Page 10 of Doomed

“It was brave to just pack up and leave like that.”

“Yeah, I know. I fit whatever I could in my car and just drove.” I kick off my shoes and head toward my bedroom. “Best decision I ever made, though. Found you, found the gallery job...”

“Found trouble in the form of a Blackwood,” Michelle calls from her room.

I laugh. “That part wasn’t planned.”

Our apartment is small—a two-bedroom with thin walls and questionable plumbing—but it’s ours. Well, Michelle’s lease, butshe insisted I was exactly the roommate she’d been praying for after her last one moved out. A nurse who kept normal hours paired with an artist who preferred working late. It shouldn’t work, but somehow it does.

“What are you thinking of wearing for tonight?” I call out, rummaging through my closet. Most of my clothes are paint-stained or designed for gallery work—professional but forgettable.

“Something that says we belong at an upscale club but doesn’t screamtrying too hard.” Michelle appears in my doorway holding a sleek black dress. “This could work for you.”

I hold it up against myself in the mirror. It’s more form-fitting than anything I usually wear, with a neckline that dips lower than I’m comfortable with.

“It’s your dress.”

“And you’re borrowing it. That’s what roommates do.” She grins. “Besides, if we’re walking into Purgatory, you need to look the part.”

I study my reflection, imagining myself in the dress. “What if Knox is there?”

“Then we act like we’re two friends out for drinks who happened to choose his club.”

The thought of seeing Knox again fills me with both anticipation and apprehension. I should be dreading the possibility of running into him, not feeling this strange flutter in my stomach.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Michelle leans against my doorframe, reading my expression.

“No.” The denial comes too quickly.

“Bianca.”

I sink onto my bed, the black dress pooling in my lap. “He was such an arrogant asshole. The way he touched me without asking, like he had every right to.”

“But?”

I hate that she knows there’s abut. “But when I slapped him, he didn’t get angry. He looked... impressed? Like he enjoyed it.”

“Slapped him? You slapped a dangerous criminal?!” Michelle crosses her arms. “That’s not a good thing.”

“I didn’t know who he was at the time,” I defend, running my fingers over the dress’s smooth fabric. “Logically, I know he’s trouble. Everything about him screamed danger—the expensive clothes, the way Elliot practically cowered, that predatory smile.”

“So why are you excited about potentially seeing him tonight?”

I wish I had an answer that made sense. Knox Blackwood represents everything I should avoid—wealth built on violence, charm masking what I now know is cruelty, the kind of man who takes what he wants without asking permission.

“Maybe because I’ve spent my whole life playing it safe?” I stand and hold the dress against myself again. “Safe apartment, safe job, safe relationships. Safe, boring art that doesn’t offend anyone.”

“There’s nothing wrong with safe.”

“Isn’t there?” I turn to face her. “When’s the last time I felt truly alive? When’s the last time someone looked at me the way Knox did—like I was the only person in the room?”

“Like you were a tasty snack, you mean.”

The word sends another unwelcome thrill through me. “Maybe that’s what I need right now. To feel like someone actually sees me instead of looking through me.”

Michelle shakes her head. “This is how horror movies start, B. Girl meets dangerous guy, girl thinks she can handle dangerous guy, girl ends up?—”

“I’m not some naive protagonist.” I interrupt, surprising myself with the sharpness in my voice. “I slapped him, remember? I’m not planning to swoon into his arms.”