A command.
Not a kindness.
The door closed softly behind him.The sound landed heavier than a shout.I sank lower into the bath, the warmth doing little to quiet the chaos inside me.
You don’t deserve this.
Not the care.
Not the structure.
Not the restraint.
Creed had pulled me out of Marco Vincenzo’s nightmare.Had given me safety.Freedom.A future.And I had repaid him with doubt.With secrecy.With fear disguised as protection.The guilt cut deep, sharp, and unrelenting.
I closed my eyes, breathing through the weight pressing down on my chest.
This wasn’t mercy.It was an opportunity.And if this was my last chance...I would not fail again.
* * *
THE HOUSE WAS SILENT, but not in the way that felt empty.
It was the kind of silence that paid attention...that noticed movement...that remembered.
When I emerged from the bath, the clothes I had worn earlier were gone.In their place, a neatly folded T-shirt rested on the bed, a bottle of water beside it.
I stopped short.
It was such a small thing.Such ordinary kindness.And that was what made it dangerous.
Creed had done this.Not to comfort me.To prepare me.
The thought tightened my throat, emotion pressing hard against restraint.I slid the soft fabric over my damp skin, my fingers lingering at the hem, grounding myself in its weight.The oversized shirt smelled like him, familiarity edged with warning.
The cold floor bit at my bare feet as I moved into the hallway.My stomach twisted with hunger, but it wasn’t just food I needed.
I needed orientation.
Something to tell me where I stood.
I followed the sound of running water.Creed stood at the sink, his back to me, rinsing a plate with methodical care.He wore a black T-shirt, sleeves fitted close to his arms, and jeans low on his hips.Casual, but nothing about him felt relaxed.
Even here, even now, he was contained.
He didn’t turn.
“Have a seat.”
The words were even.Neutral.
No invitation.Instruction.
I moved toward the stool, then stopped.A donut pillow rested neatly on the seat.
My breath caught.
He had noticed.
