CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
The sun spills in through the tall curtains, cutting soft gold lines across the floor and into my sheets. I blink into the light, momentarily disoriented by the warmth against my skin.
For a second—just one fragile, foolish second—I let myself pretend I am waking in a normal bed. In a normal house. With a normal life.
But my arm reaches out automatically, seeking something that shouldn’t have been there.
Him.
My hand grazes the cool, empty space beside me, fingers curling against the unused pillow as disappointment lances through my chest. I have no right to miss him—not the way I do at that moment.
Not the way my body yearns for his weight behind me, for the masked presence that both comforts and terrifies me.
The Warden.
He hadn’t stayed.
Of course he hadn’t.
Still, the need that simmers inside me hasn’t faded. If anything, it has only deepened overnight, winding tighter through my limbs, settling between my thighs like a pulse of heat that won’t ease.
The promise of last night still echoes in my head—You behaved. You’ll be rewarded. And he had rewarded me. As though I were something sacred with pleasure I hadn’t known I could feel again. With his mouth. With his voice.
With something close to tenderness.
But it wasn’t enough.
Not when I couldn’t see his face. Not when he left me blindfolded, marked with kisses I couldn’t place on a man I still didn’t truly know.
Not when I couldn’t forget the past, no matter how sweet the night.
I sit up slowly, tugging the sheets against my bare chest and letting my gaze wander toward the window. Light dances along the dust in the air, and for a moment, I don’t know whether to cry or scream. I had spent so long learning to survive the dark—how am I supposed to trust the light?
My legs swing over the edge of the bed, toes brushing the floor as I sit there in silence, remembering hands that had hurt, and a mouth that hadn’t kissed me like that in all my weeks behind glass and concrete.
What is he doing to me?
And why—God, why—do I already miss him?
I pull on the thin robe draped over the foot of the bed, the satin clinging to my bare skin like a secret as I move toward the wardrobe. My steps slow as I pass the green dress from the night before—still puddled on the floor like a memory he undressed me from.
After dressing, I step in front of the vanity.
The morning light spills across the mirror, painting golden edges along the bruises I try not to acknowledge on my collarbone.
Reminders of both possession and pleasure.
I pick up the brush and begin running it slowly through my hair, the repetitive strokes quieting the noise in my head. At least for a little while.
I am halfway through the second braid when I hear the knock.
Solid. Composed.
The kind that never asks for permission.
I set the brush down, spine straightening, breath catching between anticipation and caution.
“Come in,” I say, not trusting my voice to sound steady.
The door opens without creaking, revealing him in the soft morning light.
The Warden. Dressed in black slacks and a dark gray dress shirt with the sleeves rolled just enough to reveal his forearms. He wears the mask, of course—porcelain and smooth, expressionless save for the weight of his gaze behind it.
“Good morning, Starling,” he says, voice a low murmur that doesn’t match the brightness of the day.
“Sir,” I greet, dipping my chin respectfully.
He steps inside slowly, eyes scanning the room—me, the brush, the half-braided hair.
“I thought,” he says after a pause, “that it might be good for you to get some fresh air today. It’s a beautiful morning. Would you care to walk with me in the garden?”
I blink, unsure I’ve heard him correctly.
He wants to walk. In the garden. With me.
Not kneel. Not obey. Not perform.
Walk.
“Yes,” I say, perhaps too quickly. “Of course, sir.”
His head tilts slightly, a flicker of amusement—or approval—behind the mask. He holds out his arm.
“Shall we?”
I hesitate only a moment before placing my hand lightly in the crook of his elbow.
And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I don’t feel like prey being led into the lion’s den.
I feel like something…invited.
Even if it terrifies me.