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And then, as I’m standing there, still gripping the goddamn tile for support, she tosses a towel at my face.

“Dry off, baby,” she says so sweetly I almost don’t notice how smug she sounds. “I got you some clean clothes.”

I catch the towel in one hand and narrow my eyes.

I should not be taking orders from my kidnapper.

And yet, I wipe my face and follow her back to the room.

She’s already bent over a bag on the bed, ass on full display.

“Fucking menace,” I say.

She just giggles, pulling out a fresh T-shirt and tossing it onto the mattress.

I freeze. Because I know that shirt.

It’s mine. Not just mine. One of my favorites.

I blink. “How the fuck do you have this?”

She grins, completely unbothered. “Packed your bag for you. You weren’t very organized, so I took care of it.”

She took care of it.

Like I’m some wayward boyfriend who couldn’t be trusted to pack his own damn suitcase.

“Packed my bag,” I repeat, voice flat.

She nods, still rummaging through my things. “Mmhmm. Jeans, shirts, socks. Oh, and your boots, obviously. I even made sure to grab your house shoes, ‘cause I know you like to be comfy.”

House shoes.

I scrub a hand down my face. “Jesus Christ.”

“Nope, just me.” She winks.

I glare at her.

Then, the final fucking insult.

She pulls out my cologne.

I stare.

She beams. “Thought you’d like that,” she says way too proudly. “I already stocked up. You don’t have to worry about running out. I also have your shampoo and soap and even that floss ribbon you use.”

I exhale so hard my soul leaves my body. “I don’t… Maple, I don’t even know how to respond to this.”

She tilts her head like I just said something dumb. “You say ‘thank you, baby, you’re so thoughtful.’”

I stare.

She stares. She waits.

And then, the absolute worst part.

I laugh.