My laughter fades, reality crashing back. "That's exactly what I'm worried about, Scar. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this."
"Not like what?" she asks, her voice gentling.
I sink deeper into the bed, running my fingers through my hair. "I thought I was just getting closer to him for the mission, you know? Playing my part." I close my eyes, remembering his touch, how he looked at me. "But now everything's messed up."
"How so?" Scarlett asks gently.
"My training for revenge never included this scenario," I say, voice dropping to a whisper. "Byron never mentioned what to do when a monster treats you like you're the most important thing in the world."
"What do you mean?"
I stare at the ceiling, struggling to put words to the turmoil inside me. "When he touches me, it's like... hesees me. Not Byron's creation, not some weapon—just me. And I don't know how to handle that."
The silence stretches between us before Scarlett clears her throat. "Maybe he's just manipulating you too."
"Maybe." But the memory of Damiano's nightmare, his vulnerability when he asked me to stay, doesn't feel like manipulation. "It's just... complicated."
"So back to my original question," Scarlett says, shifting to a lighter tone. "How was it?"
A smile tugs at my lips despite myself. "It was... more than good." I can't help the playfulness that creeps into my voice, remembering the intensity, the way my body responded to his. "Like, way more than good."
"Oh my god, I need details?—"
"Gotta go," I cut her off quickly, not ready to examine those memories too closely. "Someone's coming."
"Don't you dare hang up on me?—"
I end the call before she can finish, tossing my phone onto the bed. There's no one coming—I just need space to think.
I press my palms against my eyes, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions. Hate and desire. Revenge and connection. The mission and... whatever happened last night.
Byron's voice echoes in my head: "Remember what he took from you."
CHAPTER TWENTY
The meeting with Enzo drags on longer than expected. Security protocols for Chicago, contingency plans, risk assessments.
By the time I make it back to my room, my shoulders ache with tension. I loosen my tie as I push the door open, then freeze.
Zoe lies sprawled across my bed, belly down with a book propped on her elbows. Her ass is raised slightly, her long legs bent at the knees, bare feet crossed in the air. She's wearing nothing but one of my dress shirts, the fabric riding up to reveal a glimpse of black lace underneath.
My cock hardens instantly.
"Make yourself comfortable, why don't you?" I say,my voice rougher than intended.
She glances over her shoulder, those green eyes flickering with mischief. "I took your invitation to heart." She turns a page, pretending to return to her reading. "Your bed's more comfortable than mine."
I close the door behind me, eyes never leaving her form. The sight of her in my shirt, is sexy as hell.
Mine.
"What are you reading?" I ask, shrugging off my jacket and draping it over a chair.
"The Art of War." She smirks. "Still studying my enemy."
I approach slowly, like a predator stalking prey. "And what have you learned about your enemy today?"
Her gaze travels over me, lingering where my erection strains against my pants. "That he might have vulnerabilities I can exploit."
