Page 31

Noah carefully returns the photo to its hiding place, his movements precise despite the tension radiating from him.
"She died." His voice is flat. "And you need to learn to respect boundaries, Evelyn."
My heart hammers in my chest as Noah turns away from me. The silence between us stretches thin and brittle.
Then it hits me—the towel. In my rush to get dressed and search his room, I'd dropped it on the floor and...
I look down in horror. I'm completely naked. Standing in the middle of Noah Rivera's bedroom without a stitch of clothing.
Heat floods my face, spreading down my neck and chest in a wave of mortification. How did I not notice?
"Oh my god," I whisper, frozen in place.
Noah's shoulders tense at the sound of my voice, but he doesn't turn. His eyes had never left mine during our entire confrontation—not once had they dipped lower.
"I'll give you a minute," he says, his voice oddly tight. He moves toward the door, still facing away from me.
"Wait," I say, not sure why I'm stopping him. My arms cross over my chest instinctively. "You... you didn't look."
Noah pauses at the doorway, one hand on the frame. "No," he says simply. "I didn't."
Something shifts in my understanding of him. This man who kidnapped me, who threatened me, who taunted me—he could have taken advantage of my vulnerability. But he didn't.
"Thank you," I say, the words feeling strange on my tongue.
He gives a short nod, still not turning. "Get dressed, Evelyn."
Then he's gone, closing the door firmly behind him.
I scramble for the clothes, my hands shaking as I pull them on. Shame and confusion war within me.
I dress quickly, my face still burning with embarrassment. The soft cotton of his borrowed T-shirt does little to calm my racing thoughts. What just happened? Noah Rivera—kidnapper, enforcer, dangerous man—caught me naked and chose not to look. The gesture of respect feels out of place, like finding a delicate flower growing through concrete.
When I finally gather enough courage to leave the bedroom I find Noah standing by the window, his back rigid. He turns at the sound of the door, his expression carefully blank.
"Matteo's here," he says, not quite meeting my eyes.
"Noah, about what happened—" I start, needing to acknowledge the moment somehow.
"Don't." He cuts me off with a sharp gesture. "It's done."
But something's shifted in his demeanor. The cocky, taunting man from earlier has disappeared, replaced by someone more distant. Disappointed, even. In me? In himself? I can't tell.
The buzzer sounds, and Noah moves to the intercom, pressing a button without speaking. Moments later, there's a knock at the door.
Noah lets Matteo in, their greeting a wordless nod. Matteo's eyes immediately find me, standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room.
"Princess," he says with a mock bow. "Still breathing, I see."
"No thanks to your friend," I reply, but my usual fire feels dampened.
Matteo's gaze shifts between Noah and me, his eyebrows drawing together slightly. He shrugs off his leather jacket and tosses it over the back of a chair.
"What's with you two?" he asks, not bothering with subtlety. "Feels like I walked into a funeral."
"Nothing," Noah and I say simultaneously.
Matteo snorts. "Yeah, that's convincing." He moves to the kitchen, opening Noah's fridge like he owns the place. "You know, if you're going to lie, at least try to be good at it."