“What’s with you today?” Acting like I care, but I don’t do I?
“I’m waiting for something.” He mumbles.
“So am I.” I mutter. He turns away from the window and glares in my direction.
“Now, what would you be waiting for?” He makes a hum in the back of his throat.
“You to let me go.”
His jaw clenches, and for a brief moment, I see something flicker in his eyes—something dark and unyielding. He crosses the room, each step slow, deliberate, the kind of pace that reminds me he’s in complete control here, that he cantake his time.
He stops just in front of me, his gaze cold and assessing as it trails over me, making me feel exposed despite the distance. “Let you go?” he repeats, voice dripping with disbelief. “You think that’s a choice I’m going to give you?”
A spark of defiance rises in me, even though I know it’s probably useless. “One way or another, Ashton, I will get out of here.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, but there’s no humor in it. He leans in, bringing his face close to mine, close enough that I can feel his breath, smell the faint hint of cologne laced with something darker. “You’re free to try, Dove. But I guarantee you won’t get very far. Because, whether you accept it or not, you belong to me now. I decide when, where, and how this ends.”
The weight of his words settles over me like a shroud, thick and inescapable. I hold his gaze, trying not to let him see the flicker of fear in my eyes. I won’t give him that satisfaction.
“What are you waiting for, Ashton?” I ask, my voice softer now, a tinge of resignation creeping in.
His eyes narrow, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable, though I can’t imagine why. He’s quick to smother it, turning away and returning to the window, but his shoulders are tense, the air between us thick with words left unspoken.
“Trust me, Dove,” he says quietly, “you don’t want to know.”
The room feels too small. The air is thick with something between anticipation and a dread I can’t shake. Ashton’s presence is all-encompassing, the darkness in his gaze almost tangible, a weight that presses against me from all sides.
He doesn’t say a word as he crosses the room toward me, each step deliberate, slow. I can feel the tension in the air,thickening with every inch as he closes the distance. My heart picks up its pace, the beat frantic in my chest, as though it knows exactly what’s coming.
When he’s just inches away, I tilt my chin up, trying to meet his gaze, but it’s impossible. There’s something about the way he looks at me that makes every breath feel like an intrusion, every move I make a dangerous mistake.
“Do you know what I’m waiting for, Dove?” His voice is low, jagged, a dangerous hum in the back of his throat. I don’t answer—there’s nothing to say. His eyes roam over me, cold and calculating, like he’s weighing a decision I won’t like.
He finally steps closer, the heat of him burning through the space between us. His hand, long and sure, comes up to my face, fingers brushing just lightly over my jaw, as though testing my reaction, seeing if I’ll flinch. I don’t. But the pulse of fear under my skin makes it hard to think.
“You think you have a choice?” His voice drops an octave, each word deliberate, soaked in dark promise. “You think I care what you want?”
I swallow hard, my throat dry. The air tastes like smoke, like the kind of fire that burns everything, leaving nothing behind. I hate how his touch makes me feel—like I should pull away, but I can’t.
“Maybe I want to leave,” I say, my voice steady, even as my hands tremble behind my back.
He smiles then, the kind of smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t get to choose that, Dove.”
Before I can react, his hand is gripping my wrist, pulling me forward with such force that I have no choice but to go, stumbling in his wake. I want to fight, but something in the way he’s looking at me—possessive, hungry, like I’m his to break—makes me hesitate. Makes me want to give in, just for a second.
He pulls me close, his lips brushing my ear. “You’re not going anywhere, little bird. Not without me.”
The words cut through me, the chill of them sinking deep into my bones. My breath hitches, caught between the dangerous pull of him and the trembling terror that has started to settle in my chest.
I try to speak, to find some control, but his thumb presses against the pulse point on my neck, just hard enough to send an electric current shooting down my spine. I freeze, the world narrowing down to his touch, to the weight of his hand on me.
His voice is soft now, dangerous, like a whisper in a storm. “You won’t escape me, Dove. You can try, but you’ll never be free of me.”
I want to shout, to scream, to fight. But instead, all I can do is stare into his eyes, knowing it’s already too late. Whatever game we’re playing, he’s already won.
And somehow, despite every warning bell in my mind, I feel the pull of him. The darkness in his gaze. The promise of a world where I’m his and his alone.
And I hate myself for it.
