My thumbs move before I can stop them.
Me: You think money fixes everything?
Three dots appear almost instantly.
Diablo: No.
Another message follows.
Diablo: But I won’t let you live like that again.
My chest tightens.
Live like what.
Like I did without you?
Or like I did because of you?
I walk into the bedroom and stare at the new clothes hanging inside the closet.
Silk.
Satin.
Sharp lines and soft curves.
He knows my size.
Of course he does.
He has memorized every inch.
And the thought makes heat flicker low in my belly, hot and humiliating. My body remembers his hands like they left fingerprints under my skin.
My phone buzzes again.
Diablo: You don’t belong in that apartment.
My jaw tightens.
Me: I don’t belong locked in your clubhouse like a secret either.
The typing dots appear.
Disappear.
Appear again.
Diablo: That’s not what I meant.
I throw the phone onto the bed and start pacing.
This is manipulation.
This is control wrapped in expensive packaging.
This is exactly the kind of move a powerful man makes when he does not want to lose something.
