Like I’m the show now.
Like this is my decision.
My test.
My moment.
“Go on,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Take a look at yourself, butterfly.”
I glance toward the mirror.
Then back at him.
He nods once. Calm. Commanding.
And somehow that’s worse than if he’d demanded it.
So I walk. Slowly. Towards the chaise.
I sit.
Face flushed. Pulse erratic.
And then—I look up.
Into the mirror.
At him behind me.
At me in front of him.
And the girl in the reflection?
She doesn’t look scared.
She looks… curious.
Dax tilts his head.
Smirks.
And says the words that make my stomach drop straight through the floor.
“Good girl.”
My thighs press together like that’ll help.
It doesn’t.
The air’s too thick. The mirror too honest. And Dax—Dax—he’s just sitting there like he’s got all the time in the world to watch me fall apart.
“I can’t…” I start, but the words don’t come easy.
“You can,” he says simply. “You already are.”
I shake my head. “This isn’t me.”
He raises a brow. Just one. God, even that is hot.
