7
Isak’s hand tightened on her thigh. Not painfully. Just claiming.
“Good,” he said. “The old version of you doesn’t exist here. She died the moment I walked into your apartment. The sooner you stop trying to resurrect her, the easier this will be for both of us.”
He stood and pulled her up with him.
“Come. I want to show you something.”
He led her through the villa and out onto the covered deck. The cold air hit her immediately. From here she could see most of the small island — dense forest, rocky shoreline, and dark water stretching out in every direction. No other houses. No boats. No lights. Nothing.
Isak stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.
“No one is coming,” he said against her ear. “No one knows you’re here. Even if someone did, they wouldn’t find you. This place isn’t on any map that matters.”
Linnéa’s throat felt tight.
“You’re going to break me,” she whispered.
Isak was quiet for a moment.
“I’m going to remake you,” he answered. “Into something that fits me. Something that stops fighting what it already wants.”
She turned in his arms and looked up at him. For the first time since he had taken her, she didn’t look away.
“What if I never stop fighting?”
His eyes darkened. Something dangerous and hungry moved behind them.
“Then I’ll enjoy breaking you even more.”
He kissed her then — slow, deep, and claiming — while the cold wind moved around them and the dark water stretched out in every direction.
When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers.
“Inside,” he murmured. “Now. On your knees by the fire.”
Linnéa’s heart pounded.
She could have said no.
She could have turned and walked away.
Instead, she pulled out of his arms, turned around, and walked back into the villa without looking back.
Isak followed close behind.
And for the first time since he had taken her, she didn’t try to put distance between them.