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“I’ve fucked other women, yes. Before you. Meaningless encounters to satisfy basic needs.” His touch along my collarbone is featherlight. “But I’ve never felt this connection. This absolute certainty.”

The intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch. There’s no calculation now, just pure emotion that’s almost painful to witness.

“You’re the only one, Kira. The only one who’s ever mattered. The only one who ever will.” His hand cups my face with surprising gentleness. “You’re the most beautiful girl on the planet. The only one I see.”

A nervous laugh escapes me before I can stop it. The idea is absurd—me, the most beautiful girl on the planet? I’ve spent my whole life being told I wasn’t enough, wasn’t thin enough, wasn’t pretty enough.

In an instant, his hand is around my throat, not squeezing but firmly holding, his thumb pressed against my pulse point. The laughter dies in my throat.

“Don’t,” he growls, his face inches from mine. “Don’t you dare laugh at that. It’s the truth, and I don’t want to hear anything contrary.”

His grip is firm, not cutting off my air but reminding me of his strength, his dominance. My pulse races against his palm.

“I’ve seen the most ‘beautiful’ women worldwide, Kira. Models, actresses, billionaires’ wives, and girlfriends. None of them compare to you.” His grip relaxes slightly. “Not one.”

His words leave me breathless, more than his hand around my throat ever could. The conviction in his voice and the absolute certainty in his eyes pierce me deeply.

“No one has ever called me beautiful before,” I whisper, the words scraping against my throat. “Not the same way you mean it.”

His grip on my throat loosens, but his gaze intensifies.

“I’m just... average. Average weight, average face, average everything.” The confession hurts more than I expected. “I’ve spent my whole life being the girl guys settle for when they can’t get the pretty one. The one people call ‘cute’ but never ‘hot.’ The one with the ‘nice personality.’”

My voice breaks on the last words. Years of subtle rejections and backhanded compliments have left their mark; not all scars are on the outside. I’m not sure if the ones inside ever truly heal.

Ryker’s hand slides from my throat to cup my face, his thumb brushing away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.

“Then everyone who’s ever looked at you was fucking blind.” The intensity in his voice makes me shiver. “And I’m going to reshape your entire image of yourself until you see what I see.”

He shifts closer, his forehead almost touching mine, our breaths mingling.

“I’m going to worship every inch of you until you understand that you’re a fucking goddess.” His voice drops lower, reverential and fierce at once. “A goddess I can’t wait to spend my life on my knees worshipping.”

The sincerity in his voice unravels me anew. No one has ever wanted me like this-with this all-consuming, almost religious devotion.

29

RYKER

The plan I’ve crafted, the levels of our game carefully designed to break and rebuild her—all of it has come to feel hollow. I am finding it harder each day to justify my carefully laid plan. This isn’t what I want anymore—to control her completely, own her through manipulation and force. It cheapens what I’ve come to feel for her. If a past boyfriend of hers had done these things, how long would I allow him to live?

The phone feels heavy in my hand—it is her lifeline to the world that I took her from. Dozens of notifications light up the screen—missed calls, texts, voicemails—people who love her searching for her. What if it were me on the other end? Would I ever stop searching?

Once I give this back, I lose my unwavering control over her.

I need her to choose me. Not Stockholm Syndrome, Kira, not traumatized and manipulated Kira. I need all of her to want me as desperately as I want her.

Her eyes flutter open, catching me staring. “What time is it?” Her voice has a sleepy rasp to it, and it’s beautiful.

“It’s only four a.m. I’m an early riser.” I sit on the edge of the bed and hold out her phone. “This belongs to you.”

Confusion crosses her face as she takes it, fingers brushing mine. “My phone?”

“The game is over, Kira.”

She unlocks it, eyes widening at the flood of messages. Her parents, Jenna, coworkers—all frantic about her disappearance.

“They are worried about you despite my messages assuring them you are fine.” My voice sounds strange, tight with emotions I’m still learning to name.