He turned from the door like a man waking from a spell—one he hadn't realized was already stitched into his bones.
Smart boy.
But not smart enough.
The house didn't trap him. It opened to him. That was far more dangerous.
He looked at me now with suspicion tangled in the lines around his eyes, the stiffness in his jaw. There was a line drawn tight between us, one neither of us had quite stepped over yet.
I smiled.
Not cruelly.
Not kindly.
Just... knowingly.
"You want out?" I asked, voice low, velveted with a softness I didn't feel. "I can give you that."
His knuckles curled slightly around the crowbar in his coat. "Then open the door."
"It's already open." I stepped closer, barefoot on marble, silk whispering at my ankles. "But you know how this works, Cassian. Nothing's ever really free."
He didn't speak.
Didn't flinch.
So I continued.
"I'll make you a deal."
His throat bobbed. "What kind?"
"The kind you understand."
I circled him slowly. The house quieted around us. Even the fire in the next room flickered smaller, listening.
"I let you walk away," I said. "Not empty-handed. I'll give you something worth taking—jewels, antiques, whatever catches your eye. Enough to settle your debts, take care of the girl."
His head snapped toward me. "You don't know anything about her."
"No," I said gently. "I do."
He didn't like that.
Didn't like feeling seen.
But he didn't deny it either.
I stopped in front of him, close enough to feel the heat between us. "One night. With me."
He stared.
Expression unreadable.
My smile curved a little sharper. "No tricks. No chains. You give me your body, I give you freedom. And valuables. You walk out the door richer than you came in."
His laugh was bitter. "You don't even know me."
I let my gaze wander over him—his bruised jaw, the scar near his brow, the weight of too many nights spent carrying too much for people who never saw it.
"Oh, but I do," I murmured. "You think desperation makes you invisible. But it only makes you shine."
He looked away, jaw tight. I could see the fight behind his eyes. The anger. The doubt. The fire.
It made me ache a little.
Not from hunger.
From memory.
"I'm not a whore," he said quietly.
"And I'm not your captor," I answered. "But here we are."
His lips parted. Like he wanted to say something cruel.
But his eyes dipped to my mouth instead.
Just for a second.
And I knew then—
He wasn't afraid of me.
He was afraid of what he wanted.
"The door stays open till dawn," I said. "After that... it shuts."
"For how long?"
I tilted my head.
"Forever."
-----------------------------------------------------------
I didn't leave.
I didn't say yes.
But I didn't leave.
And that said more than I wanted it to.
The door stood behind me—still open. Still real. And yet... my feet wouldn't move. My body refused to listen. Like the house had sunk into my bones the moment I stepped inside.
I sat.
Not on some gilded chair or antique fainting couch.
Just the edge of the fireplace hearth, palms planted on cool stone, trying not to look at her.
Trying harder not to want to.
She hadn't moved.
Still standing in the center of the room, framed by gold light and centuries of silence. That black silk dress fit like it had been sewn from shadow and smoke, clinging to her curves with no shame, no apology.
She looked like power dressed in patience. Like every slow-burning, forbidden thought I'd ever shoved down and locked behind my ribs.
And I hated that it was working.
Hated that I was thinking about it.
Because I'd done worse for money. Lied, stolen, cheated men who deserved it and some who didn't. But this... this was different.
This was personal.
She wasn't begging.
She wasn't threatening.
She was offering—and somehow that made it worse.
I scrubbed a hand down my face.
My jaw still ached from the last fight. My knuckles were stiff. And the cold here, it got into your head. Made it hard to remember why you ever said no to anything.
Tiff.
I clung to the thought of her like a railing in a storm.
She needed me.
Not broken. Not humiliated. Not tied up in someone else's games.
But she also needed heat. Rent. Food. A life.
And this woman—this goddamn woman who spoke like poetry dipped in vice—was offering all of that for a night.
One night.
I stood abruptly.
"Is this what you do?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even. "Lure people in, wave pretty promises around until they're too cold, too tired, too broke to say no?"
She raised a brow. "Is that what you think this is?"
"You tell me."
She stepped forward. "If I wanted to buy you, Cassian... I would've named a price. I'm giving you a choice."
"A choice that closes in an hour?"
Her smile tilted. "Scarcity is the heartbeat of value."
I almost laughed. "You've rehearsed that one, haven't you?"
"Once or twice. It usually works."
The silence that followed was thick. Strange. Almost gentle.
I met her gaze—and she didn't look smug.
She looked like someone who'd waited a long time for something.
And maybe she didn't even know what that was.
I dropped my eyes.
The crowbar was still in my coat. Heavy. Useless.
I let it slide to the floor with a quiet clatter.
Then, finally, I looked up at her. Let myself really look at her.
Brown skin warm against the glow, eyes dark and bottomless, hair wild and glorious. She wasn't trying to hide her age—not that I could pin it down. She looked older than me, but in that timeless, unnerving way. Like a painting. Or a goddess someone forgot to worship.
She stepped closer. Slowly.
I didn't move.
Didn't back away.
Didn't speak.
She reached up, and this time, I let her touch my face. Her fingers traced the line of my jaw, soft where the bruise still throbbed.
No pressure.
Just presence.
"Say no," she whispered. "And I'll step back. Walk away. Let you leave."
I swallowed.
My mouth was dry.
My pulse was loud.
I could feel the heat of her. The velvet pull of her words still coiled around my ribs.
But I didn't say no.
I didn't say yes either.
I just... leaned in.
Half a breath.
Half a heartbeat.
And that was all she needed.
Her mouth met mine. Gentle, at first. Testing. Searching.
Then deeper.
Slower.
Like she had all the time in the world.
And maybe she did.