My skin tingles, not just from the heat, but from the afterglow.
Holy hell, what was that all about? Fantasizing about him like some desperate Little? He's my captor, for crying out loud. But those hands... that voice...
Urgh, snap out of it, Eddie.
Focus on the plan… escape.Today.
I rinse off quickly, towel dry my hair into something resembling neat, and slip back into my rumpled clothes. No clean ones—another reason to get the hell out.
My darling stuffie Goldie waits on the bed, his golden mane fluffed from where I hugged him too tight. "We're busting out soon, buddy," I whisper, tucking him under my arm.
Okay, I’ve got this. Deep breath.
Act normal. Innocent. Don't let him suspect anything.
Downstairs, the kitchen smells like heaven—toast browning, avocado too by the looks of things. Viktor's at the stove, broad back to me, stirring a pan. He's in a black tee that hugs his muscles, jeans slung low.
But something's different this morning.
Mr. Sexy Asshole isn’t barking orders or glaring like last night. His shoulders are looser, his movements smoother.Calmer. Yes, he’s intense still—always intense—but there's a relaxed vibe humming in the air, like the nightmare storm passed.
I stand as Viktor turns, spots me, and his mouth quirks in a half-smile. "Showered? Good.Sit."
I slide onto a stool at the island, Goldie on my lap.
The table is set just right: bowls of cereal, the healthy kind with dried berries, toast slices golden and buttered, a dish of smashed avocado flecked with herbs and lemon. My stomach growls loud enough to echo. I haven't eaten properly since... well, before the gallery chaos and everything that followed.
"Looks yummy," I say, trying to sound casual.
But am I so eager I could eat ten meals? Hell yes.
I grab a spoon and dive into the cereal, crunching happily…
“Mmmm-hmmm,” I enthuse in between mouthfuls. “I’m so freakin’ hungry.”
Viktor pours fresh orange juice—pulpy, squeezed this morning by the looks—and slides the glass over. As he does, his eyes linger on me a second too long. "Finally figured where I know you from," he says, casual as anything. "Café Collage. You're the juice boy, right? I know you’re not the barista, so you must be the juicer with a side hustle in art."
I nearly choke on a berry.
Play coy, Eddie.
"Uh... what? Me?Nah, must be someone else." I force a laugh, but it sounds fake even to me. My cheeks heat.
Of course he remembers. He’s exactly the kind of man who never forgets a detail. He’s probably a total control freak too. And I know from experience how he doesn’t like anyone deviating from his rules. In other words, he’s a total nightmare.
Viktor arches a brow, not buying it. "The flyer… Eddie Luck. Yeah, it's you."
Busted. It’s pointless denying it.
I sigh, set the spoon down. "Fine. Yeah, I work there. Part-time. Juices and promo pushes."
I shrug like it's no big deal, but inside, wheels turn.
He was there before the gallery? Watching? Coincidence? Or... something more?
Viktor nods, satisfied, and tops off his coffee. "Good place. Strong brew."
Speaking of connections... I sip the OJ—tart and sweet—and muster my best innocent eyes. "Um, about work... Can I message my friend? Robbie. He’s my coworker. He’s totally cool. But it might be a good idea just to say I won't be in today or tomorrow? So no one freaks out or calls the cops or anything." I bat my lashes a bit. "Please? It'll keep things quiet. No suspicious stuff."
