She blinked slowly, nodding as her fingers worked behind her back, inch by inch loosening the strap around her ankle. He hadn’t tied her wrists yet. That had been a mistake.
Or maybe he wanted her free. For now.
“You saw me,” she whispered, mimicking the language he’d used. “When no one else did.”
His breath caught. “Exactly.”
Her fingers found the tongue of the buckle. She kept her other leg still to avoid giving anything away.
Miles moved toward the bookshelf behind him, still talking like he was on stage. “They said I was dangerous. Unstable. You rejected me before we even had a chance. But you wrote me, Vanessa. I saw it in the lines.”
She forced herself to nod. “I… I did write about you.”
Her stomach twisted at the lie, but her voice didn’t waver. She watched him carefully, keeping her breath shallow, her muscles from tensing.
The strap slipped one notch looser.
He picked up a candle from the shelf and set it carefully on the table beside the cross. A second candle followed. Then a third. All black wax, thick pillars—perfectly placed. Just like the last scene from the book.
The one where the villain tried to bind the heroine to his will with ritual and fire.
“I brought everything,” Miles said, tone light, like they were about to recreate a favorite date. “The collar. The silk blindfold. Even the dagger.”
Vanessa’s pulse stuttered. He didn’t mean an actual blade. He couldn’t.
Miles turned to her, lifting a small velvet pouch from the table and opening it. Inside was a curved ceremonial knife. Bronze and dull-edged—but not harmless. Decorative, maybe. But heavy.
“You described it in your notes,” he said. “Said it symbolized surrender and rebirth. I read all of it.”
She kept her voice low. “Where did you get it?”
“eBay.” He grinned. “The Internet’s a treasure trove for devoted readers.”
The strap around her ankle gave way. She didn’t move. Not yet. If she moved now, she’d never make it to the door before he got his hands on her.
She needed to stall.
“I want to understand,” she said softly, curling her legs under her. “But you’re going to have to help me. Walk me through it.”
He tilted his head, clearly pleased. “You want me to explain?”
“Yes.” She tried to make her voice tremble. “Please.”
Miles smiled, then crossed back to the dungeon table and set the blade down gently.
“This is about restoration. We’re rewriting your ending together. One where you don’t run. One where you finally admit your destiny was always to belong to me.”
Her fingernails dug into her palm. She forced herself not to react.
He continued, “I’m going to recreate the scene exactly. Tie you to the cross. The collar goes on first, then the silk. I’ll read the vows you should’ve written. And then, when it’s time…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t need to.
Vanessa breathed slowly. “You’re right. I changed the story. I feared what it really meant.”
His eyes gleamed. “But you’re not scared now?”
