For a moment, I thought I saw something flickering in his gaze, a hint of amusement, a ghost of a smirk.But it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.
“Thinking about what?”he asked, his voice cool, clinical.
I swallowed.“You.”
Creed’s eyes darkened.
“And how I should have trusted you to protect me.”
The truth hung between us, heavy and unspoken for too long.
This time, I didn’t look away.
Creed stared at me, unflinching.Silent.He let the truth stand on its own.Then, without warning, he scooped me into his arms.But this time, his touch wasn’t punishing.It was careful.The contrast unsettled me more than anger would have.
I opened my mouth to explain, to plead, to offer the kind of apology I wasn’t sure would ever be enough.
“Sir, I—”
“Silence.”
The word wasn’t loud.It didn’t need to be.
Creed carried me into the en-suite bathroom, the air thick with steam, curling like soft tendrils of smoke.The scent of lavender filled the space, wrapping around me like a whisper.
Not comfort.
Preparation.
When had he prepared this?
While you were sleeping.
While he was deciding.
My lips parted, but the question never left my mouth because I was already sinking.
Into the water.
Into the moment.
Into the weight of what I’d done.
He lowered me into the bath with a care that sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing through me.His hands lingered only long enough to make sure I was steady.No reassurance.No forgiveness.This was not a man who had washed his hands of me.
Not yet.
The water embraced me, easing the tension in my muscles, soothing the soreness of my body, but doing nothing to quiet the remorse burning low in my chest.
I glanced up at him, my heart hammering, searching for something, anything.
Creed was unmoved.
A wall.A decision still in progress.
Then, just as quickly as he had pulled me into his orbit, he turned and walked away.
“When you’re done,” he said, his voice firm and even, “come down for dinner.”
