Page 12 of Safe Word

He could hurt me. Those scars on his body were not from a gentle past.

But…

He’d made sure I was in control the entire time.

If he’d torn me open, something told me he could’ve put me back together just as well.

I tapped ‘Yes’.

And my heart misfired from that leap – from taking that risk.

Not because he thrilled me – and he did – but because he saw the line, traced it, but never crossed it.

Because he wasn’t just a man.

He was my reckoning, and I wanted to face him again.

THREE

I stared at the black wig and the black mask I had carefully positioned on the dummy in my walk-in wardrobe. They stared back at me with the charged truth of what they represented.

Last night had been everything I didn’t know I needed – an unravelling, a temporary release, a breath of life into my dead lungs. I hadn’t expected it to affect me this deeply. Just days ago, the thought of stepping into that world, into Obsidian, had terrified me. I was convinced it would only dig deeper scars into wounds that still bled in streams.

But then I saw Ghost’s profile picture on the platform. It didn’t even reveal much – just the dark mask and the subtle curve of his jaw – but it stopped me in my tracks. There was something about him, something that pulled me in, and I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. I had taken the plunge, stepping into a world that promised anonymity and control but delivered something far more profound. And now, standing here in the light of day, I was so fucking glad I had gone.

Some part of me had frozen over the day I’d left the States, always waiting for Travis to find me – for a knock, a shadow, a message. But last night…

Last night I had finally exhaled.

For the first time in years, I’d slept without the weight of Travis’ spectre haunting me. Ghost hadn’t just touched my body; he’d reached into the darkest corners of my mind, scattering the shadows my ex had left behind. Even an ocean away, I hadn’t been able to escape him – until now.

Travis’ knife had been a weapon, carving fear into my very soul. But Ghost’s was different. Every careful graze of steel against my skin was tempered by his voice, his steady reminders of the safe words. He gave me control, praised me when I took the leap. And in his gaze – hungry and reverent in equal parts – I felt seen. As though he’d stripped away every remnant of fear and replaced it with something raw that liberated me.

I would have given him more if the contract had allowed. A part of me resented those rules, those barriers that kept us from crossing the line. But maybe it was for the best. The control, the restraint – it made me feel safe in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

Because safety wasn’t a luxury for women like me. We existed in the cracks between vigilance and calculation. Ghost, in his paradox of danger and discipline, peeled off that first layer and made me believe I could have it again – that safety.

For the first time, all memories of Travis faded into nothing. Ghost had done what I thought impossible – he had done me a miracle in that short space of time. Not just dampened the past, but also brought back the parts of myself I had hidden away. And now, the thought of seeing him again felt less like a desire and more like a need.

He wasn’t just a man I’d seen one night. He was a mirror, reflecting the parts of me I had forsaken – the desire to let go, to surrender. For one night, he had been both captor and liberator – a contradiction that still left me thirsty.

I firmly shut the sliding wardrobe door, sealing Scarlett away for two days.

I was Paula again; the author of horror romance, piecing her life back together one uncertain step at a time.

Two job interviews loomed ahead, neither of which I was looking forward to – but I needed the money. Ghost had freed me temporarily from Travis, but freedom didn’t pay for roofs or peace. If I ever wanted to own my space, my body, and my story, I needed to claw it back inch by inch, with my own hands – and a goddamn CV, as it turned out.

The thought of going back to work after five years of only writing felt daunting. Back in the States, my life had been consumed by survival. Here in Italy, it had been consumed by avoidance. And now? Now, I was left grasping for a future I wasn’t sure how to build.

I sighed, brushing a hand through my blonde hair as I prepared to face the day.

I was genuinely thrilled I’d forced myself to go to the hairdresser and rejoin the ranks of the vaguely human. Hermit life had its perks – a semblance of safety, solitude, freedom from surprises. But it did absolutely fuck all for my appearance.

I stopped that thought where it sprouted – first coffee.

Giuliano’s café was my morning ritual – a small comfort in a sea of uncertainties. Today was no different, except for the fact that Ghost lingered in the back of my mind.

He could be anyone – a businessman, a criminal, maybe even a man of faith with secrets tucked into a collar.