“It’s my nature,” I reply lightly, even as my pulse hammers harder. “People tend to underestimate me. I let them know it.”
He stops in front of me. I know because the air changes, becoming thicker. Warmer.
Even though my heart pounds and pulse bangs against my throat, I don’t flinch. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“You think you’re brave,” he says. “But bravery without leverage is just noise.”
I tilt my head. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.”
The sound that leaves him isn’t a laugh this time.
It’s irritation.
Good.
Something brushes my cheek—the back of his fingers, maybe. Not violent. Not gentle either. Testing. Claiming space.
My skin crawls, but I keep my spine straight.
“You don’t get to provoke me,” he says quietly. “Not like that.”
I swallow, gathering my strength. “Then untie me,” I say. “And make me stop.”
The chair jerks suddenly as he grabs the back and tips it just enough to make my stomach lurch. Not far enough todrop me. Just enough to remind me how precarious everything is.
My breath stutters. Fear races through me.
He rights the chair slowly, like he’s savoring the control.
“That,” he murmurs, “is the cost of your mouth.”
I clench my jaw, forcing my breathing to steady again. I won’t cry. I won’t beg. I won’t apologize. Those are currencies I refuse to spend.
He steps away, and I hear something metallic slide across a surface. A drawer, maybe. Tools. My imagination supplies images I don’t want.
“You know what happens now?” he asks, his voice drifting from somewhere behind me.
I shake my head once.
“You wait,” he says. “And the longer you wait, the more uncertain you become. That’s how this works. Hope first. Then doubt. Then fear.”
My fingers curl, nails biting into my palms. I won’t give him that either.
“You’re wrong,” I say, quieter now—but no less firm. “Because you’re assuming I don’t know him.”
He’s quiet again.
I press the advantage, even though my throat is tight and my heart is racing.
“Sebastian doesn’t hesitate,” I continue. “He doesn’t panic. And he doesn’t stop once he starts.”
I hear his breath hitch—just once.
“You’ve already lost,” I say. “You just don’t know it yet.”
The silence that follows is different this time.
Not irritated. Calculating.
