Water splashes cold against my face, but it doesn’t wash away the grief or the guilt. Or the knowledge that my father’s reach extends further than I imagined. How many more will die before this ends?
A gentle knock breaks through my spiral. “Finding the bathroom escape route challenging?” Remy’s voice carries that infuriating blend of amusement and authority. “The shower drain’s too small for your purposes, sweetheart.”
My jaw clenches at his accurate read of my thoughts. Even through a door, he sees right through me.
“I’ve discovered worse exits,” I shoot back, hating how my skin warms at the low chuckle that follows.
“I’m sure you have.” His voice drops lower, intimate. “But you won’t need them here.”
The words hang between us, heavy with promise and threat. I study my reflection again, taking in the flush creeping up my neck and the wildness in my eyes. Every mark on my skin screams of how dangerous this man is—not because he’ll hurt me, but because he makes me want to stay.
I watch Remy move past me, his bare chest brushing against my arm. The contact sends electricity through my tired muscles, but I stay frozen, arms crossed. He leans over the massive tub, testing the water temperature with practiced precision. Steam curls up around his shoulders as he adds oils to the running water, the scent of lavender filling the space between us.
“You look dead on your feet.” His voice holds none of its usual sharp edges.
“I nearly was.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He turns, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. “Come here.”
I shake my head, pressing my back against the cool marble counter. “Don’t. I know what you’re doing.”
“Do you?” He straightens, moving closer until I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
“This.” I gesture at the filling tub, the oils, the gentle facade. “The careful choreography. Making me feel safe and cared for. It’s what you do, isn’t it? Another way to maintain control?”
Something flickers across his face—a crack in his usual mask of calculated charm. “Is that what you think?”
“I think I’m tired of games, Remy.” My voice cracks. “Tired of trying to figure out which version of you is real.”
He reaches out, his fingers ghosting along my jaw. I expect him to argue, to deflect with that infuriating smirk. Instead, his expression shifts, softening into something I’ve never seen before.
“Then stop looking for the trick.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “Sometimes a bath is just a bath, Eve.”
I search his face, waiting for the mask to slip back into place. But what I find in his eyes makes my chest tight—a rawness, a sincerity that feels foreign on his features.
“I can’t tell anymore,” I whisper. “What’s real, what’s manipulation. It all bleeds together with you. It’s your job, after all.”
My fingers dig into the marble counter as I struggle to hold myself together. The steam from the bath fogs the mirror, blurring my reflection—fitting since I barely recognize myself anymore.
“I can’t—” The words catch in my throat. “Everything’s tangled. Roberto’s dead, my own father wants me buried, and you”—I gesture between us, frustration building—“I don’t know what this is. What game we’re playing.”
Remy steps closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. “Eve.”
“Don’t.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t use that voice. The one that makes everything sound simple when it’s not.”
“Then tell me what you need.” His directness catches me off guard.
A laugh escapes me, brittle and sharp. “What I need? I need to stop feeling like I’m drowning. Like every choice I make puts someone else in danger. I need—” My voice breaks. “I need one moment where I’m not calculating angles or watching shadows.”
To my surprise, Remy nods. “You’re right.”
I blink. “What?”
“There’s too much to unpack.” He runs a hand through his hair—a rare gesture of uncertainty. “But not now.”
“Not now,” I repeat, testing the words.
“I propose a truce.” He holds my gaze. “Until we leave this bathroom, no games. No manipulation. No trying to outmaneuver each other.”
