I’m caught between him and the mirror, and all I can do is stare at our reflections together.
His forest green eyes meet mine in the glass.
“Perfect,” he says softly.
The word shivers down my spine.
He doesn’t touch me. Not yet. Just stands there, both of us framed in black iron, looking at what we’ve become together.
His gaze travels over my reflection—slow, reverent, burning.
“Do you see?” His voice is low, intimate. “Do you see what I see?”
I can’t answer.
Can’t breathe.
His hand lifts slowly, and I watch in the mirror as it hovers near my shoulder.
Then settles.
Light. Careful. Like I might break.
I flinch but don’t pull away.
Can’t move.
His fingers trail down my arm, barely touching, grazing the silk.
“I knew it would suit you,” he murmurs.
In the mirror, we look like a pair.
King and queen.
Predator and prey.
I don’t know which is worse.
He tilts his head slightly, dark hair brushing near my temple as he studies our reflection.
“Look at you,” he says softly. “Radiant. A queen in her own right.”
His hand drifts lower, fingertips brushing one of the scars visible at my collarbone.
I tense, but he doesn’t pull away.
Just traces it gently, like it’s something precious.
“Even your scars adorn you,” he whispers. “Proof of strength. Proof you were always meant to be more than they allowed you to be.”
I feel seen.
Completely, terrifyingly seen.
And I hate that part of mewantsthis. Wants to be looked at like I’m beautiful instead of broken.
Then his hand moves.
