"You bugged my house."
"I ensured I had access to your environment," he corrects. "Surveillance is a standard protocol when acquiring a high-value asset."
"I am not an asset!" I shout, throwing the MP3 player at him. He catches it. One hand. Mid-air. Effortless. He looks at the device, then places it gently on the table.
"You aremyasset now," he says, walking toward me. "And you are upset. Your heart rate is visible in your neck."
"You're a stalker. You're a pervert."
"I am a man who saw something precious being thrown in the trash," he growls, closing the distance. "Do you think I enjoyed listening to you cry, Elodie? Do you think I enjoyed hearing your father call you worthless?"
"You didn't stop it!"
"I stopped ittoday!" he roars, his composure cracking for the first time. He slams his hand against the wall beside my head, caging me. "I stopped it when I took you. I stopped it when I erased you from their lives. They can never hurt you again. OnlyIcan hurt you now."
The silence that follows is electric. We are breathing heavily, chests heaving, inches apart. His eyes are wild, swirling with that silver fire. "Only I," he whispers, leaning in. "And I don't break my toys, Elodie. I fix them."
"By recording them?" I challenge, refusing to look away. "By spying on them?"
"By knowing them," he says. He lifts his hand and traces the line of my jaw with his thumb. "I know you better than you know yourself. I know that you skip the third measure of the second movement when you are tired. I know you hum when you read. I know you sleep on your left side."
He leans closer. "And I know that right now, you aren't just scared. You're relieved."
"I am not—"
"Liar," he cuts in. "You're relieved that someone finally saw you. You spent your whole life screaming in a soundproof room, and I am the only one who heard."
Tears prick my eyes. I hate him for being right. I hate him for twisting my trauma into a bond. "That doesn't make you a hero," I whisper.
"I never claimed to be a hero," he murmurs, his lips brushing my forehead. "Heroes follow rules. Heroes save everyone. I only save what I want to keep."
He steps back, releasing me from the cage of his body. "Eat your dinner. You need the iron."
He walks toward the bathroom door. "Where are you going?" I ask.
"To shower," he says over his shoulder. "It’s been a long day. And then, we sleep."
"We?" My stomach drops.
He stops and turns. A wicked smirk plays on his lips. "You didn't think I was going to sleep on the couch in my own suite, did you?"
"I’m not sleeping in a bed with you."
"The bed is King Size," he says. "Plenty of room. Unless you prefer the floor. But the floor is cold, Elodie. And you are already shivering."
He disappears into the bathroom. I hear the water turn on.
I look at the steak on the table. I look at the massive bed with its dark grey silk sheets. I look at the MP3 player.
He watched me.He waited for me.He saved me.
The thoughts swirl in a toxic kaleidoscope. I sit down at the table. I pick up the knife and fork. I cut into the meat. It is rare. Bloody. I eat.
I eat because I need strength. But mostly, I eat because for the first time in my life, I don't have to wonder if anyone is paying attention. I know the answer. The Monster is always watching.
By the time he comes out of the bathroom, I have finished the steak. He is wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a black t-shirt. His hair is wet. He looks dangerously domestic. He smells of soap and mint.
"Good," he says, noting the empty plate. "Progress."
