Mine.
I should refuse, remind him that I’m nothis, that I’m still planning to escape, that this is all temporary. But as his hand moves higher, my body arches into his touch with no input from my mind.
The words tumble out before I can stop them.
“I’m yours.”
“Again.”
“I’m yours, Gabriel.”
“Brava ragazza.” I gasp when his fingers find the edge of my panties. “And when we get home, I’m going to spend the rest of the night proving it.”
The drive is short, and soon the car is pulling through the gates of the mansion.
I’m trembling. Aching. Terrified. All because I know, deep in my bones, in a way I can’t deny anymore, that this isn’t just about survival. It isn’t just about playing along until I can escape.
It’s real.
Whatever’s happening between us, I can’t write it off as delusion or Stockholm syndrome.
It’s real.
And I’m falling into it—fast.
The town car pulls up the circular drive. Gabriel looks at me, his eyes burning.
“Last chance, Thea,” he says. “If you want me to walk away, to let you go back to your room, tell me now. But if you come upstairs with me…”
“I know.” The words come out in a soft whisper.
“Do you?”
I meet his gaze.
“I know this is insane. I know I should say no. I know… that this is wrong.”
“But.” He says the word through a hungry, knowing grin.
“But I can’t help it.”
He reaches over and cups my face with one hand.
“That makes two of us. Stop fighting it. Stop thinking. Justfeel.”
I take a slow breath.
“I’m scared.
“I know.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“I know that, too.”
“But I want you anyway.”
His smile is dark. And a little triumphant.
