“And yet…” she whispers, tugging at the thread of my restraint, “…here I am.”
Something violent flickers to life inside me.
Not against her.
Because of her.
She stands there, small but unbroken, trembling but defiant, lying to my face and looking at me like I’m the one losing control.
Because she won’t look away.Because she won’t step aside.Because she refuses to fear me.
Or she’s too reckless to show it.
I lean in, just enough for her breath to brush my lips.
Her fingers twitch at her sides—not pulling me in, but definitely not pushing me away.
“You’re lying,” I murmur.
She doesn’t flinch.Of course she doesn’t.
She tilts her head, eyes narrowing in a way that sends heat rolling low in my stomach.
“Maybe you’re just asking the wrong questions,” she whispers.
Fuck.
That spark — that defiance — that refusal to fold beneath my shadow—
It ignites the piece of me I’ve spent years drowning under holy water and denial.
She knows exactly what she does to me.
And she’s not sorry.
I don’t step back.I don’t move at all.
I simply hold her there—trapped between the wall and the part of me the collar was supposed to kill.
Her breath shakes.Mine does too.
Shadows coil around us, thick and heavy, and for one dangerous moment, the truth is the only thing breathing.
I’m cornering her.
But she’s cornering me right back.
And worst of all—
I don’t want to walk away.
When Restraint Finally Breaks
I shouldn’t touch her.God knows it.I know it.Every carved angel glaring down from these walls knows it.
But none of that matters when she looks at me like that — like she isn’t scared,like she isn’t innocent,like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
Her eyes are a dare.Her breath is a trap.Her body—still angled against the cold stone—pulls me in like gravity is choosing for me, not God.
