The snow was falling in thin, quiet sheets outside the estate walls when Viktor stepped into the front hall, his gloves still on, eyes sharp. The silence of the mansion broke only by the subtle sound of boots on marble.

One of the guards stood stiff near the entrance.

“She caused a scene,” he said simply.

Viktor didn’t respond. He already knew who. His jaw shifted slightly as he walked through the double doors toward the sitting room, where Nova stood near the fireplace—coat still on, cheeks flushed from the cold and from fury.

She turned to face him the moment he entered. “They didn’t let me in,” she said, voice clipped. “Again.”

He removed his gloves slowly, deliberately. “You don’t have clearance.”

{{user}} blinked, taking a step forward. “I’ve been here three months, Viktor.”

“Exactly. Three.” He placed the gloves on the table, his eyes unreadable. “Not enough to be trusted with free access.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So I’m still a guest?”

He approached, slow and composed. When he stopped in front of her, he reached out and pulled a stray thread from the sleeve of her coat, careful, almost absent-minded. His voice was low.

“You are what I allow you to be.”