At me.
And in that gaze, something shifted. Interest turning into investment.
Then he stepped back.
Just one step.
And the absence of his heat hit harder than any touch.
“You should call your mother,” he said evenly.
The strategic withdrawal was unmistakable.
He wasn’t conceding.
He was repositioning.
And the fact that he refused to escalate—to overpower my move with a stronger one—told me more than dominance ever could.
This wasn’t a game to him.
It was a study.
A slow, deliberate unfolding.
As I picked up my phone, my pulse still humming from the exchange, I understood something that unsettled me more than any threat could have.
Flipping the script wasn’t about taking control from him.
It was about refusing to relinquish mine.
And the truth that pressed against my ribs as I scrolled to my mother’s name was sharper, more dangerous than I wanted to admit.
I didn’t want to escape the hunter.
I wanted to see if I could make him choose me. And something in his eyes told me?—
He already had.
Good.
My mother’s name glowed on the screen.
For a moment, my thumb hovered above it, suspended in that fragile space between action and avoidance. I was aware of him behind me—close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body, far enough that he wasn’t touching me.
The quiet between us felt different now. Less combative. More charged. Like something had shifted its footing but not yet declared itself.
I pressed call.
The line rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then she answered.
“Lia.”
