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And I know.
I know she’s trying to fucking play me.
She believes if she keeps me satisfied—fucked senseless and sated with her surrender—I won’t notice her sneaking around, won’t realize how dangerously close she’s gotten to the truth.
But I’m doing the exact same thing.
Keeping her under me. Inside me. Around me. As long as I can.
Because the moment she finds out the full truth about Ironveil, about the Vesper Syndicate, about what happened to my sister… everything changes.
The collar. The playroom. The discipline. It’s not just about control anymore—it’s about protection. Myprotection. Hers.
I told myself I brought her here to keep an eye on her.
To fuck her, use her skills, then cut her loose. But I was lying.
Even then.
Because the second I saw her file in that syndicate database—Specter S-7—I knew she wasn’t just another target.
She was the ultimate bait. Just as her mother had been.
And if I don’t get ahead of this, they’ll use her to get to me. Or worse: erase her the way they erased Rina.
Goddamn it.
My body’s heavy from too much sex and too little sleep, but I move silently through the penthouse, tracking her to my study.
She’s sitting at my desk, her laptop open. Mine’s beside it, active. The screen glows blue in the dark. I watch her for a long moment from the doorway, alarmed and deeply thrilled by the sight of her in my seat. Barefoot. Hair a gorgeous mess from our fucking. Knees pulled up into the chair.
Her dark blue eyes are locked onto the scrolling code, her brows drawn in fierce concentration. And fuck me if it isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
Adorably obvious as she’s hacking me. And I almost let her.
I clear my throat.
She doesn’t jump. Doesn’t even blink. Just tilts her head and says, “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to ask what the fuck you think you’re doing.” There’s no heat.
She taps another key. Keeps working. “Looking for answers.”
“That’s my machine, Specter.”
“I know,” she says, calm. Too calm. “But I need to know what you’re hiding.”
I laugh, but it’s hollow. “What do you think I’m hiding?”
She glances up. “Something about why you play executioner with a god complex.”
I clench my jaw. “Careful,” I warn. “You’re not just breaking the rules—you’re pissing on the last line of trust I gave you.”
“Then explain it,” she says. “Tell me the truth.”
“Same answer as before. I’ll tell you when it’s time.”
She leans back, arms folded. Her gaze is sharp, calculating. “That’s not an answer.”