And even if they did.
Kai is out.
Kai is free.
Kai is coming.
And I don’t know if my fear is from Noah’s hand or the shadow waiting in the jungle just beyond the resort lights.
A sudden thud echoes from behind me — the bathroom door opening.
I stiffen so hard my ribs ache.
Footsteps.
Slow, measured.
Bare on the tile.
“Scarlett.”
My name drops like a coin into cold water.
I turn.
Noah stands there with a towel around his waist, droplets clinging to his chest, slicking down the carved lines of his abdomen. A man sculpted out of money and discipline and terrifying self-control.
His hair is damp.
His expression unreadable.
He looks at me for a long moment — too long — as though deciding which version of himself to use.
“Come here,” he says.
Not a request.
Not even a command disguised as one.
Just a simple, unshakeable expectation.
I force my feet to move.
He reaches out, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth in a gesture that would appear tender to any outside observer.
But it’s not tender.
It’s surveillance.
He’s checking for a reaction.
Checking for guilt.
Checking for weakness.
Checking which parts of me he still owns.
“You’re pale,” he murmurs, tilting my chin up. “You look… unwell.”
