Chapter 29
I only woke up in the morning, even though I wasn't totally asleep last night when Set took me to bed. I heard his confession while he kissed me to sleep, and I haven’t been able to push away the knot twisting in my stomach ever since.
He wasn't in the room when I opened my eyes, and my first thought was to run my hand over the sheets where he slept. It's just that the bed seemed so empty without him. Strange, since I’ve been getting used to sleeping alone for a while now.
Following the smell of coffee, I go into the kitchen, but that's empty as well. Just a café latte waiting for me on the counter. It's cold by now. That tells me Set must’ve left a while ago, and I can't stop that sensation of emptiness from sneaking up on me. I try to ignore it, though, and after I have my coffee, I hop straight into the shower.
He's still not back by the time I'm done, and that leaves me no choice but to call him. Tonight we’ll break into the safe to get the artifact, and we agreed to meet with the team again before we go in.
“You're awake,” he answers, and I can hear voices around him.
“I've been so for almost an hour now. Where are you?” I question.
“Checking up on me?” he asks back in a playful tone, so uncharacteristic of him—but also so damn hot.
“I was just wondering about when we meet with the... you know... team.” I don't want to get into too many details over the phone.
“It's next on my list. I'll be in a board meeting for another half an hour. Get dressed, and come to my office when I'm done. I'll call the rest to meet us here.”
“Okay. Bye.” I hang up as fast as I can because I have no idea what I'm supposed to say to him. We're not at the I love you, honeybun phase, so hanging up on him is a lot better than that alternative.
I don't have a clue what to wear, but since it’s his office where I’m meeting him, I decide to go classy today, especially since everyone on his staff seems to be studying me at all times.
Picking up a caramel jacket and a white dress shirt, along with a caramel pencil skirt that goes with it, I complete the outfit with a pair of Louboutins. The red shoe sole always does the trick, and I like the light colors; they go great with my tanned skin, giving me that bend-me-over-the-desk vibe, but in a stylish way.Although that's not what I'm asking for, I think... Well, I’m not so sure since a garter belt seems to have found its way up my thighs. But that’s just for keeping my stockings up—or at least that’s what I tell myself.
With confidence, I walk into Seth's office. I'm trying to play cool, but I'm melting on the inside, and the second I open the door, he knows it. My face almost drops to the floor when I see him wearing a pair of caramel pants that match my own and a white dress shirt; no jacket, but putting on a jacket would be a shame right now, especially since he’s dressed so stylishly, with those tattoos popping into view wherever his shirt leaves the skin exposed. I was right, this color does work well with tanned skin, especially tattooed tanned skin.
“Close the door behind you when you stop staring,” he casually says, like staring at him became some kind of routine for me.
I know he's mocking my disinterested attitude. But I'm not playing along. “I wasn't staring, I was looking at what was on your desk,” I lie, of course, walking to his desk, where I already see a pile of files and blueprints.
“One day, I'll punish you for lying.” One of his hands collides with my ass, and I instantly straighten as I feel him rub the place he just smacked. “So, I see you went straight to business.”
“That’s what I came here for, didn't I?” I ask, trying to seem in control when in fact, his presence does something to me every time that makes me lose any drop of it, especially now that I still feel his hand on my ass, moving, taunting, driving me fucking insane.
“Your mind isn't there,” he whispers in my ear as he leans over me to grab a blueprint.
What is it with me this morning? I slip under his arm and start walking to the opposite side of the room. “I'm dehydrated. I need water.” I immediately pour myself a glass of water, which I drink in one lug.I feel like my body is going to catch fire soon if I remain so close to him, and I know it's because he taunted me all day yesterday. But I want to believe I’m strong enough to stay away from him… I think.
“I'm tense because of tonight.” I try to excuse my shaking limbs and visible lack of focus. And this time, I think it worked.
“The people going in with you are trained professionals. But still, if you don't want to do this, I won't make you. I'm having second thoughts about sending you in.” His tone more serious.
“No, I want to do this. I told you I want to feel like I'm doing something except—”
“Except for being my toy. I thought you realized by now that you’re not my toy, even if I do like to play with you.” His words sent the heat of the desert sun to flow upon me. My breasts are becoming uncomfortable in my bra, and my thighs squeeze together, trying to keep that pulse inside my core still. I don't want to respond to his provocation, especially since I know exactly where he’s taking things. He's setting a trap, and I'm not going to willingly fall for it.
Taking a look around, I try to come up with something to change the subject since my mind is almost blank, and I seem unable to make something up on my own. My eyes stop at a full-size wall picture of some sort of Egyptian god—a man with the head of a weird animal. I know I've seen it before, I just can't remember which god it is.
The painting is breathtaking. I noticed it the last time when I was in his office, but I didn't pay enough attention to the details. The gold foil covering the crown on his head, the red eyes that seem to have jewels encrusted in them. Every single line so alluring and so oozing with strength that I get a weird tingle in my body just by looking at the way every ripped muscle is painted—so real it's almost as if I was looking at Set without his shirt. It's probably because the god's body is also covered in tattoos, very similar to the ones that Set has.
I want to stop staring, but it seems impossible, and that gives Set a chance to sneak up behind me while I still try to jog my memory and remember who is depicted in the picture. “Do you like the painting?” he asks as I feel his hands sliding around me, beneath my jacket, and his lips finding the crook of my neck.
“He is imposing, kind of like—”
“Me,” he finishes what I had to say, while his hands go on an adventure on my body, squeezing the sides of my hips, then slowly ascending again to cup the full volume of my breast. “The ancient Egyptians thought he was the God of Chaos.”
My eyes rise to take in the whole picture again. It's larger than a full-size human, but it's not only the size that makes it look otherworldly. It feels like it's dripping a kind of power that, for some reason, gets me as turned on as Set’s hands playing through my bra with my hardened nipples.I'm so messed up in the head right now that I really need to consider seeking therapy. How can it be possible to get wet from a painting? Maybe I just want to consider this isn’t Set’s doing, and I just try to find something else responsible for my wobbling legs.
“He was a destroyer,” Set continues. “A warrior, but also a protector. It's funny the way history depicts the gods, and how little people really understand them.” He speaks between kissing and nibbling on the sensitive skin of my neck as he moves to the upper button of my shirt. It takes him just one move to rip it apart.
“What are you doing?” I manage to get out what's more of a moan than an actual question. I know what he's doing. And although I shouldn’t, I crave for it to happen.
He shifts behind me, rushing to press the button of his answering machine that’s on the desk next to us. “No one comes in until I say so,” he announces to his secretary, and I should do everything in my power to tell him to stop. It's just that my lips won't open. Instead, I'm mesmerized by the painting, which seems to be looking straight at me while Set's lips regain their position on my neck, and he goes straight to open my bra.
“We shouldn't; we should focus on...” I don't even remember what you should focus on, and my words are just babbles.
“We should, and we will. But I've been waiting to do this all morning.” Grabbing my skirt, he lifts it to my waist. “I let you have your space yesterday; now you let me have my pussy. I bet she's waiting for me—wet.” His hand plunges between my legs, pushing my thighs apart along with mypanties, “And so needy,” he continues rubbing his fingers against my damp skin.
His touch is mystifying and life-giving, like electricity running through the tips of his fingers, and he just sent a million volts racing through my body.
I might not have had the holiest thoughts in mind when I put these clothes on—especially the garter belt and stockings—but I wouldn't have expected them to be put to use in less than five minutes after I entered his office.
The zipper of his pants makes a clinking sound coming open. A sound that yanks a moan of anticipation out of me. I’m starting to think it only took me so long to sleep with him because he decided to give me time and draw some kind of line when it came to taking me to his bedroom. Because if things were different, my body would have betrayed me since day one.
If only he was different.
I don't want to think about it right now. I just want to feel. And the tip of his hard cock rubbing at my entrance causes me just that—I feel need and a kind of lust I've never experienced before, probably because now I know what to expect. But most of all, I feel alive. And that's pretty much the worst thing that could happen to me.
His impatient cock rubs against my folds, playing on the line of my pussy from the back all the way to the front, taunting my clit with its magic piercing. But it's not enough, and he knows it all too well. I want him inside of me, and I can't wait any longer.My head falls back, waiting for him to do something—something I’m not asking for, but desperately desire.
My eyes meet the ruby ones of the Egyptian painting. Is it weird that I'm turned on by a drawing? But the acrylics exude some kind of power that doesn't let my eyes stray from the painting.
“You know, he ruled for thousands of years but never had a queen. Not the way I have you now.” I hear Set whisper in the back of my ear while he keeps torturing me with his damn cock. I swear, I’m seconds away from falling to my knees, begging him to stop torturing me and claim what’s his.
I don't even want to know what's wrong with me, but I feel like I can't pretend anymore. I want him raw and hard. I want him to shatter me. “Well, it's not nice to keep your queen waiting,” I murmur as if some nymphomaniac freak came to inhabit my body. Or maybe it’s just the way I get when I’m around him.
“My queen needs to learn to be patient.” He moves his erection again from between the valley of my ass to my core, nearly making me lose balance as he presses a hand on my lower back so he can keep me in place while he plays his game.
My hands cling to the painting in front of me, and my face follows, melting straight onto the ripped muscles drawn on the wall. The fact that I find this arousing makes me question my mental sanity, but I'll deal with that later. I can't think straight right now. Who am I kidding? I can't even think at all.
“You like him, don't you?” Set asks, positioning himself at my entrance, teasing without taking any further action.
My voice raw, losing its power, “Yes, yes, I do.”
I feel his hands digging into my hips, fingers gripping tightly. “His name is Set.”
For a second, I freeze, and a class of Egyptian history pops into my mind. He’s right. The god's name is Set. Exactly like his. However, I don't get to dwell on that too long before I feel him slipping inside of me, delicious inch by inch, while my pussy is so happy to have him that I think I could be wiggling my tail like a damn dog.
Steadying my hips, he pulls me toward him and starts ramming into me, exactly how I want him—fast, hard, and almost ruthless. It feels like he strikes every nerve ending on my channel —and probably even a few vital organs—but I don't care anymore. All I care about is this sensation, holding onto it for as long as I can. It feels like I'm brainwashed, and to be honest, I’ve never felt better.
But what he's giving me is only a short demonstration, like a video game trailer that makes you buy the whole damn package. And I just had a taste of the most addicting game I ever played.
Slowing his rhythm, he twists his fingers on my nipples until the pain spreads through my entire body, turning into electric sparks with every new cell it meets. He knows I want more, and he's just about to lay down the rules of the game. “What do you want me to do to you?” he asks, slowing down to the point that he is close to stopping. Once again, Set is forcing my limits and he seemed to have chosen the best time to do that. “Speak, Ya'amar, or I'll keep you here until you won't be able to stand.” I hear his order from behind me, and I know he's not fooling around. “What do you want me to do to you?” his tone sharpens, impatience creeping in.
“What you were doing earlier,” I answer in a dying voice, hoping that's enough for him, but deep down, I know it's not.
“Don't make me repeat myself.” He warns, and I don't want to find out what else could cross that mind of his if I don’t follow through.
“I want you to...” I can barely breathe. “I want you to fuck me,” I answer in a lost voice, and I feel him beginning to move again—slow, but at least it's something. Something that keeps me afloat for a few moments, yet it doesn't take long before it's not enough. My pussy seems to be so hungry for him that it will force my mind to say anything at this point.
“Harder,” I whine, and he starts moving faster, deeper.
I know he's holding back, so I let out another moan, “Harder.”
I hear him laughing with the satisfaction of a man who got exactly what he wanted—for me to be the one asking for him, not the other way around. I delivered myself to him on a silver platter.
The worst part? I don’t think he can live with himself not being in control, and I just asked to be fucked by a sociopath who’s imagining he's a god, and associates himself with the Egyptian ones. At least he fucks like a god. And right now, I could live with just that.
Still, despite his dominating nature, Set is much better at taking orders than he gives himself credit for. He just took my command to go hard seriously, pushing himself inside of me so rough and fast that everything around me becomes a blur as he begins to hit that spot that keeps me dangling between torture and ecstasy.
My face is now pressed against the ripped muscles of the painting, and I’m pretty sure I'm drooling on the god's robe. I just hope the paint doesn't smear and I'll be stuck with that creature's robe on my face for the rest of the day. Good thing he's even wearing one. Imagine walking around with a dick print on my face.
I’m starting to realize that Set can do pretty much whatever he wants to me. My mind might rebel, but my body belongs to him. I can feel it in every cell that reacts to his touch. It's so vivid that it doesn't compare to anyone before. Crazed magnetism and desire make our bodies feel like they belong to each other; like they were meant for each other.
I'm so close to coming that my feet barely support me. I know he can feel that too because his hand goes straight to my sensitive clit to play with that treacherous part of me just a couple of times before I feel myself tightening around him. At this point, I'm making sounds that I can't control, so I try to smother them by biting into my own hand until my body goes almost limp.
“The room is soundproof. Ya'amar, you can scream all you want; no one will hear you. No one except me.” Now he tells me...
“You have sex in here often?” I ask as he pulls out of me, turns me around to face him, and lifts me onto his desk, his arms firm behind my knees.
“No, I sometimes just shoot people,” he casually answers, like it's the most normal thing to do. Everyone should have some proof rooms in case they need to kill someone. Why didn't I think of that in the first place?
My eyes snap wide open, knowing that his affirmation hides no humor. Yet, I’m not left with time to debate before I see him swinging his arm over the desk, and throwing almost everything that was sitting there on the floor. My OCD instantly kicks in looking at the pile of files scattered across the room. However, Set doesn't seem to care. His focus is only on me, like I’m the only thing he would ever give a damn about—now and forever. His lips race toward mine like he's been waiting to kiss me for too long, and I welcome his madness. With a short inhale, I bite his bottom lip to lead him on. I want this. I want a moment in which I can totally let go. I will deal with the rest later. But now all I want is him. And I kiss him back to assure him of all that. I’m hungry for his lips, starving for the taste of his skin.
Maybe I've planned to have a little office fun, but I never expected her to surrender so willingly. I don't even care if I have a meeting with my team in less than half an hour. The way her lips respond to mine and her nails dig into my skin have some maddening power over me. I would break heaven and hell to know she wants me the same way I want her. Although I don't think she grasped the true meaning behind my message today—I’m the god depicted on the wall.
As soon as she's back, I'm going to let her into my world.She’s becoming ready to face the truth. She’s drifting away from the mental status that she’s my prisoner with every day that passes. I can feel it in the way her lips urge against mine, more starved each new time they meet mine. She's never kissed me back like this before. She now meets my hunger, with the strength of all those feelings and emotions that are brewing as to break the surface. She may not love me yet, but her lust runs so deep, it will shatter her judgment. She’ll question everything she thinks she knows.
I ease myself into her, slower this time. I want to hear her breath as I do it, to watch the way her eyes flicker when she stops to look at me as I gradually win every last piece of her.
Hovering over her, I lean in, laying her over the desk, but she doesn't seem to be going anywhere. Her small palms shift to my stomach as she tries to keep me in place. For a second, my mind goes blank, caught off guard by her alternating fire and ice behavior. But instead of pushing me away, her long fingers find the rims of my shirt and rip it open, just as I did with hers. Desire sparkles in her eyes, her tongue begins strolling over my chest, following every defined line of my muscles.Fuck, I feel like I'm in pain, and she could be the only one that has the power to heal me. Her kisses are like warm drops of summer rain, and I never want them to stop raining over me.
The surge of heat that follows is intoxicating. Tracing every inch of my skin, I feel her freeing fantasies that she’s been trying to smother for too long. My hand wraps around the base of her hair, a possessive grip, making sure she has no escape while my hips dig into her and I bury myself to the hilt inside her sweet pussy. Her walls tighten around me, welcoming me like I’m the only thing she’s ever needed. I instantly hear her moans, and it's like fucking music to my ears. I could hear her moan and scream on repeat for days in a row. Her pleasure is my sustenance, her climax more vital to me than my own.I need to feel her unravel beneath me, to watch her completely surrender, more than I need my next breath.
My life just got complicated on a whole different level. I fought battles and wars, and I would die for any of my brothers the same way they would die for me. But I would live for her. I would fucking live just to see her smile in the morning. I would fucking live just for moments like this when I'm buried deep inside of her and she lets her inhibitions go to accept me for who I am—her other half. The part of her she didn’t know she needed. Because I have no doubt she is the only thing that makes me whole.
Grinding my teeth, I clench my fingers deeper between the roots of her hair as she rolls her tongue over my pecks, kissing and slowly nibbling on the ink that's coming to life under her lips. If I wasn't forged in the depths of hell, I’d swear I was touching heaven.
My body usually listens to me, I’ve trained it over the years to be a perfect weapon, yet right now it seems no more than a lost puppy returning to its rightful owner. Serena has me so worked up these days that I could cum the second I laid hands on her. I couldn’t allow that. I want to stay with her for as long as I can, to savor everything she has to give and to give her everything I am.
Her long nails rake down my back, and I thrust so hard that the desk starts skidding across the room. I’m lost in her, consumed by the way her body pulls me deeper. I feel her breath pick up, a rapid rhythm breezing against my chest, letting me know she's close again. But so am I. In a last attempt to hold onto something, anything while she rides her increasing orgasm, her long legs drape my back. Her head falls back, and her perfectly round breasts bounce a couple of more times from the motion, hitting my own chest as I maneuver her like a leaf.
Fuck, it was worth the wait. In fact, I could wait a hundred more centuries just to see her like this again—free, unrestrained, mine.
My hand presses on her lower stomach as I come, my dick buried so deep that I almost feel it. Her blue eyes suddenly widen, and she looks at me as if she doesn't even know what's happening to her. I prolong her orgasm, feeling her digging into my back until her body spasms one more time, and any grip she has on me loosens.
She's so weak and fragile in my arms that I find it almost impossible not to keep her for hours; fuck the meeting, fuck the heist, just take her to bed, and not allow her to leave it for an entire week.
It takes her a few minutes to get back to her senses; even my own feet seem to be trembling this time around, and they haven't done that in a very long time. It's almost like I even forgot the feeling—just another thing about her that makes me feel alive.
Realizing the time, she tries to get down from the table and rearrange her skirt. It’s then we both notice it—the scattered blueprints beneath us, now covered in more than just ink. Our plans for the heist smudged and stained with evidence of what we just did. “I'm pretty sure that's your... cum,” she says, rolling her eyes at me and pointing to the spot on the blueprints, exactly where the vault is. “How are we supposed to explain that?” She asks, looking at me like I should do something about it.
“Do you think I need to explain myself to anyone?” I scoff, trying to remind myself that she knows so little of me. “When you're the one leading the game there’s no one to explain yourself to.” Instantly, I regret bringing up that last part because I notice her gaze drop to the floor like she just reminded herself who she's talking to. And so does a piece of my heart. Fuck.
“Do you want me to ask someone to bring you a shirt?” I ask, glancing at the shredded fabric I just ripped off her body, and doing my best to mend things.
“You might not feel the need to explain yourself to people, but I don't want your assistant to get me a shirt. It would make what happened here all too obvious.”
“And what exactly happened here?” I ask, leaning closer, my voice low and taunting. I’m waiting to hear her say it. I need her to admit that she wanted me the same way I wanted her, even though that sexy garter belt she had on could replace all futile explanations.
I receive silence in return—as usual. Only this time I'm not letting it go. “What happened here, Serena?” I repeat, my voice thick with challenge. “Were you fulfilling your part of the deal?” I want her to admit that she's drawn to me like a fucking magnet and that it's useless to fight it since we both know it will have the same result—she will be entirely mine eventually.
Her breath picks up, my words cutting through whatever flimsy denial she’s clinging to, making it all too obvious even for her. She's so attracted to me that she won't be able to fight it for long. And no matter what she says, I know it's not only physical.
I want to go on and push until she breaks. Until she admits it to herself. It would make things so much easier for both of us. But my damn phone rings, and seeing the name light up, I know I can't ignore it. It's one of my men who I sent to investigate some Latino drug lords that've been encroaching on my town behind my back. And that makes it an urgent call. “Yes,” I answer the call, my voice shifting instantly back to business.
“I'm sorry, boss, your assistant told me I can’t come in to see you. But this is important ,” my man says with an urgency in his voice.
“Are you here?” I ask, knowing that these kinds of matters can’t be solved over the phone. No room for error. No loose ends.
“ Yes, I'm right outside your office ,” he answers.
“Stay there, I'll let you know when you can come in.” I hang up on him and watch Serena as she takes off the ripped shirt and throws it into the bin, then buttons up her jacket until you can't even tell she was wearing a shirt in the first place. She’s composed, acting as if nothing happened, but there’s a tension in her shoulders I can’t ignore.
Well, one fixed, one more to go. I have to take care of my own ripped shirt. I have a few buttons that are barely hanging which makes it impossible for me to close it back, and look slightly decent. So I take out a spare black T-shirt I have in one of my drawers and put it on.
Serena’s eyes instantly narrow, her lips twitching with something between suspicion and sarcasm. “So you do this often, huh?”
Women...
I don’t think she's gonna like my answer, but she's the one who asked in the first place, “It's for emergencies. Like when I need to take care of problems on my own. And I'm not very comfortable working in a dress shirt.” She knows exactly what I'm talking about. I have a spare shirt for when I kill or torture people, not for emergency cases like the one when a woman rips the clothes off me—although that was close to happening on several occasions in the past. I suspect no one had the courage, and to be honest, I would’ve never allowed it.
The way Serena looks at me changes from inquisitive to almost scared as I just explain myself to her. Fuck my life.
As soon as we're both dressed, I call my assistant to let my man in. I don’t even bother to gather the scattered papers on the floor, pretending like we weren’t tearing into each other just minutes ago. He won't care anyway; he came here with a mission which is not snooping into my private life.
Exactly as I thought, my man walks in, ignoring the papers and just bowing his head slightly toward Serena, then looking at me, waiting to give him permission to speak with her here.
“Talk,” I say, my voice clipped, knowing that he's onto something.
“He has a girlfriend, one of the owners of a whorehouse he usually visits. I found her earlier carrying some luggage to her car like she was getting out of town. They're probably having a weekend getaway since his wife is at a school camp with the kids for the week,” he informs me.
“Good, find out where they're going and end him,” I order, already moving to dismiss him.
“What about the woman?” he asks, and I feel Serena's eyes burning holes into the back of my neck. But business is business. She better learn that now than find out later, because I don’t plan on keeping any secrets from her. “No witnesses. If you can't get him alone, end her as well,” I say flatly, not bothering to explain myself.
My man bows his head again and splits out while I turn to find a very angry Serena, eyes burning into me like she’s going to strangle me the very next second.
“You let him kill an innocent?” Her voice cuts through the air, sharp with anger and something else—disappointment. Maybe even disgust.
“If she hangs out with him, she's not innocent. Trust me,” I mutter back.
Her jaw tightens, her lips almost tremble as she speaks, “Then what does that make me, for sleeping with you?” Her voice is quieter now, but the edge is sharper.
“My prisoner, isn't that what you like to entitle yourself?” I am a much more dangerous kind of snake than she ever could be. When it comes to words, there's no game she could ever beat me at, even if sometimes she does leave me speechless.
I see her frown, but I try to ignore her, bending down to pick up the files scattered on the floor. I would normally call my assistant to clean up the place, but I feel a fight coming my way, and I don't want another living person to see Serena talking back to me.
Luckily for me, she doesn't have a chance to do that before my assistant calls to let me know our team is here. I can't figure out when the last half hour passed, but I feel relieved that I don't have to go into an endless discussion with her about how I should run my business.
Is this how it feels to be married?
The team arrives to go over the plan again. It's nothing too complicated, but it still gives me a knot in the pit of my stomach just thinking about Serena being in danger. What the fuck was I thinking asking her to go in for the heist?
I suspect it's because, deep down, I wanted to prove to myself that she's disposable, but the more time I spend with her, the more I realize that's impossible. She can never be replaced. And all those centuries spent here on Earth should have helped me realize that sooner.Fuck, I would do anything for her, and even though she knows it, she doesn't realize what that really means. She doesn't realize that I would unleash the fucking apocalypse if that would be enough to keep her mine.
One of my tech guys explains where the security systems are and how to go around them. It's nothing too high-tech since the museum didn't put any money in to modernize the place. But as he shows the route on the blueprints, his hand lands just where I landed earlier.
I instantly hear Serena fake-cough as if she has something in her throat. My attention goes to her as she's gazing at the man while he's scratching his nose as he talks, then his forehead, and then takes his hand to his mouth.
I can't hold back a laugh seeing her look at him more guilty than when she killed someone. And that makes her as messed up as I am. She just doesn't accept it yet.
In less than an hour, everything is set; all details are in place, and we have just a few hours left before they go in. I promised myself this would be the last time I let her get involved in a heist. I just can’t shake the feeling that I should find a different way to get my hands on the artifact. If it didn't make me look weak, I would call everything off right now.
But I refuse to take this from her. I trust her to come through with it because this is the most valuable lesson I want to teach her—she's strong; she just needs to find her courage.