Dark hair styled precisely.
Strong jaw.
Features that look like they were carved rather than born.
And he's looking at me like?—
Like he already owns me.
Not the way Elder Jacob looked at me, with religious entitlement and the surety of God's approval.
Not the way the other men in this room are looking at me, with calculation and assessment and lust.
He's looking at me like he's found something he's been searching for.
Like he's finally, finally found it.
Like I'm the answer to a question he's been asking his entire life.
And it terrifies me.
I should look away.
Should drop my gaze.
Should finish my turn and stare at the floor like a good, compliant acquisition.
But I can't.
I'm frozen.
Mid-turn.
Staring back at him.
For a moment—just a moment—something passes between us.
Recognition.
Not like we've met before.
Like something deeper.
Like he sees past the white dress and the virgin label and the catalog listing.
Like he seesme.
The girl who ran.
The girl who survived.
The girl who's still fighting even when fighting seems impossible.
And I see him too.
See the hunger in those ice-blue eyes.
See the absolute control in the way he sits, perfectly still while everyone else shifts and whispers.
