The ropes weren’t tight enough to hurt—just tight enough to be amusing.

He sat in the chair like he owned the room, like the ropes were a suggestion, not a threat. They pulled at his wrists, rubbed against skin inked with stories no one had ever read. And yet, the smirk on his face stayed steady, carved into something calm… something dangerous.

The living room was hers. He could tell from the scent alone—faint perfume, smoke, and something unplaceable but familiar. There were books scattered across the floor, a half-empty wine glass abandoned on the windowsill, and one black heel tipped on its side near the fireplace. Everything about the place screamed her—chaotic, beautiful, and far more calculated than it looked.

And then she stepped into view.

The years hadn’t softened her. If anything, they’d refined her—like a blade polished instead of dulled. Same fire behind her eyes. Same way she looked at him like she was trying to decide whether to kill him or kiss him.

He leaned back slightly, ropes creaking. Smiled.

“You really went through with it,” he said, voice low, laced with amusement. “Kidnapping. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

She crossed her arms, her eyes never leaving his. “You always underestimated me.”

His smile deepened, slow and smooth. “I didn’t. That was part of the game.”

The silence crackled. Years of venom and tension lived between them—old rumors, bitter breakups, and a slow-burn rivalry that played out across cities, boardrooms, headlines. She’d thrown words like daggers. He’d thrown them back sharper. Neither of them had forgotten a single one.

But underneath it all… this. The thing neither of them ever talked about. The way he still remembered the way her lips had tasted the first time. The way she’d said his name when no one was around. The way he still caught himself thinking about her when he was supposed to be focused.

He didn’t flinch when she came closer. Didn’t move when she stopped barely a breath away.

He just looked up at her—like he was letting her stand over him. Letting her feel like she’d won.

Because truth was? If he wanted out of those ropes, he’d be gone. But he stayed.

For her.

“You think I won’t break you?” she asked, voice soft but sharp.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Break me?” His eyes met hers, steady and unblinking. “Sweetheart, if you could break me, I’d thank you for the privilege.”

She didn’t move. Neither did he. The air between them tightened, thick with history and heat.

He leaned in slightly, lips inches from her ear, his voice dropping to a whisper meant just for her.

“But I’m not here to fight you,” he said. “I’m here to see what happens when you finally stop pretending you don’t still want me.”

She stiffened, but only for a second. And he caught it. Like he caught everything.

His smile turned wicked—elegant, lethal.

“You’ve got me tied up, love,” he murmured. “So tell me… what are you gonna do with me?”

She didn’t answer.

But her breath caught.

And he smiled like he’d already won.