“Ahemm…”
He stopped walking.
Slowly.
“What now?” he asked, voice calm but already suspicious.
I tilted my head, blinking up at him with exaggerated innocence.
“M-my phone…” I murmured softly. “I left it in the car.”
His eyes narrowed just a little.
Silence stretched between us.
The mansion lights reflected in his gaze as he studied my face—searching for cracks, schemes, intentions. His grip on me didn’t loosen, didn’t tighten either. Perfect control.
“You remembered your heels,” he said quietly.
“And now your phone.”
I swallowed, nodding. “It’s important.”
“Important how?”
“My life is on that phone,” I replied. “Pictures. Notes. My contacts.” I hesitated, then added the smallest voice possible, “My best friend.”
That did it.
His jaw flexed.
For a second, I thought he would say no. Thought he would carry me straight inside and end this conversation forever.
Instead, he exhaled slowly.
“Stay here,” he ordered, turning his head slightly toward the security team. “No one moves.”
He looked back at me. “And you—don’t try anything.”
“I’m in your arms,” I said softly. “What could I possibly do?”
His eyes darkened. “That’s exactly the problem.”
He turned, still holding me, and walked back toward the car himself.
My heart raced.
He opened the door, reached inside, and picked up my phone. The screen lit up immediately—Divyank’s name still glowing from missed calls.
Karl noticed.
Something unreadable crossed his face.
He handed the phone to me—but didn’t let go immediately.
“One rule,” he said lowly. “You don’t answer calls without telling me who it is.”
I clutched the phone like it was oxygen. “And if I don’t?”
His thumb brushed my knuckles—gentle, threatening all at once.
“Then I take the phone away,” he replied simply. “Not because I enjoy control… but because I don’t lose what’s mine.”
I stiffened at the word.
“Don’t,” I warned quietly.
He met my gaze. Held it.
Then, surprisingly, he nodded once. “Fine.”
The doors of the mansion opened again.
As he carried me inside, phone finally in my hand, I realized something important—
Every small thing I asked for…
Every inch I reclaimed…
Wasn’t freedom.
But it was practice.
And karl Casanova, whether he knew it or not, was teaching me exactly how to survive him.
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