= POV Chris =
The crowd had thickened, voices rising and falling like waves against the dimly lit walls. I kept my eyes on her—Sarah—watching as she flitted between conversations, laughing, smiling, slipping through groups of people like water through cracks. Every time her eyes sparked with interest, or she leaned in just a little closer to listen to someone, my stomach twisted.
But I held my ground.
I needed her to come to me.
There was a rhythm to these things—a pull, a tension—and I'd snap the thread holding it all together if I moved too soon.
So I waited.
One by one, her conversations began to thin out. I could see it happening, like tides receding, drawing her closer and closer to my corner of the room. I kept talking to people, answering questions, and flashing hollow smiles. All the while, my focus stayed locked on her, marking every step she took, every glance she threw in my direction.
And then, finally, she was near.
I bent forward, pretending to scroll through my phone, trying how my breath had quickened. She was so close now. If I turned my head, I'd see her boots—those black leather boots I'd bought her years ago for her birthday. The ones she'd said made her feel powerful.
I clenched my fists. Not yet. Not yet.
Before I could look up, someone else plopped down beside me—a girl in a dress so bright it hurt to look at her. She was bubbly, effervescent, and ultimately in my way.
"What's your favorite?" she asked, leaning in with wide, curious eyes.
I barely registered her words. My focus was behind her—on Sarah.
"It's green," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "The color of her eyes."
The girl blinked, confused. "Whose eyes? Mine are brown."
I didn't answer.
I just leaned back and tilted my head—and there she was.
Sarah.
Standing right behind the couch, staring down at me. Her emerald eyes—those damned eyes—locked onto mine, shining beneath the shifting club lights.
For a moment, the noise of the room fell away.
"Hello, Sarah," I said, my voice low and steady. I was praying that it sounded calmer than I felt.
She didn't speak.
She just stared, lips parting slightly, and I felt that pull, that electric hum in the air.
I leaned forward, breaking eye contact just long enough to bite my lip and hide the tremor that threatened to give me away. My heart was a hammer against my ribs, but I didn't let it show.
This was it.
The beginning.
Now, all I had to do was make her stay.
***
Three Weeks Later
I had done it. Sarah was here—back in my world, back in my arms. But as I leaned over the sink, staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror, the weight of what I'd done pressed down on me.
I splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would clear the fog in my head. It didn't.
The lie felt heavier now, suffocating. I hadn't just bent the truth—I'd shattered it, twisted it until I wasn't sure what parts of me were genuine anymore.
Last night had been excruciating—a battle to keep my composure as Sarah, my Sarah, stripped down and stepped into the shower with me. Her hands, gentle and unhurried, had moved over me like she was unearthing something delicate. I'd wanted to break. To grab her, to crush her against me. Instead, I stood there, frozen, letting the water wash over us while my thoughts screamed.
And now she was in my house like none of it had ever ended.
I braced my hands on the sink and shut my eyes. I needed to talk to Amber. I needed to make sure she wouldn't slip up and ruin everything. Sarah might not be mine, not yet—but she was here. I couldn't lose her again.
"Chris?"
Her voice was soft, but it cut through me like a blade.
I spun around. Sarah stood in the doorway, wearing an oversized shing just past her thighs, leaving long, bare legs in its wake. My throat tightened.
"Sarah, hi. Sorry, I just needed to—"
She crossed the room before I could finish, closing the space between us in three easy steps. Her lips brushed mine—light, tentative, and devastating.
"Chris, it's okay," she whispered, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. "I'm here now."
Her arms wrapped around my neck, and I broke. My hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her body through the thin fabric. She was soft—so damn soft—and I wanted to hold her until the rest of the world disappeared.
But I wanted to ruin her too.
"Why don't we sleep in your bed?" she murmured, her voice lilting, teasing. Her lips ghosted over my cheek as she spoke, making it impossible to think clearly. "You know…it's a lot bigger than mine."
I froze.
"No."
Her brows furrowed. "No?"
"I don't think we should sleep in my bed." My voice was strained, raw. I dropped my forehead to her shoulder, breathing her in, willing myself to stay grounded. "I don't think I can sleep there again."
"Chris…" Her fingers trailed up my back, soothing, searching. "Don't say that. Please—let me help. What can I do to make it better?"
Her words were a balm and a blade, all at once.
I tightened my hold on her, pressing my face into her neck, hoping she couldn't feel how hard my heart was pounding.
She wanted to fix me.
And I wanted to let her.
But I also wanted to watch her fall apart.
+++
I bit my lip.
Amber had planted this idea in my head, watered it, and let it take root. And now here I was, standing on the edge of something I couldn't take back.
In the air vent, hidden away from prying eyes and careful hands, was a pair of leather cuffs Amber had passed to me—a twisted little gift for a twisted little plan.
Redemption. That's what I told myself this was. A way to make her stay, to make her pay. But would she go along with it?
I lifted my head from her shoulder, meeting those soft green eyes.
"Well…" I started, my voice low, deliberate. "I'd feel better if I knew you wouldn't leave. Like…if you couldn't leave. While we slept."
Her brows pulled together. "What? You mean you want to tie me up or something?"
I flinched and turned away, pressing my palm against my mouth like I'd said too much. "Forget it. It's fine. Forget I mentioned it."
"Chris—"
I shook my head, swallowing hard and forcing my voice to tremble. lly. I get it. It's weird. Just…forget it."
Silence hung between us, sharp and heavy, and then she did something that almost broke me.
She hugged me.
"No, no," Sarah whispered, her lips brushing against my hair. "It's fine. If it helps you sleep better…if it means you won't be afraid, I'll leave…" She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. "Then tie me up."
I blinked at her, heat flooding through my veins.
Her voice softened, almost teasing. "Do what you need to, Chris. I'll be here when you wake up."
She kissed my forehead slowly and sweetly as if she thought she was saving me, but it felt more like surrender.
"Thank you," I murmured, my hand closing around hers as I led her out of the bathroom.
The walk to the bedroom felt heavier than it should have—like every step was setting something irreversible into motion.
When we reached the edge of the bed, I gestured for her to sit. She did, crossing her legs and watching me as I moved toward the nightstand.
I opened the drawer, pulling out the leather cuffs I'd tucked away earlier. The soft creak of the leather filled the room as I tested the buckles to ensure they were ready.
When I turned back to Sarah, her eyes locked on mine.
There was trust there—trust and curiosity made something dark inside me twist and tighten.
"You can change your mind," I said, giving her one last chance to back out.
She shook her head, her lips parting as she leaned back, baring her wrists. "No. I want this."
Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it was enough to undo me.
I stepped closer, pulling her hands into mine, brushing my thumb over her pulse point as I fastened the first cuff.
The leather bit into her skin, snug but not too tight, and she let out a shaky breath as I did the same to her other wrist.
I leaned down, letting my lips graze her ear.
"Good girl," I whispered, and she shidduch.
I tightened my grip on the cuffs, feeling the heat of her skin against my palms.
Sarah might have thought this was about trust. About comfort.
But I knew better.
This was about power.
And tonight, it was mine.
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