Derek's lesson had been clear. Obedience wasn't an option—it was survival.
But I wasn't ready to break. Not yet.
One evening, a storm raged outside, wind howling through the corridors. I sat by the fireplace in my room, trying to warm the cold that had settled in my bones.
A knock at the door.
Before I could answer, Derek stepped inside.
"You didn't lock it," he mused.
I glared at him. "Maybe I wanted a murderer to come in and finish the job."
His smirk was slow. "You're getting bolder."
He walked over, crouching in front of me. The firelight cast shadows across his face, making him look even more dangerous.
"I wonder," he murmured, reaching out to brush his fingers against my cheek, "how much longer you'll fight before you admit the truth."
I clenched my jaw. "And what truth is that?"
"That you don't hate this as much as you claim."
His fingers trailed down my neck, slow and deliberate. My breath hitched.
"I hate you," I whispered.
Derek chuckled, dark and rich. "Say it all you want, dolcezza." His lips brushed my ear. "Your body tells a different story."
I should have shoved him away. Should have fought.
Instead, I stayed still, trapped in a game I didn't know how to win.