The terror that floods through me is visceral, primal. This man—because it has to be a man, has to be the person leaving me roses and moving my books—has access to my most private memories. Things I've never shared with anyone.
He's not just watching me now. He's excavated my past, dug into my grief, found the tender places where Alex still lives.
I should be screaming. Should be running. Should be calling every police department in the city.
But I'm crying instead. Crying and holding this impossible book and feeling something crack open in my chest. Because beneath the fear, there's something else. Something I don't want to name but can't deny.
Someone knows. Someone sees. Someone understands the parts of myself I keep hidden from the world.
I think of the stranger at the gallery, his dark eyes stripping me bare but somehow making me feel whole.
I think of the black rose in the poetry section, beautiful and impossible.
I think of my note—"You have my attention"—and wonder what I've invited into my life.
Whoever he is, he knows me. Really knows me. Sees me in ways no one has since my family died.
And God help me, there's a part of me—small, reckless, desperately lonely—that wants to know him too.
Chapter 8 - Nathan
I take a sip of sparkling water as I scroll through yet another boutique site. This one specializes in restraints—leather cuffs lined with silk, suspension systems that can be mounted to ceilings, spreader bars in various lengths.
I add several items to my cart.
Eve will be here soon. In my home. In my bed. And I need everything to be perfect for her arrival.
I click to another tab—a more exclusive site that requires membership and discretion agreements. The selection here is more refined. A leather flogger with soft falls, designed for sensation rather than pain. Silk blindfolds. A remote-controlled vibrator that I can operate from across the room.
The thought of Eve wearing it, responding to my touch even when I'm not physically near her, makes my cock harden.
I add it to the cart.
Another tab. This site focuses on furniture. I've already ordered the custom bed frame for what I'm calling the Dungeon—a space I'm preparing in the penthouse specifically for when she needs to surrender completely. But there are other pieces worth considering.
A leather bench, perfectly positioned for restraint and access. A massage table that can be adjusted to various angles. A chair with built-in attachment points.
I bookmark several options to review later.
My phone buzzes with a delivery notification. The previous order has arrived—high-end lingerie from a Parisian boutique. Silk and lace in jewel tones that will look stunning against her skin. I specified her exact measurements,information I've gathered from observing her clothing choices over the years.
She doesn't know I know her body this intimately. She will soon.
I return to the laptop and pull up one final site—this one for more advanced items. A violet wand for electrical play. Various textures of paddles. Nipple clamps connected by delicate chains.
Not yet, I decide. These can wait until she's more comfortable with submission. Until she understands that pain can be pleasure when administered by someone who worships her.
I close the laptop and lean back in my chair, my mind already cataloging where everything will go. The custom armoire I had built will hold most of it, organized and accessible. The Dungeon will house the more intensive equipment.
Everything in its place. Everything perfect for her.
My queen deserves nothing less.
The soft knock on my office door pulls me from my thoughts.
"Mr. Hale?" Maria's voice is hesitant. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but I wanted to let you know I've finished with the guest rooms."
I glance up, mildly irritated by the interruption, then catch myself. Maria has been my housekeeper for three years. She's efficient, discreet, and I've probably spoken fewer than a hundred words to her in all that time.
