Beautiful.
The robe she wore suddenly looked tighter on her.
Tighter around her waist.
Tighter across her chest where her breath caught.
She hated that I noticed.
She hated even more that I didn’t say anything.
Instead, I let the moment stretch.
Let it become a noose.
And then?—
I reached for the box she’d tossed across the counter.
The choker.
Black velvet, silver vines.
Delicate. Commanding.
Mine.
I dragged it toward her with one finger. Slow. Deliberate. Like drawing a knife between us.
“Wear it,” I said softly, “or don’t.”
I tilted my head, letting my gaze burn into hers.
“You’ll think about it either way.”
Her breath hitched. Just a little.
Enough.
I picked up my coffee, turned my back on her, and walked away—unhurried, shirtless, calm.
Like I hadn’t just taken her apart with a finger and a whisper.
And behind me?
Silence.
But I knew what I’d left behind:
A woman breathless with fury.
Blazing with shame.
And aching for something she wouldn’t name.
I stepped into the dining nook, the scent of espresso and crêpes still lingering in the air like temptation itself.
Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, delicate and golden, casting lace-like patterns across the table. Beautiful. Peaceful.
