CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
I sit on the foot of my bed, robe barely clinging to damp skin after the bath, my fingers twisting the edge of the sheet like it holds the answers I don’t have.
Dinah Police Department.
The words hadn’t been meant for me. I wasn’t even supposed to be in earshot when the Warden took that call. But I heard them, just barely. And now they echo like a chant in the back of my mind.
What business does he have with the Dinah PD?
The Warden…he bought me. That part I understand. It was an auction. There were rules. Currency exchanged. But everything since then—none of it makes sense.
He doesn’t use me like the others would have. Not always.
Yes, he gives orders.
Yes, he marks my body with his name.
Yes, he reminds me, in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, that I’m here because he chose me.
But he hasn’t hurt me.
Not really.
And that makes it worse.
Because when he’s kind, I want more of it.
When he’s cruel, I brace for pain that never comes.
When he’s cold, I feel the sting of rejection in a way I never should from a man who owns me.
When he’s warm, I ache for a version of him I’ll never fully know.
Who is he?
What does he want from me?
A protector?
A captor?
A savior wrapped in a mask, or a monster pretending to wear one?
His touch doesn’t repulse me. His control, while infuriating, grounds me in a way I hate to admit. He’s chaos and safety in equal measure.
Hot and cold.
Gentle and demanding.
Restraint and ruin.
And now this connection to the police—my past. My rescue. My beginning and end.
It can’t be a coincidence.
It never is.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment—though I’m not even sure how long it lasts—staring at nothing, caught between thought and stillness before my body finally gives out and I fall back onto the mattress.
I land hard, eyes wide on the ceiling, the air too quiet around me.
“Who are you really…” I whisper, voice barely there. “…and what am I to you?”
No one answers.
But I can’t shake the feeling that the walls are listening.
And that the mask isn’t the only thing he’s hiding.
The door opens without warning.
Just the quiet click of the handle and the soft, deliberate sound of his footsteps crossing the threshold.
I don’t move.
I don’t even startle.
He does this often—enters without permission like he doesn’t need it.
Maybe he doesn’t.
But this time, I am still sitting on the foot of the bed, damp skin wrapped in nothing but the robe, thoughts still tangled around the words I can’t shake.
So I say it before I lost the nerve.
“What do you have to do with the Dinah Police Department?”
The words hit the air like a shot.
The Warden stops.
I don’t look at him yet—I can’t. My eyes stay on the floor, locked on the place where the hem of my towel brushes the carpet.
Silence stretches between us. Thick. Too long.
Then comes his voice—low, controlled, like glass held just before it cracks.
“Why are you asking that?”
I finally raise my head.
He stands just a few feet from me, masked as always, his hands at his sides, his eyes unreadable beneath the porcelain shell.
“I overheard your call,” I say. “After the bath. I wasn’t eavesdropping on purpose, sir.”
He says nothing.
“Answer me.”
A pause.
Then, finally, he moves—slow, precise steps that carry him closer until he stands directly in front of me. His presence swallowing the space between us like a shadow.
“I have…contacts,” he says. “That’s all you need to know.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“You forget your place, Starling.”
“I remember exactly what this place is,” I snap, heat rising in my throat. “That’s why I’m asking. Because I know what it means when people have secrets. Especially men like you.”
His jaw flexes behind the mask.
Still, no anger. Not yet. Just…calculation.
“You’re not stupid, Starling,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “But curiosity can be dangerous. Especially for someone in your position.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
That makes him pause.
A full breath.
Then he leans in slightly, his gloved fingers lifting my chin until I am forced to look up at him.
His voice drops, nearly tender. “You are afraid,” he whispers. “You’re just very good at pretending otherwise. But I see you. Even when you lie to both of us.”
My heart beats faster. Not from fear—but from the way his touch lights something under my skin.
“I’m not scared,” I whisper. “And I’m not yours.”
He tilts his head. “Aren’t you tired of saying that?”
“No,” I whisper, even though my voice trembled. “Because one day… I’ll believe it.”
A beat passes between us.
Then he lets go of my chin.
His voice, when he speaks again, is like a warning dressed as an invitation.
“If you want answers about Dinah…about me…you’ll have to earn them.”
“How?”
He turns for the door. “Put on something warm. We’re going for a drive.”
Then he leaves—just as silently as he arrived.
And my pulse thunders in the silence he leaves behind.