Page 104 of Cain

“How do you know?” My eyes widen.

“You and I are more alike than you think, little rose. I’ve told you before. I see the brokenness inside you.” He picks up the pack of smokes from his desk and lights one. “The fractures. The parts of you no one else bothered tolook at.” He exhales. “You hide them so well, but they’re there, screaming behind your eyes.”

Tears well in my eyes before I can stop them. He’s the first person who’s ever spoken to me like that. The first to tell me the bold, unfiltered truth. The first to treat me like I’m something precious. Like I’m worth worshipping. Like the ground I walk on matters.

I thought modeling was about this, but it’s not. In the modeling industry, you have to be a bitch, but also kind. You have to be gentle but also tough. They don’t care about you. To them, you’re just money—a piece of meat.

But to Cain, I am not all that. I can be my true self, and for him, it’s enough.

Without saying another word, I set the cube on the desk, wipe my tears, and confidently walk closer before climbing onto the desk in front of him and parting my legs.

He leans back further in the chair, inhaling his smoke and savoring the moment.

“You see the broken parts, but you never looked away. Is that still enough for you?”

He moves closer, his fingers slowly sliding up my calf as he presses his lips on my inner thighs and plants delicate kisses.

“I don’t care if you’re broken. I don’t need perfection.” He kisses me higher, causing my legs to shake. His fingers flex against my skin, pulling a soft hiss from me. “I need obedience. I need loyalty.” He looks up at me through dark lashes. “I needyou.”

Slowly, I unbutton his dark blue shirt, letting my hand drift up to his neck. My fingers glide over the tattoos on his skin. “Are you mine?” I whisper.

He doesn’t move—he just lets my fingers trace his skin.

“You know it already.”

“I want to hear it,” I murmur, sinking into his touch.

He raises his head, brushing his lips against mine. “My heart belongs to you.”

It’s the first time he’s said something like this.

And God, why does it make me melt?

It makes me weak.

Because I wasn’t prepared.

Because I swore I wouldn’t fall.

Because I told myself he was dangerous.

Because I thought I was stronger than this.

Because I thought I knew what love was.

And perhaps—worst of all—because some part of me wanted to be his.

Six mistakes.

Six cracks in the walls I built.

And his whole existence slips through every single one.

“I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want you,” I whisper. My fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer.

“But you do.”

“I do.”