"I will. Once you've calmed down." He was closer now, maybe six feet away. I could smell him—expensive cologne, something woody and clean. Could hear the soft rustle of what sounded like a well-tailored suit. "Would you like to sit?"
"Would you like to go fuck yourself?"
He sighed. Actually sighed, like I was a disappointing student who'd failed a pop quiz. "I had hoped we could begin more cordially. Your psychological profile suggested intelligence beneath the defensive mechanisms."
"My psychological profile can—"
"Suggest someone who uses anger to mask fear, vulgarity to maintain distance, and rebellion to avoid acknowledging her own desires." He moved again, circling me in the dark. "Tell me, Lilah—may I call you Lilah?—what frightens you more? That you're here, or that part of you is curious about what comes next?"
"I'm not curious about shit except how fast I can get out of here."
"Hmm." The sound was noncommittal, almost thoughtful. "Would you like me to turn the lights on now?"
"Yes." The word came out before I could stop it, followed immediately by: "Please."
Fuck. When had I become someone who said please to her kidnapper?
The lights returned gradually, a slow bloom of pink that made me blink against the brightness. And there he was.
Dr. Gabriel Mire was nothing like I'd pictured. I'd imagined someone older, clinical, maybe wearing a lab coat and thick glasses. Instead, he looked like he'd stepped out of a GQ spread for "Dangerously Attractive Doctors Who Definitely Have Basement Dungeons." Late thirties, maybe early forties. Tall—six-two or three—with the kind of build that suggested he worked out but didn't live at the gym. Dark hair with threads of silver at the temples, styled but not fussy. Clean-shaven jaw that could cut glass. And eyes the color of storm clouds, watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
He wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my car, no tie, top button undone like he was affecting casual. Everything about him screamed control, from his perfect posture to the way he held his hands clasped behind his back.
I hated that my first thought was "fuck, he's hot." Hated it more that he probably knew exactly what I was thinking.
"Better?" He tilted his head, studying me like I was an particularly interesting specimen. "I find darkness tends to escalate situations unnecessarily."
"You know what else escalates situations? Kidnapping people."
"Collecting participants who signed legally binding contracts." He moved to the vanity, leaning against it with casual elegance. "You did read what you signed, didn't you?"
"Fuck you."
"Eventually, perhaps. But not today." The smile that curved his lips was subtle and absolutely infuriating. "Today is about establishing baselines. Understanding each other. Setting expectations."
"My expectation is that you let me go."
"No."
Just that. No explanation, no justification. A simple, flat denial that made my hands curl into fists.
"You can't just—"
"I can, actually. Section 47-B, which you found so amusing during your dramatic reading last night." He pulled out his phone, swiping with manicured fingers. "Ah yes, here's the recording: 'Rights revoked, whatever. Where's my money?' Charming delivery, by the way."
Heat flooded my face. "You were listening?"
"I'm always listening, Lilah. Watching. Documenting. That's what behavioral research requires—constant observation to identify patterns and triggers." He pocketed the phone. "For instance, right now your pupils are dilated, pulse visible at your throat, hands clenched to hide the tremor. Classic fight-or-flight response with arousal indicators."
"I'm not—" The word 'aroused' stuck in my throat like glass.
"Aren't you?" He pushed off from the vanity, taking a step closer. Just one step, but it felt like he'd sucked all the airfrom the room. "Heightened color in your cheeks. Shortened breathing. The way you're pressing your thighs together despite the aggressive stance."
"That's not—I'm not—" I backed up until my legs hit the bed. "Stay away from me."
"I'm exactly where I should be. The question is: are you?" Another step. "You ran for three weeks, Lilah. Hid. Avoided. Made quite a mess of your life in the process. All to avoid something you'd already agreed to. Something you took considerable payment for."
"I didn't know—"
