Chapter 4 SEVENTEEN DAYS

DOMINIC'S POV

Two weeks.

That's how long she's been here.

I thought she'd break by now-like the others. Cry. Beg. Bargain.

But Ava doesn't beg.

She prowls.

There's something unholy about the way she survives. Like she's not scared of bleeding anymore. Like maybe she likes it.

She hasn't asked for help. Not once.

Not when her stitches ripped from moving too fast.

Not when she collapsed after trying to train like her body wasn't broken.

She's healed faster than I expected-like her body's trying to outrun her past.

She still flinches when anyone gets too close. Even Luca.

But me?

She doesn't flinch when I get close.

She challenges. Glares. Stands her ground like she wants me to finish what someone else started.

And that... that's a dangerous thing.

I've had women scream my name and curse it. But none have looked at me like Ava does-with fear and fascination.

She wants answers. I see it in her eyes every time she passes the office I never let her enter.

But I want answers, too.

That necklace she wore? It belonged to someone I buried.

And Ava's presence in my world feels too cruel to be coincidence.

So I watch her.

Not because I don't trust her-but because I don't trust myself.

Because the longer she's here, the more I want her.

Not for comfort. Not for love.

But for ruin.

And one of us is going to give in first.

---

AVA'S POV

It's been seventeen days.

Seventeen days in this place that's not quite a prison, not quite a sanctuary. Seventeen days of silence, shadows, and eyes I can't see but always feel.

My body is healing. The cuts, the bruises, the cracked ribs-mostly gone. My skin looks human again.

But inside?

I don't know.

Time moves weird here. The windows are fake-screens showing changing skies to trick you into forgetting what's real.

I don't leave. Not because I can't-I've found ways out.

I stay because I need to understand him.

Dominic Voss.

The man who saved me. The man who hasn't touched me since the night he carried me in bleeding and barely breathing.

He's kept his distance. Watched. Waited. Like he's letting me marinate in my own confusion.

And I am confused.

Because I should hate him.

And I do.

But I want him, too.

It's disgusting.

I don't know what's more dangerous-what he's hiding from me or what he's making me feel.

The days bleed together in patterns.

Wake up. Coffee. Silence. Training. Avoiding Luca's questions. Wandering the halls like a ghost with no grave.

Every now and then, I find him.

Dominic.

Always alone. Always reading something thick and ancient. Or reviewing security footage.

Sometimes, I feel his eyes on me before I even see him.

Sometimes, I let him catch me watching him.

We don't speak much.

But the silence is louder than any conversation we could have.

---

One morning, I wake before dawn.

The house is still. Cold.

I pad down the hallway barefoot, drawn to the scent of coffee. I find him there-in the kitchen. Shirtless, covered in tattoos, the steam from the mug rising like smoke between us.

He doesn't acknowledge me. Just drinks.

I hate how good he looks. How effortless the power drips from his posture, his hands, the curve of his spine.

"You ever going to explain why you kept me here?" I ask.

He doesn't look at me.

"I told you. You had something I wanted."

"My necklace."

"That's part of it."

"What's the other part?"

He finally turns, leans against the counter, and gives me that look-the one that undoes all my walls.

"You."

My breath catches.

"That's not a reason," I say, quieter now.

"It's the only one that matters."

Silence again.

And then, like a switch, he moves past me, his shoulder brushing mine-hot, brief, electric.

I freeze.

It wasn't an accident.

That single touch felt more intimate than anything the men before him ever forced.

He's in my head again. Crawling in, refusing to leave.

And worst of all-I'm letting him.

---

That night, I lie awake in the dark.

I think of the way his voice dropped when he said you.

I think about the way he hasn't touched me-hasn't taken-like every other man in my past would have.

Dominic doesn't need to force.

He just waits.

Like he knows I'll come to him eventually.

Like he wants me to choose him.

And that scares me more than anything.

Because what if I do?