Chapter 17 - Eve
I wake to soft morning light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows and the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped across my waist.
Nathan.
The night comes back in fragments—his confession, my surrender. The way we broke apart together, grief and pleasure tangled into something I still can't name.
I should feel regret. Shame. Horror at what I've become.
But all I feel is empty. Hollowed out. And furious with myself for feeling lighter.
I shift slightly, trying to move away, and his arm tightens around me.
"Stay," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.
"I need to use the bathroom."
It's not true, but I need distance. Need to think without his body pressed against mine, without his scent clouding my judgment.
He releases me reluctantly, and I slip out of bed, grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor. In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face and stare at my reflection.
Who is this woman? Red hair tangled, lips still swollen, wearing his shirt like it's mine. Like I belong here.
I don't recognize her.
When I return, he's sitting up in bed, watching me with those intense green eyes. There's something different in his expression this morning—less predatory, more... tender.
It makes me want to scream.
"How do you feel?" he asks quietly.
"Like I made a terrible mistake," I say sharply, crossing my arms. "Like I let you manipulate me into thinking this is anything other than what it is."
His jaw tightens. "And what is it, Eve?"
"A cage." I meet his gaze defiantly. "A beautiful, expensive cage with silk sheets and breakfast in bed, but still a cage."
A soft knock interrupts us. "Mr. Hale? I have the breakfast you requested."
Nathan's eyes never leave mine. "Leave it outside the door. Thank you."
He retrieves the tray and sets it on the bed. I don't move.
"Eat," he says gently.
"I'm not hungry."
"Eve—"
"Don't." I hold up a hand. "Don't use that soft voice like you care about my well-being. You destroyed my life. You don't get to play concerned boyfriend now."
His expression hardens. "Sit down and eat."
The command in his voice makes my blood boil, but my hands are shaking with anger and something else I refuse to name.
I sit. But I don't eat.
"You're being childish," he says quietly.
"And you're being a controlling psychopath," I snap back. "At least I have an excuse."
***
"We're going out," Nathan announces after breakfast, already dressed in perfectly tailored slacks and a crisp white shirt.
I'm still in his t-shirt, curled on the sofa. "No."
His eyebrow raises. "No?"
"I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm not your doll to dress up and parade around."
He crosses to me slowly. "Eve—"
"What are you going to do, Nathan? Force me?" I stand to face him, anger giving me courage. "Drag me out of here kicking and screaming? That would be an interesting look for you."
His jaw clenches. "You need clothes."
"I need my freedom. I need my life back." My voice rises. "But we don't always get what we need, do we?"
His hand shoots out, gripping my chin. "You agreed to this. You walked into my penthouse. You accepted my deal."
"I was coerced!" I try to pull away. "You destroyed my company, isolated me from everyone I know, and gave me a choice between surrender or total ruin. That's not agreement—that's extortion."
"And yet you're still here." His thumb brushes my lower lip. "Because part of you wants this."
I slap him.
The sound cracks through the room like a gunshot.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
Then he releases me, his eyes blazing. "Feel better?"
"No. I won't feel better until I'm out of here. Until I have my life back."
"That life is gone, Eve. I made sure of it."
"I know." Tears burn my eyes. "And I hate you for it. I hate you for making me feel grateful for the scraps of kindness you throw at me. I hate you for—" My voice breaks. "For making me feel anything at all."
His expression softens slightly, and that's somehow worse.
"Get dressed," he says quietly. "We're going shopping. You can hate me the entire time if it makes you feel better. But you're coming with me."
***
The boutique is exclusive in that understated way that screams money. I walk in with my arms crossed, a storm cloud in human form.
"Miss Sinclair needs a complete wardrobe," Nathan says smoothly.
"I need my own clothes from my own apartment," I mutter.
He ignores me.
The assistant brings outfit after outfit. I reach for a simple black dress—classic, conservative, safe.
"No," Nathan says from his chair. "The emerald one."
"I like this one," I say, not looking at him. I turn to face him, the black dress clutched in my hands. "I don't care what you want. I'm wearing this."
His eyes flash. "Eve—"
"No." My voice is steady. "You can control where I live. You can take my phone. You can manipulate my entire life. But you don't get to tell me what to wear. Not this. This is mine."
Nathan stands slowly. "Excuse us," he tells the assistant, then pulls me into a private corner.
"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice low.
"Fighting back." I yank my arm free. "You said I could hate you the entire time. Well, I do. And I'm not going to stand there like a good little prisoner while you dress me up like your toy."
"You're being difficult."
"I'm being human." Tears threaten again. "You've taken everything from me, Nathan. Everything. But you don't get this. You don't get to erase who I am completely."
Something flickers in his expression—surprise, maybe, or respect.
"Fine," he says finally. "Wear whatever you want. But you're getting a full wardrobe."
It's a small victory, but I'll take it.
I choose the black dress. And then a dozen more pieces, deliberately picking things I know he won't like. Conservative cuts. High necklines.
Nathan watches, his jaw tight, but he doesn't interfere.
Until the lingerie.
"The red one," he says when I reach for simple black cotton.
"No."
"Eve—"
"I said no. You don't get to choose my underwear."
Nathan's eyes narrow. "The red one, Eve. I want to see you in it."
Something shifts inside me. A reckless, dangerous impulse.
He wants the red one? Fine. He can have it.
"You know what?" I turn to the assistant with a bright, brittle smile. "We'll take the red set. I'd like to try it on."
Nathan's eyes flash with triumph, but I'm not done.
"Here," I add. "I'll change right here."
The assistant's eyes go wide. "Miss Sinclair, there's a fitting room—"
"I don't need it." I turn to face Nathan fully. "You want to see me in it so badly? Watch."
I see the moment he realizes what I'm doing. His eyes darken, his body goes still, and I feel the power shift between us.
Good. Let him suffer.
I pull his t-shirt over my head slowly, deliberately, standing there in nothing but yesterday's underwear. His breath catches, and I watch his hands clench into fists. I take off my bra and keep his gaze as I step out of my panties. I stand before him fully naked and exposed.
The assistant turns away, but Nathan doesn't. He can't. His eyes are locked on me, hungry and helpless, and for the first time since this nightmare began, I feel like I have the upper hand.
I reach for the red lace bra, slipping it on with agonizing slowness. It's beautiful—crimson silk and delicate lace that makes my skin look like cream. I adjust the straps, taking my time, watching Nathan's chest rise and fall with increasingly ragged breaths.
Then the panties. I step into them, sliding them up my legs, and I hear the low sound he makes in his throat—half growl, half groan.
"Well?" I ask, turning in a slow circle. "Is this what you wanted?"
His eyes are blazing. Every muscle in his body is taut with restraint. I can see exactly what this is doing to him—the desire, the need, the absolute inability to touch me here, in public.
I have him. For this one moment, I have all the power.
"You're playing a dangerous game," he says, his voice rough.
"Am I?" I tilt my head. "I thought I was just following orders. You said you wanted to see me in red. So here I am."
I take a step closer, close enough that he could reach out and touch me.
"Do you like it, Nathan?" I ask softly, pure honey and poison. "Is this what you imagined?"
His hand shoots out, gripping my wrist. "Enough."
"Why?" I lean in closer. "You wanted control. You wanted to own me. Well, here I am. Your possession. Look at what you bought."
Nathan's breathing is harsh. "Get dressed. Now."
"In what? The conservative black you hate? Or the red you chose for me?"
"Eve—"
"You want me in red, I'll wear red." I turn away, reaching for my clothes. "But don't forget, Nathan—you might have bought the cage, but I'm the one who decides how I move inside it."
I pull the black dress back on, the red lingerie hidden underneath like a secret weapon. A reminder that even in captivity, I still have power over him.
If I'm going to be his prisoner, I'll make damn sure he burns for it.
***
The restaurant is empty when we arrive.
"You bought out the entire restaurant?" I ask, exhaustion in my voice.
"I wanted privacy."
"You wanted control." I let him pull out my chair. "You always want control."
The chef brings out the first course, and I stare at it without appetite.
"Why all of this?" I finally ask. "If you just wanted to own me, you could have done that. Why the romance? Why the gestures?"
Nathan sets down his fork. "Because I want you to understand what your life can be now—"
"Stop." I hold up a hand. "Just stop with the pretty speeches. We both know what this is. You broke me down so completely that your cage looks like salvation. Don't insult my intelligence by pretending it's anything else."
His jaw tightens. "You're determined to see yourself as a victim."
"I am a victim! You stalked me, manipulated me, destroyed my company. What would you call that?"
"A partnership."
I laugh, bitter and broken. "A partnership implies equality, Nathan. There's nothing equal about this."
He reaches for my hand, but I pull away.
"Don't touch me."
"I'm offering you freedom from the fight—"
"I liked fighting!" The words burst out. "I liked building my company. I liked being strong. I liked having control over my own life. And you took all of that from me because you decided you knew better."
"You do need me."
"No. You made me need me. There's a difference."
The silence stretches between us.
"You're right," he says finally. "I did make you need me. I orchestrated everything to ensure you'd have nowhere else to turn. And I'd do it again. Because I need you, Eve. And I will do whatever it takes to keep you."
***
In the car ride home, he hands me a sleek black phone.
"What's this?"
"Your new phone."
"No." I push it away. "No, absolutely not."
"Eve—"
"You've taken everything else, Nathan. You don't get this, too. Lucy is my best friend. She's all I have left—"
"You have me."
"You're my captor!" I'm shouting now. "You're the person who destroyed my life, not the person who saves it!"
Nathan's hand wraps around my wrist. "Take the phone."
"No."
"Take it, or I'll make sure Lucy loses her job at Sinclair Designs."
Horror washes over me. "You wouldn't."
"Try me."
I take the phone with shaking hands, tears streaming down my face. "I hate you. I hate you so much."
"I know," he says softly. "But you'll adjust. You'll see that this is better."
I turn away, clutching the phone, staring out at the city lights blurring through my tears.
He's taken everything. My company, my freedom, my ability to contact the people I love.
And the worst part is that some tiny, broken part of me understands why.
Because I can't handle the fight anymore. I'm exhausted. And his cage offers something I haven't had in sixteen years.
Rest. Safety. Someone else carrying the weight.
But I won't forgive him for it.
"I'll stay," I say quietly. "I'll wear your clothes and live in your penthouse and be your perfect possession. But I will never forgive you for this. Never."
His hand finds mine, and I'm too tired to pull away.
"That's a start," he says.
As the car carries us back to his penthouse, I realize I've made my choice. Not meek surrender, but a different kind—angry, bitter, defiant.
I'll be his prisoner. But I'll make damn sure he knows what that costs.
I am Eve Sinclair. And I will not go gentle into this cage.
When we arrive at the penthouse, Nathan heads to his office to make calls, and I retreat to the library, needing space to breathe, to process, to cry without him watching. Which I know he will do anyway.
"Miss Sinclair?"
I spin around, hastily wiping my tears. Maria stands in the doorway with fresh linens, her kind face creasing with concern.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." She sets down the linens. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," I say automatically, but my voice cracks on the lie.
Maria hesitates, then moves a little closer. "Forgive me for saying so, but you don't look fine. Can I get you some tea? I make a chamomile blend that my grandmother swore could cure anything."
The unexpected kindness makes my throat tighten. "That's... that's very sweet, but I'm okay."
She nods, turning to go, then pauses. "Miss Sinclair, I know it's not my place, but... Mr. Hale is a good man."
I look up sharply, and she continues, her voice gentle.
"I've worked for many wealthy people over the years.
Most of them barely see me—I'm just part of the furniture.
But Mr. Hale, he's different." She smiles softly.
"A few weeks ago, I mentioned my granddaughter—just a casual conversation while I was cleaning.
She's about your age, works in fashion, too.
Most employers would forget the moment I left the room. "
My breath catches as she continues.
"But Mr. Hale remembered. Every time he sees me now, he asks how Elena is doing, if her job is going well, if she's happy.
" Maria's eyes glisten. "And one day, I found a bonus in my account—more money than I make in six months.
No explanation, no fanfare. Just... kindness.
When you've been invisible as long as I have, you notice when someone actually sees you. "
She heads for the door, then turns back one last time. "Whatever you're going through, whatever makes you cry like that... I just wanted you to know that you're not alone. And the man who cares about you? He's one of the good ones, deep down."
Then she's gone, leaving me standing there with tears streaming down my face—but for different reasons now.