Page 45 of Thirst Trap

She stayed perched on the bed, photo still clutched, suitcase half-packed beside her.

His meticulous shirts folded sharp enough to slice.

What kind of man keeps a picture of you beside his bed and never mentions it?

What kind of man kills with a whisper but kisses like he’s never been touched?

She opened her phone. If she was going to fall, she had to know the truth.

Search #1: Sapphire Creams: The Star Who Vanished.

Search #2: From Logan to Lucas: The Twins Holding the Throne.

Search #3: Bonnie Creams and the Whisper War.

Search #4: The Tower Murders.

Drugs. Guns. Puppets. Shadows.

And Lucas. Always: “Clean. Controlled. Cold.”

Except now she knew better.

He wasn’t cold.

He was burning.

She closed her phone, whispered to the photo: “What the fuck did I just fall into?”

The door creaked open.

Lucas. Shirt sleeves rolled, tie loose, gun holstered. He froze, eyes landing on the photo.

Her gaze didn’t waver.

“So,” she said softly, “how long have you been in love with me?”

Silence. His jaw was tight.

“We need to go,” he said stiffly. “The flight.”

“Really? That’s your answer?”

“You keep a photo of me by your bed,” she pressed, calm but cutting. “You made me beg for attention on your account while hiding in plain sight.”

“I didn’t pretend,” he muttered, shutting the door.

“You hid.”

His hands flexed. “I didn’t think I was allowed to want something like this.”

“Like me?”

His eyes lifted, raw. “Like peace.”

Her chest stuttered. Just for a second.

“So what now?” she pushed, pulling the robe tighter, eyes narrowing. “You gonna keep pretending I’m just your assistant while you’re hard every time I speak? Or stop running?”