DAPHNE
Throughout the day, the internal struggle wasn't silent. It was a roar that drowned out every logical thought I clung to. I could still feel the phantom weight of Thal’s body on mine, a heavy, ghostly press against my skin that made my breath hitch in the empty elevator.
The ache in my thighs was a constant, throbbing reminder of how he’d dismantled me just hours earlier, tearing down my defenses as easily as he’d torn the silk of my dress. Every time I breathed, I caught the scent of him, sandalwood and expensive sins, clinging to my hair and pores like a brand I couldn’t wash away.
It was more than desire. It was a betrayal that tasted of copper and honey. I thought of Zeno, the man who had kept me from the streets, who had fed and clothed me and treated me as something precious.
Zeno wanted a saint to worship in the glass cathedral he’d built for my cage. He wanted a girl who didn't know the weight ofher own skin. But Thal? Thal wanted a woman who knew exactly how to bleed for him.
Under Zeno, I was a masterpiece to be viewed. Under Thal, I was a weapon to be used. And as the ache between my thighs pulsed, I realized I’d rather be used by a monster than worshiped by a ghost.
The guilt was a jagged blade in my gut, twisting with every step toward that penthouse door. If I turned back now, I could still lie. I could look Zeno in the eye and pretend my soul wasn't already stained by another man's touch. I could remain his "loyal little shadow" and die slowly in the dark.
But I didn't turn back. Returning to this penthouse was a dark compulsion. I was a masochist, walking into the fire just to see if it would finally consume me. I stood before those glass doors, my reflection looking like a stranger’s, harder, hungrier, and terrifyingly alive. I wasn't Zeno’s ward anymore. I was a traitor who had tasted a different master, and God help me, I was starving for more.
“You're ruining yourself, Daphne,” I whispered to my reflection, but my hand was already reaching for the handle.
I was a mistake in the making, and as the door swung open, I realized I didn't want to be saved.
“Daphne, what’s going on? Come in.”
He stepped aside, and I entered.
“I’m fine,” I said, with a dismissive shrug. “Just a little tired. I stayed up very late, if you remember.”
A sexy smirk played on his lips. “Of course, I remember. How could I forget?”
He pulled me close, wrapping me in a warm, protective embrace that immediately comforted me. I leaned into him, craving that sense of comfort and soaking in his warmth.
He shifted back a little, his hands lingering on my waist with a possessive weight that made my breath hitch. He didn't askwhat I wanted. Instead, he looked at me as if he were reading my very soul.
“You need a drink,” he rumbled. “Wait on the terrace. I’ll bring you something that tastes like the trouble you’re in.”
I stepped outside, the desert air cooling the fire Thal had lit in my blood. The sun was drowning beyond the horizon, bleeding gold and violet across the sky, but I couldn't appreciate the view. I was too busy listening for his footsteps, a sound that was becoming the only rhythm I cared about.
He stepped onto the terrace and handed me a chilled glass. The liquid was a deep, bruised crimson, like spilled wine in the twilight.
“Blackberry, infused with a hint of smoke,” he rumbled, his voice a dark caress. “It matches the mood you brought into my foyer. Dark, sharp, and lingering.”
I took a sip, the tartness hitting my tongue, then a slow, dark heat spreading straight to my core. It was sophisticated, lethal, and perfect. “You’re very thorough, Thal.”
He didn't smile. He stepped closer, crowding me against the terrace door until I was forced to look up at him. His thumb grazed the line of my jaw with slow, deliberate pressure.
“I like to know how things work, Daphne. My casinos, my employees, and my women. I don't believe in doing a ‘good’ job. I believe in total immersion.”
The air charged instantly, thick with tension that threatened to snap. We weren't talking about cocktails anymore. He told me he’d studied my body like a map and intended to own every coordinate.
“So, Daphne, what are you thinking? I can tell that look on your face isn’t just from our time together last night.”
I sighed, took another slow sip of my drink, and hesitated, pondering how much of my guarded thoughts I should share. In the end, I decided there was no need to hold back.
“I’ll admit, I’m finding this whole situation pretty tough,” I murmured.
“Because of Zeno?” he prompted.
“Yes, because of Zeno. I owe him my life.”
He tilted his head, studying me with a curious, evaluative look. “Do you? Your entire life? Or just your gratitude? From what I see, he earned it. But claiming you owe him everything about your future? That’s a step too far, Daphne.”
