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Beautiful.

The robe she wore suddenly looked tighter on her.

Tighter around her waist.

Tighter across her chest where her breath caught.

She hated that I noticed.

She hated even more that I didn’t say anything.

Instead, I let the moment stretch.

Let it become a noose.

And then?—

I reached for the box she’d tossed across the counter.

The choker.

Black velvet, silver vines.

Delicate. Commanding.

Mine.

I dragged it toward her with one finger. Slow. Deliberate. Like drawing a knife between us.

“Wear it,” I said softly, “or don’t.”

I tilted my head, letting my gaze burn into hers.

“You’ll think about it either way.”

Her breath hitched. Just a little.

Enough.

I picked up my coffee, turned my back on her, and walked away—unhurried, shirtless, calm.

Like I hadn’t just taken her apart with a finger and a whisper.

And behind me?

Silence.

But I knew what I’d left behind:

A woman breathless with fury.

Blazing with shame.

And aching for something she wouldn’t name.

I stepped into the dining nook, the scent of espresso and crêpes still lingering in the air like temptation itself.

Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, delicate and golden, casting lace-like patterns across the table. Beautiful. Peaceful.