Like I’m broken.
Like Kai is a problem.
Like this is a competition and I’m the trophy.
“Noah,” I whisper, voice trembling, “what are you?—”
He smiles wider.
“Don’t worry,” he says softly. “I take care of the things that belong to me.”
Something sharp and cold settles in my ribs.
Something icy and familiar.
Danger.
Real danger.
Then his hand drops from my jaw, sliding down my throat, his thumb tracing the locket one last time before he lets it fall.
“We’re going to have a good week,” he murmurs. “You’re going to forget him.” His eyes flash. “I’ll make sure of it.”
A tremor rips through me.
I swallow hard.
“Noah—”
He steps back.
His voice soft again.
Too soft.
“Go shower,” he says. “You look… unsettled.”
I stare at him, stunned.
Shaking.
He gestures toward the hallway like a man offering directions to a guest rather than someone who just cracked open my entire chest.
“Scarlett.” His tone dips into warning. “You don’t want me to ask twice.”
I turn.
Walk away.
Fast.
Not because I want to but because running from Noah never looks like running.
It looks like obedience.
And as I step into the bathroom — marble walls, rainfall shower, polished gold fixtures — something hits me so hard my knees almost buckle.
Scarlett
