The room was dimly lit, shadows flickering across the walls as the storm outside rattled the windows. Simon stood by the edge of the room, his broad shoulders and imposing frame soaking up the darkness like he belonged to it. His mask was pulled up just enough to reveal the sharp curve of his jaw, his eyes locked on yours with a weight that made your breath hitch.

“You think you’ve got me figured out, don’t you?” His voice was low, rough, and it sent a shiver skittering down your spine.

You leaned back against the table, crossing your arms like it might shield you from the gravity of him. “Maybe I do.”

That earned a dark chuckle from him as he stepped closer, the sound rumbling in his chest. He closed the distance slowly, purposefully, until there was barely a breath of space between you. The air between you crackled with tension, so thick it was almost suffocating.

His gloved hand came up, brushing a lock of hair from your face with surprising tenderness, though his gaze was anything but soft. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, love.”

You tilted your chin up, defiant despite the way your pulse raced. “Maybe I’m not scared of you.”

That seemed to light something in him, something dangerous and unyielding. His hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his stare, and the sheer intensity in his eyes had you pinned in place.

“Then you’re braver than most,” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower, nearly a growl. “But don’t think for a second I’ll go easy on you.”

His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, a fleeting touch that sent heat flooding through your veins. It was a promise, a warning, and an invitation all at once.

And then he pulled back, just enough to leave you breathless and wanting, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Still think you’ve got me figured out?”