I smiled.
She murmured something, low and thick with sleep. A name. Maybe mine.
I didn’t care what it was.
I leaned in, close enough to breathe her in. Lavender, silk, and something warm beneath it all—her. That scent that stuck to my lungs like smoke and made the rest of the world vanish.
She hated me. And yet I haunted her even here.
That thought did things to me. Terrible, possessive things.
I could take her now. Slip into bed behind her, wrap a hand around her waist, and see what she did when dreams met reality. But I didn’t move. Not yet.
I didn’t want reaction.
I wanted submission.
Willing. Slow. Inescapable.
This—this stolen breath before sunrise—was mine. A flicker of peace in the middle of the storm I built around her.
She would wake soon. And when she did, her eyes would sharpen, and her tongue would sharpen more.
But for now?
I watched.
And reveled in the silence. In her helplessness. In this moment that didn’t belong to her at all.
I reached into my jacket, pulled out the velvet box, and placed it beside her pillow.
The choker inside was elegant. Delicate. Black velvet, thin as breath, with silver vines etched along the edge—a collar she’d wear like jewelry. One day, she’d fasten it herself.
But not today.
Today, I’d let her find it. Let her stare at it. Let her wonder what it meant.
Because she’d already worn my robe.
She wore my name.
And when she finally understood what she’d become?
It would already be too late.
I didn’t leave a note.
The silence spoke for me—louder than any pen ever could. Heavy. Intentional. The kind that wrapped itself around the throat and whispered you belong to me now.
One last look at her sleeping form.
She was still tangled in the robe I’d placed over her the night before. One bare leg peeked from beneath the silk, the hem twisted around her hips like even the fabric was reluctant to let her go.
Her chest rose and fell slowly, lips parted in unconscious surrender. She looked peaceful. Naïve. Like she had no idea what storm waited for her the second her eyes opened.
Let her rest. It’ll be the last morning that feels like hers.
And then I left.
