(Hailey Miller POV)
I stood there, trembling, the mask of submission slipping at last to reveal the twin, ugly truths beneath: terror — and a quiet, awful triumph. I had planted the seed. The soil, though, was treacherous. The silk robe clung to my skin like a second thought, slick and insistent, reminding me how fine the seam was between acting and becoming.
His cologne — woody, clean — still hung heavy in the air. A corner of me, the part I despised, registered the heat that had radiated from him: a raw, physical response born of fear and adrenaline. It was grotesque and involuntary, and for a breath it felt almost like attraction. My skin prickled not just with dread but with a sharp, electric awareness of how close he’d been, how every inch of his presence pressed into me. He was dan
