Page 67 of His To Erase

The couch gives beneath me, soft and warm like a fucking invitation.

I fold my arms tight, trying to keep my nerves in check.

I can’t stop thinking about that text, but at least Sarah’s safe for now.

Frank moves quietly around the kitchen, stacking plates like we’re some kind of couple and this is just a normal afternoon.

When he returns, he’s got a blanket in one hand.

He doesn’t ask—just drapes it across my lap with careful hands.

“Almost done.” he murmurs, smoothing the edge of it. “Then we’ll head out.”

I blink up at him. Head out?

Right. Dinner.

For a second I think he might cancel, or let me off the hook and pretend this whole thing was never meant to happen. But instead—“You can shower if you want,” He smiles. “Or we can head out now. Up to you.”

Right. Because nothing screams casual like showering in a stranger’s house without any of your own clothes, and your past breathing down your neck through unknown number texts. But I try not to let my face show any of that. “I didn’t bring anything with me, I wasn’t planning on showering.”

He shrugs, like this isn’t the most loaded moment of the day. “There’s a clean towel in the bathroom, and a new toothbrush under the sink.”

Then, like it’s nothing, he adds, “And I left you something else for you. My assistant dropped it off last night.”

His eyes catch mine. Waiting. “You can wear it if you want to.”

I stare at him.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he says with a smirk. “I’m not a complete savage.”

No, just the kind of man who makes you feel like you’re slowly boiling while he keeps smiling and stirring the pot. Still, the thought of rinsing off is enough to make me nod. At least just so I can have a minute to myself, maybe check in with Sarah to see what I should do.

“Five minutes,” I say, already pushing myself up from the couch.

“Take your time, doll,” he calls after me. “We’re in no rush.”

By the time I reach the bathroom, I half-expect the mirror to fog just from how hot my skin feels right now. Why do I get the feeling that Frank is some closet weirdo with a foot fetish.

There’s a soft gray towel on the rack, perfectly folded and a brand-new toothbrush sitting beside the sink. I turn and see a dress hanging on the back door. It’s sleek, black and silky. And unmistakably my size.

My throat goes dry.

What kind of assistant drops something like this off without confirmation that I would be here? And what kind of man has a fucking outfit ready when he didn’t even know if I was going to say yes? I guess that’s what having money does. You just buy it anyway, assuming no one will tell you no.

I stare at it, heart thudding. It’s just a dress, Ani. Not a collar.

I should text Steven. The thought hits hard, and I’m not even sure where that came from. I don’t even know what I’d say. Sorry I ghosted, just needed a breather and accidentally ended up at my almost-boyfriend’s mystery mansion where everything feels like a fucking trap?

I squeeze my eyes shut, and open the bathroom door slowly, half expecting something to be different.

The house is quiet as I make my way back downstairs, and I try not to hold my breath, but my chest is tight anyway.

I step into the kitchen and he’s moving with casual precision, sliding something off the stove like we do this all the time. Calm as ever. Because apparently, I’ve decided today’s theme is ignore the red flags and go to dinner.

Frank gives me a warm smile—one that makes my skin prickle despite how soft it looks—and sets his mug down. I really need to take a vacation after this. A real one. I’m exhausted.

His eyes drag over me in one long sweep and I can see the moment he notes the outfit choice. But he doesn’t comment.

“Good,” he says, grabbing his keys off the counter. “Let’s go.”

I blink. “Now?”

“Unless you want to change?”

The smile he gives me is soft. I glance down at my outfit, shrugging. I’m not wearing that dress, despite how cute it was. But saying that now feels like poking the bear with a toothpick and hoping he doesn’t bite.

“What I have on is fine. Thank you, though.”

He holds the door open for me, and I follow him to the car in silence.

The moment we pull out of the driveway, my nerves start to hum, and I’m getting tired again.

Thank God when this is over I can sleep and I don’t actually have to go back to work.

Even Frank isn’t talking much. Just flipping through his phone.

“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to sound light.

“You’ll see.”

Classic. Totally not suspicious at all. When we pull through the gate and the sleek black car starts winding around the perimeter of a private airfield, everything hits me all at once. The hangar. The plane. The people waiting near the tarmac.

“What the hell,” I mutter, sitting up straighter, and feeling light headed. “Frank… is that—”

He parks, cutting the engine, and glances over at me with a smile so smooth it could be carved from glass.

“I told you, baby girl, I was taking you somewhere nice.”

I stare at the jet in disbelief. “For Dinner?”

His grin widens. “You deserve more than Taco Bell, Ani.”

This is too much. Or he’s just that guy that does this kind of shit last minute.

The tarmac heat bites through the afternoon breeze as we approach the jet. It’s sleek—matte gray with tinted windows and two uniformed staff waiting by the steps. Frank nods at them like this is normal, not a fucking private plane dinner run.

“This is insane,” I mutter, squinting toward the sky. My voice sounds far away.

Frank’s hand grazes the small of my back as we climb the stairs, warm and steady—staying there longer than it should. I should pull away, but I don’t. I lean into it, only because I’m so exhausted and this is somehow taking all the energy I have. Which should be my first red flag.

“Insane would’ve been taking you to Applebee’s,” he replies with a smile. “Come on.”

Something about all of this feels like a set up, with wine and roses and leather-bound menus.

I tell myself not to make it a thing. Not to panic.

But the longer I stand there, the more I feel like I’m walking into something I won’t know how to get out of.

I need to just tell him the truth. I don’t need to tell him about Steven by any means, but I need to come clean that we won’t ever be more than friends.

I step onto the plane, and the interior is ridiculous—cream leather, glass dividers, and there’s actual art hanging inside a plane. There’s also a table set for two near the back, and a bottle of champagne already chilling in a silver bucket.

“Get comfortable,” Frank says, loosening the cuffs of his shirt before rolling them up. “We’ll be in Taos in under an hour.”

Taos?

Jesus. He’s flying me across state lines for dinner?

I settle into the plush seat near the window, forcing a neutral expression onto my face while my heartrate kicks up a notch. I take a sip of water, glancing out the window. Trying to focus on the ridiculousness of it all just long enough to distract myself from the obvious.

When the flight attendant passes by, brushing past with a tray of citrus-scented cloths and warm towels— it hits me like a punch to the sternum.

What is that smell?

My hands start to shake, so I press them to my thighs. My body lurches before my mind catches up.

“Are you alright?” Frank asks, appearing beside me with a glass in hand.

I nod too quickly. “Just motion sickness.” I lie.

His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. He sets the glass down and adjusts the air vent above my head like he’s the fucking doting boyfriend.

“We’ll be there soon,” he says, smoothing a hand along the top of my thigh. “And I promise—this place is worth it.”

I force a smile, but my throat is closing, because for the first time in days, something broke through. Not just a flash or a whisper—but a feeling. A place.

And I don’t know what scares me more—what I almost remembered…Or the man currently holding my knee like I’m his.

The windows reflect nothing but my own confused face, I have no memory of falling asleep again. No idea how long I’ve been out.

My phone vibrates—another call from an unknown number. I decline it without thinking, too tired to deal with one more goddamn thing.

A second later, it dings. Then again. And again. Three texts.

Steven: Ani. Where the fuck are you.

Steven: You have five minutes to answer or I will come find you.

Steven: Don’t make me tear this fucking state apart.

Shit.

Of course he’d threaten to track me down. God forbid I slip the leash for half a second without him yanking it tight like it’s some kind of test I just failed. My grip tightens on the phone, while my jaw tightens at his audacity.

I know Frank’s probably the safe choice. The guy who plays nice and doesn’t growl when I breathe wrong.

So why do Steven’s words land like a hit I wasn’t bracing for? Why does every bone in my body go hot and hollow at the thought of him showing up? And why the hell do I suddenly want him to?

I shove myself upright, and the floor tilts a little, or maybe that’s just the war inside my chest. My phone feels radioactive in my hand, like if I look too long, I’ll say something I can’t take back.

I type a reply.

Delete it, then type again. Then delete it. Again.

Everything I want to say is wrong, and everything I should say is a lie. It’s not like he won’t know. He’ll for sure figure it out, somehow he always fucking does.

I can’t have him coming here. I just need to break things off with Frank so this doesn’t get messy.

I type out just enough to buy me some time, to keep him from blowing up the front door like some dark knight with a vendetta and a death wish.

I need space and I need to think. And I sure as hell can’t do that with him breathing down my neck.

Me: I’m fine. I need space before I drown in all the shit I’m feeling. I’ll talk to you when I can think straight.

Frank steps out of the cockpit all relaxed charm and polished teeth. “Ready to go?”

I stand up, pulse flickering. “Frank, listen… this was really thoughtful, but I think we should go back.”

His smile doesn’t drop, but something behind it wavers—just enough to chill the air between us.

“And go where?” he asks softly. “To whoever’s been keeping your attention lately?”

I freeze.

Fuck. There’s no way he knows…right?

“You don’t have to run every time things get hard, sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles along my jaw. “I’m not your enemy.”

But my heart’s already pounding. Why is it that two people have said that to me in the last 48 hours?

He smiles—smooth as ever—and steps back, giving me space. Pretty sure that was him making it crystal fucking clear that he’s been paying closer attention to me than I thought.

Walking down the steps in silence, I notice a black SUV waiting at the edge of the lot with the engine running.

Frank opens the door for me, but doesn’t say a word as I slide into the leather seat and buckle in.

My skin’s still humming from something I can’t name as he rounds the front of the car and climbs in beside me, casual as ever—like we didn’t just spend the morning pretending this wasn’t a power play.

Then—my phone vibrates and I jump, blinking down at it like it bit me.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: You’re not safe with him.