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My mouth snaps shut. Instinct.
He moves slowly. No rush. That quiet, lethal grace that sets my nerves on fire.
He walks toward me, and every cell in my body screams to flinch. I don’t.
He crouches in front of me again, gaze still burning through me.
Then, slowly…that fucking smile. Not cruel. Not mocking.Knowing. And fuck, why didn’t I research deeper, arm myself with how fucking hot he is?
Because you never expected to encounter him.
“You done?” he asks.
My fists clench. I want to scream. I choose silence.
“I just want you to understand one thing,” he murmurs. “You’re not here because Icaughtyou. You’re here because I letyou run long enough to show me who you really are. Perhaps even reward you if you live up to expectations.”
My mouth goes dry.
He leans closer, until our faces are inches apart. “I watched you long before you ever typed my name into your righteous little poll. I let you choose me. I let you fantasize about punishing me. I let you want me.”
I inhale sharply. “I never?—”
“You did.” He breathes it like scripture. “You wanted someone stronger than you. Smarter than you. Someone who’d take your control and shatter it so you could finally feel something that isn’t rage or guilt or grief. That’s what you’ve been searching for all this time. That’s why you always head for the app when you’re done. Because deep down, you’re left unsatisfied.”
I can’t breathe.
“You went on The Club app for a reason, Dahlia. You didn’t go looking for a boyfriend. You wanted to belong to someone—for just long enough to forget the burden of being the one who saves everyone.”
My jaw clenches so hard it hurts. “You’re projecting.”
He brushes a lock of hair from my face, too gentle. “I’m revealing.”
“No,” I snap, voice cracking. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough.” He studies me. “Your mother died when you were sixteen. Truth-seeker. Idealist. She was your entire world. Your father collapsed after. You didn’t. You turned your grief into a blade. You made it righteous. Purposeful.”
No. No no no.
He leans in. “But when you wield a knife too tight you cut yourself too. You keep cutting without stopping to heal, Dahlia. You’ve just turned yourself into a martyr. And one day, it’s goingto destroy you.” He stands again, looking down at me. “Unless someone stops you first.”
There’s a long silence.
My chest rises and falls too fast. I try to blink back the moisture burning behind my eyes. He can’t see it. Hewon’t.
He walks away to the bar. Refills his glass. Then turns back to me like none of that flaying ever happened.
“You have two choices,” he says. “Thirty days. My rules. My bed. One job, together. When it’s over, I’ll erase your debt. You walk. No charges. Your father stays safe. Or…”
I look up. Brow arched.
“You disappear. Tonight. Permanently.”
I laugh—shaky and hollow. “You think giving me a shit choice makes you merciful?”
“No,” he replies calmly. “It makes me patient.”
A beat. Two. “Patient,” I echo.