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Cain turned to face me then, and there was not even a flicker of something that could be read as him being offended in his expression. He’d absorbed the words the way footprints should have appeared on his marble floor: without leaving a mark.

“I never said it was kind,” he replied. His voice was even and didn’t betray how he actually felt. “I said you’ll have your own room.”

“That’s practically the same thing coming from you.”

The corner of his lips moved, but it didn’t end up forming a smile. “You’re tired. I’d suggest you see the room before you decide how much you hate it.”

He didn’t wait for me to agree. Instead, he turned and walked deeper into the penthouse, I assume expecting me to trail behind him once more. I followed because the alternative was standing alone in a room with a man whose job was to make sure I didn’t leave it.

The hallway he led me down was wide enough for three people to walk side-by-side, lined with more art I didn’t bother pretending to understand. I found another camera tucked into the corner as we walked by it. That meant there were at least three cameras watching this place, but I assumed there were more I couldn’t see. It wouldn’t be remotely surprising because this was all created by the infuriating man in front of me.

Cain stopped at a door near the end of the hall and opened it without another thought.

“This is yours,” he said, and stepped back to let me enter the room first.

I moved inside because refusing would have been a waste of energy I couldn’t spare. He was right once again and I hated that he was. The adrenaline was wearing off and my tiredness was becoming more apparent. But that didn’t stop me from taking in the space.

The room was exactly what I should have expected and somehow worse than anything I had been thinking it could be. It was beautiful and designed in a way that fit decor choices that were a part of my style.

A king-size bed sat against the far wall and was made up with linens in the exact shade of off-white I would have chosen for myself if I’d been given the choice. There was a chair in the corner that looked soft enough to disappear into, located near a window I knew better than to mistake for an exit. A desk was positioned against one wall while I found a dresser sitting in front of another. There were some doors that I could only assume led to a closet and a bathroom.

It was lovely and exactly the kind of room I would have designed for myself if I had millions of dollars and an interior designer at my disposal.

That was the problem.

I told myself it was a coincidence because thinking it wasn’t would make me spiral. A man like Cain had a type, and his type happened to overlap with mine in the matter of bed linens. People liked the same things all the time so it didn’t mean anything.

Then something about the dresser drew me to it and I followed that instinct. I walked over to the piece of furniture and noticed the top drawer was slightly open. Without asking or waiting for permission, I pulled the drawer further out to inspect the contents. Inside, I found clothes folded, which was to be expected. It wasn’t until I pulled one of the shirts free that I noticed it was one of my favorite brands. I held the piece of fabric up and my eyes widened in shock that I couldn’t contain. The shirt was my size.

I knew I shouldn’t be surprised due to him having a gown custom-made for me, but my brain couldn’t register it. I dropped the shirt and shut the drawer harder than intended, making myself jump slightly in the process.

I immediately shifted my gaze to Cain and noticed the sound didn’t startle him at all. He just stood in the doorway with his hands at his sides, watching me discover the room the way a man watches a stock he’s already bought climb in value. The satisfaction was evident on his face.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

8

SUTTON

Cain didn’t look shocked by my outburst. He studied me for several seconds before releasing a small sigh. He waited another beat after that before he responded to me. “You don’t like the shirt.”

“I like the shirt fine because it’s one of my favorite brands. That’s the problem and you know it.”

He tilted his head slightly, as if I’d said something somewhat interesting rather than the accusation that was sitting just underneath my comment. “I had your sizes. The brands took an afternoon. There’s a whole lot more that you haven’t discovered yet.”

The way he said it, there’s a whole lot more that you haven’t discovered yet, made goosebumps appear on my skin. Like he was inviting me on a treasure hunt of fuckery because who knows what I would find. As if I should be delighted to discover how messed up this whole situation was.

I didn’t bother with the other drawers yet. Instead, I went to the desk on the other side of the room and found a notebook sitting on the right-hand side. It was the exact kind I bought in bulk and beside it lay a few pens. I didn’t have to pick them up to know the brand. I’d been using the same fine-tip rollerball for years because everything else bled through or I just didn’t like the grip. There was also a bag of coffee on the left-hand side of the desk. However, it wasn’t just any coffee. The single-origin Ethiopian roast I ordered from a small shop in Georgetown that I wasn’t sure if they even shipped outside of the DMV.

And he had it here, in his penthouse in Manhattan. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

My hand hovered over the bag of coffee but I didn’t pick it up. I refused to touch it because touching it would make it real in a way I wasn’t ready to process yet. This was a man who knew my favorite brands, my pens, my coffee from a shop that barely shipped past the Beltway, who had hunted me down and kidnapped me. And I was supposed to just accept this?

“You had someone follow me to a coffee shop in Georgetown,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

“I had someone learn what you drink.” He stayed in the doorway. “There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” I turned to face him. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve spent God knows how long following me. The shirts. The pens. The coffee. You think this proves something.”