“I can’t…”
“I can’t marry him?—”
A floorboard creaks behind me.
I freeze.
Every hair on my body rises in a slow, electric shiver.
I don’t turn.
I don’t breathe.
My pulse slams once—twice—painfully—before a hand slides over my eyes.
Soft fabric.
Dark.
A blindfold.
I choke on a gasp, hands flying upward, but strong fingers capture my wrists, guiding them down with slow, deliberate force that steals the fight from my muscles before it ever reaches the surface.
“Noah—” His name leaves my mouth in a single trembling exhale.
Of course he followed me.
Of course he didn’t leave me alone.
Of course he’d punish me for the way I walked away from that table like my ribs were full of glass.
The blindfold settles over my eyes completely, shutting out the dim lamp glow, the ocean shimmer, the villa glare — every colour, every shape, vanished into velvet-black.
My breath rushes out in a shaky, strangled sound.
His hands — cup my jaw, fingers spreading across my cheeks, holding me still, holding me exactly where he wants me.
The darkness amplifies everything.
His breath.
My own heartbeat.
The tiny, soft shift of air as he adjusts his grip.
I whisper, “Noah… please… don’t?—”
Not because I don’t want him to touch me.
Because I don’t want to be blind.
Because I don’t want to be helpless.
Because tonight feels wrong.
Too wrong.
More wrong than usual.
