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"Make it quick," he instructs, authority sharp beneath the velvet.

Fuming, I step through and slam the sliding door behind me. Fuck quick—I’ll take my sweet ass time. After using the toilet, I strip, stepping into the large shower. I luxuriate in the hot water, slowly washing my hair and savoring every rebellious moment.

Eventually, reluctantly, I step out and wrap a towel around my body. I use another to dry my hair. It’s only then I realize I have no fresh clothes to change into.

"Fuck," I mutter, taking a deep breath and stepping back into the bedroom.

Ruin is lounging arrogantly on the bed, at ease—the asshole. Frustration spikes sharply through me, my jaw aches from clenching it as I stop a few feet from him, fists settling on my hips.

"Where the fuck did you put my clothes?" I demand sharply, glaring.

He hums, amusement darkening his tone. "Maybe I prefer you just like this."

His words slip beneath my skin, sparking an unwanted flush of heat. Gritting my teeth I growl, hating how easily he affects me.

"Careful," he continues, voice like silk-wrapped steel. "Keep looking at me like that, and I might unwrap you myself."

"Fuck you," I snap, eyes narrowing.

He chuckles, dark and rich, the sound scraping over my nerves deliciously. "I think you'd prefer it if I did exactly that. Admit it—you're craving my hands on you."

I scoff, folding my arms tightly to hide how much his words affect me. "Dream on. You’re not half as irresistible as you think."

"And you're not nearly as convincing," he counters smoothly, voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. "I've seen the way your body trembles when I'm near, Seanna. You can deny it all you want, but we both know the truth."

My pulse kicks up hard, desire battling with rage.

He's wrong. He has to be.

Except… he’s not.

Because Iamtrembling. Because my thighsareclenching. Because my skin feels too tight and too hot and too desperate for something I don’t want to name.

God, I hate him. I hate how I can smell him, that leather and spice. I hate that I keep replaying the scrape of both of their modulated voices in my head like a song I never asked for.

And most of all—I hate that I want to know what they would do if Ileteither of them touch me again.

No. If Iasked.

The thought alone makes me burn.

I shift slightly, the towel loosening around my body, clinging to my damp skin like a fucking tease. My nipples harden beneath it, the air brushing them like the faintest whisper of his gloves.

This isn't about weakness.

It’s about control.

And if I’m going to be consumed—then fuck it. I’m going tochoosethe flames.

"Do you ever shut up?" I growl, but the words lack bite.

"Only when my mouth is otherwise occupied," he says, voice thick with promise.

The ache in my core pulses harder.

Frustration spikes again—raw and restless and clawing from the inside out. And suddenly, I can’t breathe through the pressure.

I rip the towel off and let it fall to the floor.