Page 20

He moves past me, to the open closet at the corner and unhooks a towel hanging from a pull up bar attached to the doorway before draping it over his bare shoulders.

I watch as Thatcher casually drapes the towel over his shoulders, rubbing at his neck and face in a way that feels oddly intimate given the tension between us.

His damp hair falls back smoothly, framing his face in a way that accentuates the sharpness of his jaw.

He moves with an ease, a quiet confidence that makes it hard to look away, even though I really should.

When he finally glances over, catching me watching him, a flicker of amusement dances in his eyes. “What? Eye fucking me already?” he teases, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I feel oddly flattered, Dove.”

I’m momentarily flustered. How can a guy with such an angelic face have such a shitty attitude? Is it genetic maybe?

His smirk only deepens, clearly noticing my reaction, and it’s infuriating how easily he gets under my skin.

I manage to pull myself together and roll my eyes, folding my arms tightly across my chest in an effort to hide my shaky hands. “Please. I was just trying to figure out how someone like you manages to live in a room this spotless, frat guys are exactly the poster boys for cleanliness.”

He raises a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Gotta keep some standards,” he replies, letting the smirk settle back onto his face. “Speaking about standards, you’re one to talk. You’re practically burning a hole through me with those eyes.”

I swallow, heat rising to my cheeks as I turn away, forcing myself to focus on anything else in the room.

I can feel his gaze lingering on me, that familiar, irritating smirk likely plastered on his face.

I force myself to look at anything but him—the meticulously organized shelf, the perfectly made bed, the framed jerseys and team photos on the wall.

It all feels so intentional, like each piece was carefully curated to project an image.

The room feels like an extension of Thatcher himself—controlled, put together, almost painfully curated. It’s as though he’s hiding behind all of these perfect details, concealing anything real. The thought annoys me, so I let out a huff.

The silence stretches, thick and charged, as I take in the room with forced interest. I can feel his eyes on me, but Thatcher doesn’t move, doesn’t even seem to breathe, as if he’s waiting for me to turn back and meet his eyes.

He thrives off this, off making me squirm. And I hate that it’s working.

Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice low and teasing. “If you’re done analyzing my room, I’m all ears. You said you wanted to talk?”

I glance at him from the corner of my eye, debating just leaving and forgetting I ever came. But that would mean Thatcher wins, and I’m not about to give him that satisfaction. Instead, I steel myself, taking a deep breath as I turn to face him directly.

“Yeah, I do. About your offer.”

His eyes glint with interest, that infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What exactly?” he says, feigning innocence as if he doesn’t know exactly what I’m talking about.

I roll my eyes, trying to keep my voice steady, though my heartbeat quickens as memories of our last conversation flash through my mind. “You know what I mean, Thatcher. The whole…arrangement you proposed. I’m considering it.”

His eyebrow arches, his smirk widening as he takes a casual step closer. “Considering it?”

I want to back away, to escape from this gut-wrenching situation but he seems to read my thoughts and leans in, close enough that I can feel the heat from his skin, close enough that I can see the faint dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks.

It’s almost endearing. “Funny. I thought you might have been a little more…motivated after our last chat.”

I grit my teeth, trying to keep my anger in check. “Motivated? Really, Thatcher? Like when you sent the cops to question me?” I can hear the edge in my voice, but I can’t stop it. “Was that part of your idea of persuasion?”

His expression doesn’t change, but I catch the faintest glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “I needed to get your attention, Dove,” he replies, voice maddeningly calm. “Guess it worked.”

My hands clench at my sides as I force myself to breathe, pushing back the frustration boiling inside me. “You’re fucking unbelievable. All this talk about keeping my life from falling apart and you send the cops to question me? What are you getting at?”

He lets out a soft chuckle, completely unfazed by my anger.

His calmness only fuels my frustration, like he thrives off seeing me unravel.

“What am I getting at?” he repeats, the smirk never leaving his face.

“I’m offering you a way out, Rhea. A chance to turn your situation around.

But you need to be willing to play ball. ”

I glare at him, incredulous. “Play ball? You think this is some kind of game?”

He crosses his arms over his chest and grins, as if this entire situation is casual, like we’re discussing the weather instead of putting me in prison for murder. “I’m offering to help you. You need to see it for what it is—a lifeline.”

“A lifeline?” I scoff, shaking my head in disbelief. “You call sending the cops to question me a lifeline? That’s your idea of help? You gave them my name? You had them confront me, and for what!”

He shrugs, his demeanor unchanging, like he’s merely presenting facts. “I needed to get your attention, Dove. Your situation is precarious, and you needed a wake-up call to remind you what’s on the line. But you’re here now, aren’t you? You know you have no choice.”

“A choice?” I echo, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is that what you call coercion? You think I’d just jump at your offer after you scared me half to death?”

Thatcher steps closer, the distance between us evaporating. I can feel his presence—intimidating yet oddly magnetic. “I’m not here to frighten you, Rhea. I’m trying to help you realize what’s at stake. You’re so close to losing everything, and I’m offering you a way to regain it.”

I take a step back, heart racing. “By being your property? What the fuck does that even mean?”

He pauses, his expression shifting into one that sends a shiver down my spine. “It means you will be mine…to fuck, to touch, to kiss. Just mine.” His eyes seem consumed by a darkness, a hunger that scares me, right down to my bones. “No one else’s.”

My breath hitches as his hand lifts and his fingers trail across my cheek, brushing back a strand of hair that escaped my ponytail. “Only mine,” he repeats, and the possessiveness in his voice ignites a mix of fear and something unsettlingly thrilling within me.

His words hang heavy in the air, and I swallow, a lump inflating in my throat as I try to hold his intense gaze. It’s difficult when I can feel his hand skim over my skin, my ear, my jaw…just light electric touches that ignite a war in me.

Then, his hand wraps around my throat, light enough not to constrict my airflow but firm enough to hold my attention.

My pulse races beneath his fingertips, a frantic drumbeat that echoes the chaos in my mind.

It’s a gesture both intimate and intimidating, sending conflicting signals through my body.

“You’re out of your mind,” I manage out, my voice no more than a breathy whisper. “You’re fucking crazy.”

He shrugs, the movement smooth and nonchalant.

“Maybe I am,” he murmurs, his voice low and seductive.

“But you shouldn’t forget that this crazy man holds all the cards.

” His grip tightens just a fraction, the warmth of his hand burning a brand on my skin.

“I can ruin your life with just one well-placed call to the police.”

A chill runs down my spine at his words, his grip grounding me even as panic flares in my chest. My throat tightens, but not from his hand—it’s the realization of just how much power he does hold, how calculated every move of his has been.

“You’re… so fucking crazy,” I say again, voice strained, attempting to mask the fear twisting within me. “You think I’m just going to be yours because you think you hold my cards in your hands?”

His lips quirk into a dangerous smile. He squeezes my throat.

“Actually, I hold your fucking life in my hands, Dove…but that’s why you’re here, right?

You’ve thought about it and realized that I’m the best choice.

You realized that you don’t have…any…other…

option.” He leans in, his breath warm against my ear, and I can feel the cold truth of his words settle over me.

“You don’t even realize how exposed you are, how vulnerable…

” he pauses and lets out a soft sigh as if he has said too much.

He continues, “But now it’s time to make a choice. You either accept my offer and let me keep you unscathed, or you risk everything you’ve got left. And trust me,” his voice drops to a murmur, soft but carrying an edge that cuts deep, “I protect all my possessions.”

I clench my hands into fists, hating the helplessness bubbling inside me. “You can’t just…own someone.”

He smirks, his hand releasing its hold on my neck to gently tilt my chin up, so our eyes meet.

“That’s the beauty of it. You’ll give yourself to me willingly…

in the end.” His gaze softens, but the dangerous glint never fades.

“Think about it, Rhea. You’ve got two choices: sink or let me pull you to shore. ”

My mind races, heart pounding as his words sink in. Every nerve in my body is screaming to push him away, to sever the twisted connection that he’s somehow forged between us, yet his presence and proximity holds me captive, daring me to defy him.

“Sink or swim, huh?” I reply, forcing as much strength as I can muster into my voice, though the shake in my hands betrays me. “And all I have to do is…surrender?”