The interference didn't announce itself.
It arrived the way most problems did — politely, with plausible reasons and the expectation that Miralle would comply without thinking too hard.
The morning began as usual. Breakfast prepared. The house quiet. Adrian gone before she came downstairs.
A woman she hadn't seen before waited near the dining table. Mid-thirties, neat hair, posture that suggested authority without needing to state it.
"I'm coordinating today," the woman said. "We'll be out for several hours."
Miralle paused. "Out where?"
The woman smiled, as if the question had been unnecessary. "You'll see."
Miralle finished her coffee anyway. She didn't rush. People who wanted control often counted on urgency.
The car wasn't Adrian's.
That was the first sign.
The driver introduced himself by surname only and asked her to confirm her destination — a gesture that looked respectful and wasn't.
She gave none.
"I wasn't informed," Miralle said.
"That's all right," the driver replied. "We were."
They drove toward the older part of the city, where buildings leaned into one another and renovations were half-finished promises. The place they stopped looked unimportant. That was deliberate too.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of paper and disinfectant. Offices, but not corporate. Temporary spaces made to look permanent.
The woman from the house led her into a meeting room.
Two men waited there.
Both stood when Miralle entered. One smiled too quickly. The other didn't smile at all.
"Please," the smiling one said, gesturing to a chair. "Sit."
Miralle remained standing.
"What is this?" she asked.
"A conversation," the man replied. "One Adrian didn't need to be present for."
Miralle noted the wording.
"You're mistaken," she said calmly. "He's present whether you see him or not."
The man's smile tightened. "That's an impressive confidence."
"It's accuracy."
They exchanged a look.
The other man finally spoke. "We'd like to understand your position."
"My position," Miralle repeated.
"With Adrian," the man clarified. "Its… flexibility."
Miralle sat then. Not because she was told to, but because she chose to.
"You're asking the wrong person," she said. "I don't manage his decisions."
"No," the smiling man agreed. "But you influence them."
Miralle leaned back slightly. "You're giving me more credit than I deserve."
The man opposite her opened a folder. Photographs slid into view. Not staged ones this time. Real moments. Her entering the car. Her leaving the restaurant. Her walking alone.
"You've been seen," he said.
"I assumed I would be."
"And you haven't been careful."
Miralle glanced at the photos once, then back at him. "I haven't been hiding."
"That's worse," the man replied.
The other man leaned forward. "This arrangement of yours — it creates uncertainty."
"For you," Miralle said. "Not for us."
Silence.
The smiling man tapped the folder lightly. "We want reassurance."
"And you thought isolating me would achieve that?"
"We thought you might be reasonable."
Miralle nodded slowly. "That's the mistake."
They both stiffened.
"You don't get reassurance," she continued. "You get what Adrian allows."
The man laughed once, sharply. "You speak as if you're protected."
"I am," Miralle replied. "Just not in the way you're trying to test."
The meeting ended shortly after that. Not because anything was resolved, but because they had reached the edge of usefulness.
On the drive back, Miralle sat quietly. The city looked different now. Less abstract. More aware.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from Adrian.
> Where are you?
She replied with the address.
The response came immediately.
> Leave. Now.
The driver changed direction without explanation.
When the car stopped, Adrian was already waiting.
He didn't ask questions in front of the driver. He opened the door himself.
"Inside," he said.
The moment the car pulled away, his composure shifted. Not anger. Precision.
"Did they touch you?" he asked.
"No."
"Did they threaten you?"
"No."
"Did they suggest alternatives?"
"Yes."
His jaw tightened slightly. "And?"
"And I declined."
He studied her face. "You didn't tell me."
"I wasn't given the chance."
"That wasn't the question."
Miralle met his gaze evenly. "You said you'd watch."
"I didn't say I wouldn't intervene."
"They wanted to see if I'd fold," she said. "I didn't."
"That's not always the safest response."
"It was the only honest one."
They entered the house. Adrian dismissed the staff with a gesture.
"From now on," he said, "you don't go anywhere without me."
"That's a change."
"Yes."
"And if I disagree?"
He looked at her then, really looked. "Then we renegotiate."
Miralle considered that. "Is that an offer?"
"It's a warning."
She nodded once. "Then I'll take it seriously."
Adrian turned away. "They moved sooner than I expected."
"You expected this."
"Yes. Not today."
"Does that mean the plan is failing?"
"No," Adrian said. "It means it's working."
That didn't reassure her.
Later, alone in her room, Miralle replayed the meeting. The questions. The smiles. The careful distance.
They hadn't wanted information.
They had wanted leverage.
She sat on the edge of the bed and opened her phone. No new messages. No numbers she didn't recognize.
But she knew now.
This wasn't about bending anymore.
It was about how long she could remain upright
while others leaned harder.
And for the first time, Miralle wondered not whether Adrian would protect her but whether standing beside him was what had made her visible enough to be targeted at all.