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The rise and fall of Ryker’s chest as he sleeps beside me is steady. My fingers twitch with the urge to track the lines of his face, the sharp curve of his jaw, the fullness of his bottom lip. Something inside me aches when I’m not touching him, like withdrawal from the most potent drug.

Was this the plan all along? Each level breaking down another wall until I couldn’t tell where my desires ended and his manipulation began? The thought should terrify me, make me want to run. I don’t, though. I shift closer, drawn to his warmth like a moth to flame.

What came next I never would have expected, let alone believed. “I love you,” he said. Those three words echo in my mind, bouncing against memories of our gaming sessions, his voice in my headset guiding me through digital battlefields. Rogue and Mischief, our online personas connected in ways our physical selves never could—until now.

My gaze falls on the tattoos on his skin, lingering on the ghost mask over his heart. For me. Before he even met me. The thought sends a shiver down my spine that isn’t entirely unpleasant.

Light filters through the curtains, casting shadows across his face. God, he’s beautiful. Not just handsome, beautiful in that dangerous way that makes a deep want stir. The sharp planes of his cheekbones, the dark sweep of his lashes, the slight curve of his lips even in sleep.

I know him. I’ve known him for over two years, laughing with him, strategizing with him, sharing pieces of myself I never shared with anyone else. If that was real—if any of it was—then maybe...

This man beside me is Rogue. My gaming partner. My confidant.

My soulmate who took the most fucked-up route imaginable to be with me.

I stare at the ceiling, my thoughts spinning like loading screens between game levels. Why? The question burns through me more intensely than any physical sensations my body has endured. I wanted to meet him. For so long, I dreamed about the face behind the voice that guided me through digital battlefields. If he’d just come to GamerCon as Rogue, I would have fallen for him instantly.

I would have given him my number, my time, and my body. I would have offered freely everything he’s taken now.

I would have been his. I was already his in so many ways before he ever touched me.

So why all this? The kidnapping. The games. The fear and pain and twisted pleasure. Why build a maze when the door was already unlocked? More importantly, how do I forgive his actions?

Beside me, the sheets rustle. Ryker shifts, his eyes opening to find mine already on him. Sleep softens the sharp edges of his face, making him look almost innocent. Almost kind, if I didn’t already have so much evidence to the contrary.

“What are you thinking about?” His voice is rough with sleep, fingers reaching to brush a strand of hair from my face. “You look miles away.”

For a moment, I consider lying and telling him what he wants to hear, but I can’t. Some hidden and dark part of me has broken open inside—maybe it’s the need for freedom, the need to no longer have to hide.

“I don’t understand why you did all this.” The words tumble out in earnest. “I would have dated you if you’d come to GamerCon. If you’d approached me as Rogue, the person I gamed with for over two years, I would have been yours willingly.” I swallow hard. “I already was yours, in a way. So why the kidnapping? Why the fear, the torture, and the pain? Why did you choose the hardest possible path to something that could have been so simple?”

I hold my breath, noticing uncertainty flicker across Ryker’s face.

He sits up slowly, sheet pooling around his waist, revealing more intricate tattoos. A storm gathers in his expression.

“Simple? Nothing about this—about us—could ever be simple, Kira.” His voice drops lower. “You think I could just walk up to you at GamerCon and say ‘Hi, I’m Rogue’ and everything would fall into place?”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. The sound scrapes against my skin.

“People like you don’t end up with people like me in the real world. Not without intervention.” His fingers trace patterns on the sheet between us. “I needed to plan every variable, every possible outcome. Your first impression, environment, and options had to be perfect for the desired outcome.”

His hands clench into fists, then relax with deliberate effort.

“My whole life has been chaos. Unpredictable. Painful.” Something flashes across his face. “I can’t survive more randomness. More chance. More failure.”

He looks directly at me now, his gaze intense enough to burn.

“Meeting at GamerCon meant leaving too much to chance. What if you saw me and felt nothing? What if someone else caught your attention? What if you rejected me?” The thought seems to physically pain him. “I needed to create an environment where our interaction followed my design. Where I could test your reactions, your limits... where I could be sure there was no other option.”

His hand reaches toward my face but stops short of touching me.

“The world doesn’t give people like me second chances. So I had to make sure I didn’t need one.”

I study his face as he speaks, how his hands move with precise, contained motions. And suddenly, I see it—beyond the kidnapper, beyond the obsessive stalker, beyond the dominant man who’s terrorized and pleasured me in equal measure. I see the scared little boy forced to watch his father play for hours, beaten if he looked away. The child who ran to libraries and internet cafes to escape the nightmare of his home.

“You’re still that frightened boy,” I whisper, the realization hitting me with unexpected force. “The one your father hurt. The one who had to control everything because nothing in your life was ever safe or predictable.”

A helpless vulnerability flickers across his face, making my chest ache. For a moment, Ryker’s calculating predator mask slips to reveal a brokenness.