“Unlike you, Enrico,” I said, “I’m excellent at pretending.”
His eyes pinned me.
“Are you?” he asked. “Then why is your chest rising and falling like you just ran a marathon?”
I swallowed, irritation flaring.
“Maybe it’s disgust,” I shot back, voice low and steady. “I tend to react that way around certain creatures.”
He gave a quiet laugh—short, dangerously amused—never taking his eyes off me.
“And yet,” he said slowly, gaze dragging over my face, “you didn’t leave the room. You didn’t tell me to get out.”
“Because I don’t need to prove anything to you.”
“Of course not,” he said, voice dripping with irony. “You only need to keep pretending you don’t feel anything.”
Silence settled between us like a dare.
Neither of us gave. Neither of us moved.
For a fraction of a second, his gaze dropped to my mouth.
Less than a heartbeat.
But I saw it.
And I saw the moment he realized I saw it.
“Good night, Valentina,” he said finally, a cynical smile playing at his lips.
He turned toward the door with deliberate calm, fingers closing around the handle with slow provocation. And before he stepped out, he glanced over his shoulder and said:
“Lock that door. I don’t plan on staying this controlled forever.”
He left.
The door shut softly behind him, but his warning stayed suspended in the air like smoke.
I stood exactly where I was, staring at the wood, my heart hammering too fast.
And in a silent, deliberate act of defiance—
I didn’t lock it.
The quiet returned.
But the heat he left behind clung to my skin, lingering in the room like a cursed perfume.
I stared at the door.
Breathed in.
Then, like a woman split in two, I crossed the room and turned the lock.
Click.
My chest eased for half a second.
