Isaak frowned, brows pulling together in that deceptively soft way that made him look harmless—cute, even—to anyone who didn't know better. But I did. I'd seen Isaak slit a man's throat while humming a lullaby. His expression wasn't softness—it was calculation.

"That girl's a genius," he muttered, pacing slowly. "She slipped past every firewall, cracked through every layer of security like it was a game. She didn't stumble on that footage—she hunted it. She found what she had no business finding."

His tone teetered between fascination and irritation, like he couldn't decide whether to be impressed or furious. Probably both.

"She wasn't trying to find anything," I said, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly. My voice sounded almost... guilty.

Only this girl could have me acting like this—defensive, nervous, unhinged.

Isaak scoffed. "A hobby? Papa wants her gone. Buried. No discussion."

My jaw tightened. I didn't even let him finish the sentence before I barked out, "No." The word came low and sharp, half-growl.

He looked at me then—really looked. Then a slow smirk twisted onto his lips.

"You like her," he said, amused.

"I don't like people," I snapped, like the idea offended me. "I want her. It's different."

Isaak raised a brow, intrigued.

"If I make her mine," I continued, voice cold, clear, unwavering now, "like only a Vasiliev-Montenegro can... then according to the rules, she's protected, right? She becomes family. Untouchable."

Before he could nod, I was already turning on my heel.

"And tell Papa," I called back as I pushed open the door, "he's getting a daughter-in-law—and his footage."

My uniform clung to my skin, soaked through from the heat of another victory. The rest of the team scattered toward the showers, laughter echoing through the corridors, but I didn't move. I stayed where I was—watching her.

She was upside down in mid-air, her body twisting with perfect control as she landed another backflip on the training field just below. Sunlight caught in her hair, sweat glistening at her temple, but she didn't falter. Not once.

It had been exactly three days since I "claimed" her.

She'd slapped me five times since then.

The word claimed set her off every time. So did the part about her belonging to me. But none of that was my problem. If she hadn't snooped around like a damn rodent, digging through files that were never meant for her eyes, she wouldn't have ended up with a target on her back. Footage of my family's operations—footage that would've had her buried if I hadn't intervened.

Now? She was marrying me in three months.

She didn't get a choice. That was the price of survival.

I didn't know why I was trying so hard to keep her safe. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was obsession. Or maybe, for the first time in my life, I wanted something—and I wasn't used to being told no.

Spoiled? Probably.

Entitled? Absolutely.

But I always got what I wanted.

And she was the first—and only—thing I'd ever really wanted.