Chapter 46
He stepped forward–not to push, not to crowd, just enough to take the hanger gently from her hand.
“This isn’t a trade,” he said, quiet and sure.
“It’s just here. For you.”
That landed harder than she wanted it to.
Her voice barely held. “You sound so sure.”
“I’m not.”
She met his eyes.
He looked terrifyingly calm. And completely sincere.
Goddamn him.
This is the part where I make a joke,” she said softly.
“You could.”
She took the outfit back, fingers wrapping tighter than they needed to.
“This might be worse,” she murmured.
And without another word, she turned and headed to the bathroom to change–towel rustling, hair dripping, throat tight.
And Enzo let her go.
Because whatever this was?
It was already too much to undo.
The bathroom was quiet.
Steam still clung to the mirror, curling around her reflection like fog on glass. Her towel was damp. Her hair hung heavy. But it wasn’t the water weighing her down–it was everything else.
She leaned forward, braced her hands on the sink, and stared at herself like she might catch up.
I kidnapped him.
He gave me a giant diamond ring.
I tattooed his bite mark onto my skin.
He said he loved me.
She shut her eyes.
Tried to breathe.
1/3
Chapter 46
What the fuck is happening.
The bath had been a dream. Warm, weightless, slow. The kind of thing people in love did in movies. The kind of thing she didn’t get.
But Enzo hadn’t touched her like a fantasy. He’d touched her like she mattered.
And then the closet.
That fucking closet.
She turned, eyes landing on the outfit hanging on the back of the door. The black zip–up. The leggings. The little details that screamed her.
He could’ve bought her diamonds. He could’ve filled that closet with silks and satin and expensive things that looked better in photographs than on real skin. That’s what men like him did, right?
Except he didn’t.
Soft, practical, crooked–hemmed chaos she’d actually wear. Things she could fight in. Breathe in. Live in.
She slipped into the clothes one piece at a time–slowly, reverently. Each zip, each pull of fabric felt heavier than it should’ve. Like stepping into something dangerous. Like sliding into a truth she hadn’t meant to touch yet.
Maybe–just maybe–it was about trying.
He hasn’t known me long enough to make sense like this.
And yet–here I am.
Wearing clothes he somehow got exactly right.
Still warm from a bath he had drawn just to soothe me after chasing me through a casino.
Thinking about the way he looked when he said he might love me like it wasn’t some kind of trap.
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