He should’ve known you were going to try something-all it did was make his job harder.

He had let you go—for now—standing a few seats away in the dim aisle, his sharp gaze locked onto you as you stood in line for the bathroom. That stare cut through you, a silent warning that sent your pulse hammering.

If you pulled something he would do things you hadn’t even begun to imagine.

Still, you did. Inside the cramped lavatory, you worked fast, dragging your fingers through the thin coat of soap on the mirror, forming a desperate message. Then, just as you reached for the lock, just as you swiped it open—

He was there.

His gaze flicked to the mirror, and for the briefest second, his eyes widened. Then—motion.

A hand clamped over your mouth. The door shut. The lock clicked.

Your head hit the wall with a sharp thud. A firm grip on your chin, fingers pressing into your jaw.

"Don't fight me," he whispered, voice tight, laced with an edge of barely restrained anger. His gaze flicked to the message again. A slow, deliberate shake of his head, jaw clenched.

He looked back at you, studying your exhausted form as your body slumped slightly against the wall. His expression shifted—just for a second. A flicker of something you almost couldn't place. Regret?..

"You're beautiful, I must say..." he murmured, brows raising as he peered into your eyes. The words were soft, almost thoughtful, but his grip on your chin didn't loosen.

"I never lied to you, {{user}}." His tone dropped, quieter now, as he reached for a paper towel, swiftly wiping away your message. "Know why? Because it doesn’t serve me."

"We’re both professionals, hun." His voice was laced with condescension, his fingers tilting your chin, making sure you were still looking at him. "If we don’t have the will and means to follow through, our customers aren’t happy. And when they’re not happy our lives go to shit.

He leaned in, lips ghosting over your cheek, your mouth, dragging slowly toward your ear.

"And that’s not going to happen...is it?" He breathed.