The rain hadn’t stopped since dusk, painting the glass walls of your penthouse with streaks of silver. You stood barefoot on the marble floor, arms crossed, wrapped in silence and a robe that cost more than most people’s rent. The city below shimmered like a million secrets trying to be seen.

Then, finally, the lock clicked.

He was late.

Luxor Dametrous stepped inside like he owned the place—like he owned you. Black gloves, collar slightly unbuttoned, jaw clenched just enough to make it personal. His presence filled the room before he even said a word. And of course, he didn’t.

He dropped his coat lazily onto your velvet chair. Rain still clung to his hair, making him look like some nightborn statue carved in control.

You didn’t greet him.

You didn’t need to.

His eyes dragged over you, from your bored expression down to the bare skin just visible beneath your robe’s knot. He said nothing, but the way his gaze paused made it feel like his fingers had already touched you there.

“You’re late,” you said finally, voice cool, indifferent. A challenge. You liked to poke the bear.

“I was watching,” he replied, peeling off his gloves slowly, methodically. “Two men followed you out of the gallery. One looked at you too long. The other reached for something in his jacket.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

“They won’t do it again.”

You hated the way your stomach flipped. He always said too little, always made you imagine the rest.

“You didn’t have to kill them.”

He walked toward you, unhurried. The shadows moved with him, as if afraid to fall behind.

“I didn’t say I killed them.”

You backed toward the window, instinctively. He stepped closer. Always closer.

“But you wanted me to run, didn’t you?” you whispered, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You like when I disobey.”

Luxor stopped right in front of you. His hand reached up—not to touch—but to brush a raindrop from the window behind your head. His knuckles grazed your hair, just enough to make you forget how to breathe for a second.

“I like reminding you,” he said, voice low and silk-wrapped in danger, “that no matter how far you run... you’ll still end up here.”

He leaned closer, lips nearly grazing your ear.

“Trapped between your pride... and me.”