Hi, I really do like your writing, and thank you for feeding us. Could I request Amphoreus men x reader, meeting their future child (toddler age? feel free to adjust if needed) that accidentally somehow managed to go back in time to the doomed timeline. I was thinking that they meet at the market, or someplace else and don't connect the dots until later. Maybe their future child meets them during version 3.0. This is one of my favorite prompts, and I am not sure what the limit for how many characters so I will just stick to those 3. Feel free to modify to help you write it better!
“Somewhere in Time, You Knew Me”
Tags: Mydei x Reader, Anaxa x Reader, Phainon x Reader, Time Travel, Found Family, Future Child, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft Moments, Mystery, Subtle Romance (Between the Characters and Reader), Prophecy, Tender Interactions, Hidden Identities (Phainon).
Warnings: Brief Mentions Of War/Violence, Bittersweet Undertones, Emotional Themes, Grief Implied, Canon-Typical Tragedy, Vague Spoilers for 3.0.
He had never liked markets. Too loud. Too cramped. Too full of merchants selling false wisdom as truth.
Yet here he was in Okhema’s Marmoreal Market, pausing amid stalls glittering with trinkets, books, and broken philosophies, freshly displaced from the wreckage of the train attack, feeling like a derailed thought in a half-written theory.
He should’ve noticed the child sooner.
They weren’t loud. Weren’t crying. Just staring.
At him.
From behind a stack of secondhand tomes, their gaze locked on his—eyes wide with that raw, inquisitive intensity only possessed by the terribly young and the terrifyingly perceptive.
“…You’re not supposed to be alone,” he said, kneeling.
The child blinked. Then smiled.
“You still smell like old books and fire,” they said softly, tugging his hand with unearned familiarity. “Did you finish your big truth-thing yet?”
He froze.
“…What?”
But they only giggled and twirled the crimson ends of his jacket between their fingers. “Renny says you never sleep because you’re afraid you’ll miss the right question. But you don’t need to find it now. It’s okay. You’ll get there. I remember.”
I remember.
Anaxa's tongue turned to ash. He stood, but the child had already scampered off, tugged by the hand of an unfamiliar guardian. His breath faltered.
Later that night, after the temple’s first healing circle, you found him sitting alone, half-drunk on clarity and silence.
“I saw something strange,” he murmured without looking at you.
You sat beside him. “The market child?”
He gave a tight, humorless smile.
“They quoted my unfinished thesis... one I haven’t even written yet.” A pause. “They looked like you. The eyes were mine. The defiance? That was all you.”
You squeezed his hand. No more words needed.
Truth always arrived late in Anaxagoras’s world—but for once, it came wearing small shoes and boundless affection.
The market was noisy—of course it was—but Mydei moved through it like the war-forged ghost he was, unnoticed unless he wished otherwise.
He only stopped when a familiar stall caught his eye—pomegranates and goat cheese. His favorite (but he'll never admit it anyone out loud).
He was about to walk past when a voice piped up:
“You’re going to buy two, right? Renny says you always buy two.”
A small hand tugged on the hem of his cape.
He turned.
A child, barely to his thigh in height, stared up at him with unnerving certainty. Their eyes sparkled. The markings on their arm mimicked the style of the Kremnoan dynasty, though subtly softened. Almost playful.
“What did you say?”
“You always buy two. One for you. One for Renny. And you always pretend not to like the cheese part infront of Renny.”
The weight in his chest threatened to collapse him. “I… do I know you?”
The child tilted their head, thoughtful. “Not yet.”
A soft laugh. Not mocking. Just honest.
They pointed toward the temple ruins, to where you waited among the crowd, oblivious.
“I’m not s’posed to talk long. You told me that. Said it would mess stuff up.” Then, more quietly: “But you looked tired. I wanted you to smile today.”
And like a memory from a battle he couldn’t place, they vanished into the market crowd.
Later, after Nikador’s second assault was narrowly held back (or finished, I don't remember, sorry), he returned to you, bloodied but alive. He told you nothing.
Just held you a little longer that night. Just listened to you a little more.
And when the next market run came, he bought two.
He even ate the cheese, without pretending to not liking it.
Phainon loved markets. Not for the goods, but for the laughter. The noise. The people who still believed in something.
He had just finished helping a merchant unload broken refugee crates when a small voice called out.
“Khaslana.”
The name hit like a spear through dream-fog.
He turned.
A child waved at him from atop a barrel, legs swinging. “That’s your secret name, right? You used it in the sad world. But you’re not sad here. Not yet.”
Phainon blinked. His first instinct was to dismiss it—children say strange things.
But this one had your smile. Your exact smile.
He approached slowly.
“You know that name?”
They nodded. “You let me borrow your coat sometimes when it storms. It smells like sun and fighting. And Renny says you still snore when you nap, even if you try to deny it.”
A pause.
“I wanted to see you again… before the world wakes up. Before you go.”
He crouched to meet their eyes. “I’m… going somewhere?”
They looked guilty. “Oops. You always say spoilers are bad.”
Their little hands patted his armored gauntlet as if it were a bandage.
“Don’t worry. You come back. You always come back.”
Then, just like a blink in a failing simulation, they were gone.
Phainon stood frozen until your voice brought him back. You'd found a trinket—and were beaming as you showed it to him.
Later, after your group reached the Marmoreal Palace and Phainon stood beneath a sky trembling with prophecy, he touched the gauntlet on his arm and whispered:
watching pursuit of Jade and the marriage between Xie Zheng and Changyu may have been convenient for them. But it's an absolute inconvenience for everyone else. They're married and it's going to be your problem.
Working with danger is one thing, but did you really have to marry one too?
Made this for DCC's May Microcreation with the theme Hidden Identities. Check out the collection to view more fantastic works, and to see the full artwork for this one! ♥︎
For You I'd Bleed Myself Dry - Part 2 (Love and Deepspace)
Part 2 is up now! Xavier gets himself into a cage fight right before the angst kicks up.
~~~~~~~~
Read Part One | Read Part Three
(Based on the Tomorrow’s Catch-22 AU) After discovering that Xavier is the infamous SSS-Class Praedator Hermit, Ariadne starts going on missions with him in secret. But when a mission leads to Xavier’s identity being exposed to the LCBI everything crashes down. Xavier’s only choice now is to return to his family to be used as a lab rat, leaving Ariadne to figure out how to save him.
Read on Ao3
LaDS Whump Masterpost
LaDS Masterpost
~~~~~~~~
We headed toward the apartment Xavier shared with Jeremiah, hoping he had found something useful. The balcony of the apartment was covered in a veritable jungle of plants and flowers, a lush paradise.
Jeremiah was locked away in his room when we got there, likely hunched over his computer. I looked around the small apartment as Xavier knocked on his door, seeing a tiny lab set up on the dining table.
I went over to look at all the beakers and vials.
“Ah, don’t touch that, please!”
Jeremiah popped out of the room, dark circles under his eyes as he hurried past Xavier over to the table.
“I’m not going to touch it,” I huffed, folding my arms across my chest. “Do you have any information on the enhancers?”
“Yeah, I do, actually,” Jeremiah said grimly as he picked up the vial from the table.
“I did some tests on the components, and the base elements are like a fingerprint.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I can tell who made them by looking at the core components of the recipe—I’m pretty familiar with it,” Jeremiah replied, turning to Xavier with a slightly apologetic look.
Xavier pressed his lips into a tight line. “Philo.”
“Yeah.”
“So, it is them.”
“Looks like it,” Jeremiah said and tapped the side of the vial. “Also, it looks like there were only 5 of these samples made. This one is listed as 2 of 5.”
I rubbed my chin. “So, our missing seller has more of these to go around?”
“Yeah, that’s not all, though,” Jeremiah said, beckoning us toward his room. The lights were off, with only the glow of his computer monitors illuminating the area. He sat at the desk and brought up the footage from the club the night before, showing the buyer fleeing from the back room. He paused the video.
“I finally got some facial recognition results,” he said. “And I found a match with a researcher employed by Philo.”
Xavier leaned over to look more closely at the image. “He’s not someone I recognize, so he must be new.”
Jeremiah nodded. “He’s only been employed for the last six months. My guess is he was looking to make a quick buck.”
“So, wait…he’s not a Praedator then?” I asked.
Jeremiah shook his head. “As far as I’m aware, no.”
Xavier hummed in contemplation. “Presumably he’s hiding out in the Southern District now.”
“And if he has more of these vials, he might do another sale within the next few days.” I turned to Jeremiah. “Jeremiah, is there any way you can hack into Philo and see how many of the prototypes were stolen?”
He grinned and started typing away. “Oh, definitely. Just give me a moment.”
I nodded. “We’ll leave you to it then. We need to get back to the office.”
“I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Xavier and I headed back to the car.
“So, we need to track this guy down, preferably before he sells any more of the enhancers,” I said. “We just need to figure out where to find him, and how to pretend we don’t know about him already.”
Xavier grinned. “Should I have Hermit send you another tip once Jeremiah finds more information?”
I smack his ribs. “I think Hermit would be better off lying low for now.”
He frowned. “The Enforcers won’t get anywhere asking around the Southern District. You should know that.”
I shrugged. “Maybe, but with Rachel and the others looking for possible buyers among the known Praedator dealers, we might be able to parse out the next target for our rogue researcher.” I got into the car and waited for Xavier to follow before turning it on. “Then we can decide if having the culprit show up on LCBI’s doorstep in the middle of the night will be the best option.”
Xavier smiled with a nod. “And if we can’t find a good lead?”
“Then you and I will continue our investigation after hours.”
***
By the time we got back to the office, Rachael and her team had found some decent leads from our files that I took to the briefing with the other division captains.
After agreeing on how we would share the work load, and getting the okay from the chief, I headed back to the bullpen, finding that Grant and Levi were back, eating lunch at their desk with everyone else.
“Anything to report from the club?” I asked.
“Nothing really, Captain,” Grant said. “We talked to the owner but he said he had no prior knowledge of Caliban’s intended deal last night, and when he showed us the footage from the CCTV cameras, it had been corrupted.”
I hummed, glancing briefly at Xavier eating his instant noodles as I went over to the kitchenette to boil water. “Maybe it really was Hermit then.”
“Whether it was or wasn’t, there was no sign of our mystery man, alive or dead,” Levi added. “So we can only assume he’s on the run.”
“Are we sure that the club owner wasn’t working with Hermit to orchestrate the set-up?” I asked to keep a little heat on the club.
“It’s something to consider,” Grant shrugged. “But we’re not going to get more out of that owner unless you want us to bring him in officially.”
I pressed my lips together as I sat down at my desk to wait for my noodles to finish cooking. “Put a pin in that for now. We have other leads to follow. I trust your gut, Grant. If you don’t think there’s any more to find at the club, then we’ll put our efforts elsewhere.” It was pointless worrying about them looking into something else until Jeremiah had solid leads for uus.
The man saluted with half a sandwich. “Sounds good, Captain.”
As I ate, I began to send messages to all of my informants, seeing if they could give us any more information. Jeremiah might be a good insight into Philo and our missing man, but I needed people on the ground in the Southern District who might know where he was hiding. He was an outsider, and would definitely be easy to spot.
The afternoon crawled by with mostly a lot of phone calls as we tried to narrow down the best candidates. Grant and Levi went out again to look into a few of the promising leads and I drank cold coffee as I poured over the information my informants sent in, sightings and hearsay both, trying to put a location on our missing man.
Xavier sat at his adjoining desk, and I glanced up as his phone rang, the loud vibration rattling the desk. He snatched it up and answered, tucking it between his shoulder and chin as he continued to type on the computer.
“Yes? What did you find?”
I figured it was Jeremiah and continued working, waiting for Xavier to finish. I watched as his eyes narrowed, his fingers pausing on his keyboard.
“I see. You’re sure?” He pressed his lips together. “Send over the information.”
He ended the call and I glanced around, seeing that no one else was within earshot before I leaned toward him. “Well?”
“I’m forwarding you the email. Jeremiah found some new info.”
A ping sounded from my phone and I snatched it up, opening the email from Jeremiah. I tapped on the attached files and frowned, trying to make sense of what I was looking at until it clicked.
“His bank statements…”
“Yeah,” Xavier nodded. “With several substantial payments from—”
“Ever,” I finished grimly.
I sat back in my chair, rubbing my forehead. “So is he working for Ever or Philo…?”
“I would guess that Ever either turned him or planted him in Philo with the intent of him stealing information for them. While Philo has a large branch related to the pharmaceutical business Ever has ties to the military. A frenzy enhancer like this would be gold to them.”
Xavier was right and I didn’t love the implications of that. However…
“So why is he hiding out in the Southern District then? You think he got cold feet?”
“I don’t know, but I think I know who the buyer is most likely to be.”
“Who?” I demanded. “Is it someone on the list?”
Xavier gave a small smile and tapped one of the files. “Commodus—more aptly named than you might think.”
I frowned as I pulled the file on the Praedator out of the pile. “I thought we already discarded him. Grant and Levi looked into him and he checked out.”
Xavier shook his head. “He would to those who don’t know what he really trades in.”
“And what is that?”
“Blood.”
Xavier stood up, glancing at his watch. “Are you up for another after hours investigation, Captain?”
I sighed but gave him a fond look. “Always.”
***
We parked five blocks away from the location Xavier was taking me to and I huffed at the long walk.
“This is going to make a quick getaway difficult,” I said.
“It will be fine,” Xavier assured me as he tugged on my hand. “Hopefully, we won’t have to make a quick getaway.”
“One of these days you’re going to have to take me out on a date that isn’t doubling as an undercover mission,” I grumbled.
Xavier chuckled and tugged me closer to put his arm around my waist as we fell in line with several other Praedator couples making their way into the nondescript club. “When this is over, I promise I’ll take you out on a proper date. Fancy dinner, real dancing, and a relaxing walk under the stars that doesn’t involve running away from something.”
I softened as I looked up at him. “Alright, sweet-talker. I’ll hold you to that.”
As we approached the bouncers, Xavier flashed his phone, showing some kind of ticket. We were waved inside.
I wasn’t sure what to expect but as we entered the industrial looking building, I was hit with a wave of hard, pounding music, and the scent of sweat and blood. The crowds were gathered around a central area where a huge cage sat in the center of the room on a raised section. Scantily clad servers wove through the crowds, taking bets and offering drinks and unknown pills.
“This is…an underground fight ring?” I realized.
Xavier leaned down to speak into my ear. “Yeah. Commodus runs cage fights every Friday night. Some are champion matches, some are just Praedators from the crowd who want to go at each other. Like I said, he deals in blood.”
One of the servers came up to us, but Xavier waved her away, pulling me toward the fringe of the crowd so we were standing against one wall in a good observation point.
“Stable frenzy enhancers are exactly the kind of thing he would want,” Xavier added. “He’s also a known info broker, he would definitely have heard about them, especially after Caliban failed to buy them last night.”
I furrowed my brow. “How can we be sure the seller is going to show up tonight though?”
“He’s not going to want to wait,” Xavier said. “He has both Ever and Philo after him as well as the LCBI now. He can’t hide in the Southern District forever. The only thing currently keeping him alive is the fact that he has something that powerful Praedators want.”
He was right. I nodded, already scanning the crowds for our missing man when a door at the back corner nearest to us opened and a huge Praedator stepped out. The crowd cheering in greeting.
“Commodus,” Xavier breathed.
Before I could ask another question, he was shoving me into the shadows. My back hit the wall and there was only a breath of hesitation before his mouth was on mine.
“X-Xavier!” I protested, pushing at him. “Now is not—”
His only reply was to shove me more firmly back, one hand on my waist, the other pinning my wrist up beside my head. “Wait,” he murmured “I don’t want Commodus to see me yet.”
“He knows you?” I sputtered, trying not to fully succumb to the heat rushing through my body at his sudden show of dominance.
Xavier hummed and started kissing me unashamedly again, pressing his body against mine. The studded leather and chains of his outfit dug into me and I finally allowed myself to savor the moment, taking hold of the straps around his hips and tugging him closer. Xavier exhaled into my mouth, ducking down further as Commodus and two guards passed us, paying us no attention. My heart pounded and I closed my eyes, briefly savoring Xavier’s heat and the taste of his mouth.
When he finally pulled away, he blinked a little, wiping a thumb over his lip. “Sorry, I got a little carried away.”
I rolled my eyes and reached out to more thoroughly wipe the stain of my dark lipstick from his mouth. “No need to apologize. It worked.” My cheeks were flushed with heat despite my pretending indifference and I could see Xavier’s little smirk out of the corner of my eye as he shifted further away again.
Before we could say anything else, a spotlight came on over the cage and the crowd instantly started cheering wildly as the Praedator Commodus stepped inside, holding his arms wide.
“Ladies and gents—I hope you have your bets in because we have an all-star lineup for tonight’s entertainment!”
Xavier tugged me closer to the cage, mingling on the edges of the crowd. Everyone was jostling, getting in last minute bets as the two Praedators who would take the ring first climbed into the cage, posturing at each other. The referee—or as much a one as these kinds of fights usually had—stepped forward, offering them a tray with syringes that I assumed contained frenzy enhancer. I winced as I watched them take them and inject themselves.
“They don’t care if they lose their minds?”
“They consider it entertainment,” Xavier replied blandly. “The winners’ purses are always really good too. Most think it’s worth the risk.”
I watched as Commodus with his men took a seat in a booth on one side of the room, overlooking proceedings. In his blood red suit and leather accents, he did resemble the Roman emperor of his namesake.
As the bell announced the start of the fight, the two Praedators in the cage went at each other like rabid animals, the crowd screaming encouragement and abuse as their favorites got the upper hand or faltered.
Movement caught the corner of my eye and I glanced over to see a figure slinking in the shadows. He looked completely out of place, far too plain with his nondescript Northern style leather jacket and a hat pulled low over his head. But I would have recognized him instantly, even without the case clutched tightly in his hand.
“Xavier.”
“I see him.”
We started to make our way through the crowd as the man lingered briefly before heading in the direction of Commodus’s booth.
Xavier and I tailed him, going completely unnoticed in the chaotic atmosphere and as we passed by some kind of side room, Xavier reached out to grab the man as I opened the door, the two of us ushering him inside with a muffled cry.
“W-who are—mmph!”
“Quiet,” Xavier snapped, pressing his hand over the man’s mouth. “We just want to talk.”
“Oh god, it’s you two again from the club! You’re with Ever—or—or Philo?!”
“Neither,” I stated, playing good cop as I affected a more open look. “Let’s just say we’re an interested third party.”
The man trembled and Xavier took him by the front of the coat and shoved him over to sit on a box.
“Start talking,” he said. “Who exactly are you working for?”
“No one!” the man protested.
“It doesn’t matter to us either way, we just want to know the truth,” I told him.
“And we want to take those samples off your hands,” Xavier added.
The man’s hand shook where it was clenched so tightly around the handle of the case that his knuckles were white. I stepped forward. “Who told you to take them?”
He let out a shuddering breath and slumped. “I-I was only working at Philo for a few weeks—got hired out of University. Someone from Ever approached me and offered me a deal. I was broke, barely able to pay rent, and he said I would be guaranteed a job with them if I pulled it off so I did what they asked and stole the samples. But when I realized what Ever could do with something like this I-I got cold feet and I did the only thing I could think of and tried to sell it off. Then at least whoever bought it would just use it and be done. But it hasn’t been easy. Getting word out to find a buyer has put Ever and Philo on my trail now and…I just want it to be over!”
“If you want it to be over, then do what we say,” I told him. “We’ll help you get out of this.”
“What do you want?” he asked shakily.
“Tell Commodus that you found another buyer who wants to offer him a deal for the enhancers,” Xavier told him.
The man balked, shaking his head. “No! No way in hell! I’m not going to cross him! I already almost got killed last night when the deal with Caliban went bad! That was your fault too!”
I looked at Xavier, and finally sighed and reached into the secret pocket of my leather vest to pull out my credentials. “I’m from the LCBI. I can promise you that if you go through with this and give your testimony on record we’ll make sure neither Ever nor Philo will be able to touch you.” I wasn’t really sure I had the authority to promise that, but we would cross that bridge when we got to it.
“You’re Enforcers?” he asked, eyes widening, still seeming to be slightly suspicious, but looking more trusting as he stared at my credentials.
“Do we have a deal?” Xavier asked curtly.
The man swallowed hard, fiddling with the case, before he finally nodded. “What do you want me to do?”
Xavier gave him some instructions and we sent the man on his way, stepping back outside to stand at the fringe of the crowd. The fight was winding down and the two Praedators were taking wild swings, both bloody and beaten.
The man made his way over to Commodus as confidently as possible, trying to appear as if he had just arrived. I watched as he seemed to explain everything to the Praedator. I couldn’t hear what was said from this distance, but from his expression he seemed more amused than upset. He waved to one of his guards who started to weave through the crowd before stopping in front of Xavier.
“The Emperor wants to speak with you,” he said simply.
Xavier nodded, tossing me an encouraging look as I followed a pace behind him.
As we were led to the box, Commodus lounged in his chair, chin propped casually in his hand as he eyed Xavier with a knowing look and then me with brief curiosity.
“Hello, Hermit.
“Commodus; it’s been a while.”
“Indeed, it has,” the Praedator said, raising his head as he picked up a glass of wine. “I hear you’re trying to scalp my goods.”
“I merely put in a better offer. I thought I would be generous and give you the opportunity to put in a counter.”
Commodus chuckled darkly. “Is that so? How about a deal instead?”
“What did you have in mind?” Xavier asked.
Commodus flicked a lazy finger at the cage. “Fight in my next round. My current champion is up next and he’s been unbeatable for too long. If you lose, I’ll match your current offer to the seller.”
A bad feeling began to well in my stomach.
“And if I win?” Xavier asked before I could caution him.
Commodus smiled. “Then you can have the enhancers and I’ll settle for making a ton of money on odds tonight.”
Xavier nodded. “Fine. It’s a deal.”
I opened my mouth to protest but Commodus grinned, reaching out to shake Xavier’s hand.
“A pleasure doing business again, Hermit. My man will escort you to the ring. It looks like you’ll be up soon.”
As the bodyguard from before motioned Xavier forward I jogged to keep up and grabbed Xavier’s shoulder.
“What the hell are you thinking?” I hissed.
“Relax, I can handle myself.”
The referee was doing the final count, and I swallowed hard as I saw the unconscious body of the loser, multiple visible injuries on his body. I did not want this night to end with me scraping Xavier up off of the cage floor. Especially not when he still bore the scars from Killer’s torture. I didn’t want to see him hurt like that again.
He sensed my unease and paused briefly to hold my hand as the crowd erupted in cheers and boos depending on who won or lost bets.
“I’ll be okay,” he said softly. “You know I’m stronger than I look.”
I sighed heavily. “Just…don’t do anything stupid—anything more stupid than you already are, anyway.”
Xavier grinned. “I wouldn’t want to miss the date I promised you, would I?”
I gave him a longsuffering look as the bodyguard motioned him forward while the winner leapt out of the cage and the attendants dragged the loser out behind him.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the referee called. “We have a surprise guest tonight! Let’s all welcome the infamous killer in the shadows—Hermit!”
Xavier gave me one last look and jogged up the steps, taking his place inside the cage, standing on the blood-stained mat as the crowd either cheered or jeered at him.
“This pretty boy is Hermit? I could break him like a toothpick!”
“I’ve seen him fight—he’s incredible! Absolute savage!”
The referee cast his arm back at the door behind the cage. “And our reigning champion: Crusher!”
A huge Praedator stormed out of the entrance to the crowd’s explosive cheers. He punched his fist in the air, hands clad in fingerless gloves with brass knuckles built in. The sides of his hair were shaved in obnoxious patterns and his teeth were filed into points. A leather harness with spiked studs crossed over his chest, some coated in dried blood from a past fight, leaving little to the imagination as to what would happen if someone got close enough to grapple.
My heart dropped into my stomach as I swore silently at Xavier for his lack of self-preservation.
The Praedator in question however, didn’t so much as blink as his opponent. He simply stood indifferently as Crusher climbed into the cage, leering at him.
“You’re going down, pretty boy! I’m gonna make you squeal real pretty before I’m done with you.”
Xavier simply shrugged. “We’ll see who’s squealing by the end.”
The Praedator laughed and the referee brought the tray of frenzy enhancers into the ring. Crusher grabbed a syringe instantly but Xavier made no move to take one.
“No thank you,” Xavier said simply.
Crusher scoffed, then, to my brief relief he tossed the syringe back onto the tray. “Nah, I don’t need enhancer to break you. I’d rather remember the feel of your guts through my fingers.”
Bets were being placed. I glanced over at Commodus who seemed to be watching with indifference as a serving girl poured him more wine.
Logically I knew Xavier could handle himself. I’d seen him fight—or, rather, seen the results of him fighting. He was dangerous, even without going into a frenzy. But I couldn’t help but think he had made a really bad decision going against someone twice his size whose fighting style he wasn’t familiar with. At least Crusher hadn’t taken the enhancer.
The referee exited the cage, closing it up behind him, and the countdown began.
“THREE—TWO—ONE!”
The bell rang.
Crusher was on Xavier before I could even take a breath.
The huge Praedator wasted no time in grabbing Xavier by the throat, slamming him back against the chain-link cage and leveling a brass-knuckled fist into his stomach.
I winced as Xavier let out a muffled grunt, heart leaping in my throat, fists clenched at my sides.
“What the hell, Xavier?” I hissed as the crowd started to roar in support for Crusher as he added another fist, and then his knee to the party. Xavier doubled over only to be slammed back again with Crusher’s hand tightening around his neck.
“Crush the little bitchboy!”
“Break his balls!”
“Make him choke on his own guts!”
Xavier began to go limp, and I started to push my way toward the cage when there was a sudden shift.
Crusher relaxed his grip and opened his arms as Xavier slumped against the side of the cage. “That’s it? Pathetic. I guess it’s time for the Hug of Death!”
The crowd screamed in anticipation as Xavier slid down onto one knee. I watched as his hand went behind him, pulling a knife from the back of his belt.
The tone of the fight changed in an instant. As Crusher went to grab him, Xavier whipped out at the Praedator with the knife, slicing it along the back of his thigh as he darted around him to the other side of the cage.
The crowd gasped ad Crusher roared in fury and pain. “You little—!”
Xavier flung himself at his opponent, neatly avoiding a haymaker, ducking in and delivering two neat slices to the Praedator’s ribs in the shape of an X.
“Show off,” I muttered, unable to help a smirk.
Crusher spun around, trying to grab Xavier again, but he was too fast. Xavier was toying with him, darting in like a wasp, so quick it almost looked like he was teleporting.
“AGGH! Get over here you little bitch! Let me crush your bones!”
Xavier leapt over another blow, kicked off of the side of the cage for momentum to slam his boot heel into Crusher’s nose.
The Praedator’s head snapped back in a spray of blood. He howled and frenzy overtook him.
The crowd cheered as he dashed toward Xavier, slamming him back into a corner of the cage. Xavier’s shoulder hit the support beam and he grunted, dropping to the ground and rolling to avoid Crusher’s stomping foot.
“You little shit! I’m going to rip your nose off and make you eat it!”
Xavier kicked his legs out from under him and Crusher went down hard.
It was then I saw a red glow on the back of his neck. He had an activator.
“Xavier!”
His eyes glanced toward me and I pointed to the back of my neck. Xavier nodded, but the distraction was all Crusher needed to grab his ankle and yank him down.
Xavier gasped, slamming into the floor, breath knocked out of him. Crusher was on him in an instant, straddling him and pinning him to the floor, doing his best to pound Xavier into the floor with his fists. Xavier dodged and deflected what he could, but some still got through, having to hurt like hell.
Crusher was in too much of a blind rage to realize until too late that Xavier had shifted into a position that left him able to execute a submission hold. He flipped their positions neatly and as Crusher struggled, Xavier grabbed the back of his neck and pressed the activator.
Crusher’s eyes flew wide and he choked out a protest before his body went limp, completely drained of all energy.
Xavier staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his lip.
The referee stepped into the cage again and grabbed Xavier’s arm, raising it. “Hermit wins!”
The crowd was silent for a beat before they erupted in cheers. I finally released a breath of relief, shutting my eyes briefly in gratitude that Xavier was still standing.
It took everyone a moment to recognize the sound of sirens cutting through earsplitting cheers.
“Raid!” someone shouted and the whole place erupted in cries and screams, as the attendees began to rush for any exit available.
I swore, and shoved my way to the back of the cage, reaching to open the door for Xavier.
“Xavier! We need to leave now!”
“You go, I’ll catch up,” he insisted, looking around the room, trying to spot the seller.
“Don’t be stupid, I’m not leaving you here!”
“You can’t be seen here,” he insisted.
“What about you?”
He shook his head. “It will be worse if you’re found here. Please go. I promise I’ll be right behind you.”
I gritted my teeth, but I knew it would be easier for us to escape notice if we separated. “Okay. But call me the second you’re out of here. I’m heading to the safe house.”
He nodded and I pushed away from the cage and hurried out the back exit with the rest of the fleeing Praedators.
I dashed through the shadows as the sound of sirens and the flashing lights of the Enforcer vehicles lit up the night. I didn’t take a breath of relief until I was three blocks down and could see my car in the distance.
I didn’t wait for Xavier. I didn’t know how much I would come to regret it, but I drove straight to the safehouse, confident that he would find me there within the hour.
I couldn’t be farther from the truth.
***
Xavier wove through the rushing crowd, finally spotting the seller dashing outside, staggering as he fought to keep hold on the case.
“Hey!” Xavier shouted, running after him. “Wait!”
The man didn’t stop, simply yanked the door open and slammed it in Xavier’s face as he made a break for it. Xavier swore, barely keeping himself from running straight into the door. He flung it open and dashed outside into the alley, looking left and right.
He could hear the Enforcers entering the building but he couldn’t be bothered by that right now. He was sure Ariadne had escaped and now all he needed was to get to the seller—
“No! don’t! Please!”
The pleading cry was followed by the muffled bang of a suppressed pistol. Xavier rushed around the corner just in time to see the man he was looking for slumping down the wall, blood gushing from his chest. The case slid from his hand and clattered onto the concrete as he collapsed.
“Hey!”
Xavier rushed toward the dark figure bending over the man, but the assassin simply snatched the briefcase and dashed into the night.
Xavier was about to go after him when the seller gurgled. Empathy surged through him and he reluctantly paused, turning back to crouch beside him.
“You…promised…” the man choked out.
Xavier felt guilt crush his insides as he tried to reach out to stop the flow of blood. “You’ll be okay, I’ll call an ambulance.” More lies.
The man choked up blood, then slumped forward, breathing halting all together.
Xavier let out a shuddering breath, reaching to check his pulse when bright lights nearly blinded him as footsteps stomped around the corner of the alley.
“That’s him! That’s Hermit!”
Shit.
Xavier stood, shielding his eyes from the lights, seeing a Praedator and several Enforcers standing there as the Praedator pointed him out.
“You! Stop!” one of the Enforcers shouted out.
Xavier turned and dashed away.
He heard the sound of a gun and something hit him in the leg. He staggered with a cry, looking down to see a tranquilizer dart sticking out of him. He ripped it out, but it was too late.
He began to feel woozy. He knew these were made to help stop Praedators who were in a frenzy. They worked fast. He collapsed fully, the concrete cold and rough on his cheek as he simply tried to stay conscious.
The Enforcers descended on him, shoving him forcefully onto his stomach and cuffing his hands behind him.
“Get him in the car, we’re taking him back to headquarters.”
Xavier was hauled upright, firm hands under his arms, dragging him toward the vehicles.
“What the—isn’t this Captain Celest’s rookie? From Sector I?”
“Holy shit.”
Xavier didn’t have the capacity to protest. The tranquilizers darkened his vision. The last thing he was aware of was being shoved into the back of a car, then everything was just an ocean of darkness.
***
I had barely gotten to the safe house and changed before my phone rang.
I glanced down to see Grant’s name and picked up, a sick pit forming in my stomach.
“What is it?”
“Captain…you need to come to the office.”
The pit deepened as I slid my gun into my holster again. “What happened?”
May Microcreation for the Drarry Creative Collective - Hidden Identities
My Microcreation was inspired by the Venetian masks my mom collected and hung up all over the hallway outside my bedroom growing up. Luckily I thought they were pretty rather than terrifying. I pictured them meeting at a masquerade ball and even though they definitely recognize each other (because they're obsessed of course), they pretend they don't.
synopsis: Behind the mask she wears at an exclusive underground club, she is untouchable—a dancer for the city’s wealthiest men who can buy her time, but never her face. Her rules are simple until he arrives: rich, patient, and far too observant, with eyes that never leave her and an obsession he makes no effort to hide. He doesn’t want a night with her—he wants to know her, to unravel her, to be the one she chooses. As curiosity turns into dangerous attraction, she finds herself drawn into his world of luxury, control, and quiet obsession, where every kindness feels like a warning and every touch feels like surrender. Somewhere between desire and danger, she must decide if he is the safest place she’s ever known—or the most beautiful mistake she’ll ever make.
if you'd prefer to hear it narrated, follow this link
MDNI 18+ | Smut to come
Session One: The Mask
She wasn’t allowed to remove her mask.
Not here. Not at events like these.
High rollers didn’t want faces. They wanted illusions—something beautiful, distant, and easy to forget before they went home to their wives.
And she preferred it that way.
It wasn’t her first gig. It wouldn’t be her last.
She wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight.
But her friend called that morning—mono, desperate—and she said yes before she could think too hard about it.
Now she stood backstage, adjusting lace that wasn’t meant to stay in place, listening to the muffled pulse of money and music on the other side of the wall.
The night was young.
Which meant it would be long.
He shouldn’t have come.
He knew that the second he stepped inside.
Too loud. Too crowded. Too predictable.
His friends were already halfway drunk, laughing too hard at things that didn’t matter, clapping him on the shoulder like they could drag him into their kind of boredom.
“Relax,” one of them said. “You’ll like this one.”
He doubted it.
He always did.
Until the door opened.
Black lace.
Dark hair.
A mask.
And eyes that didn’t belong in a place like this.
She bowed slightly to the men who would pay her night’s salary and she excused herself quickly to her tiny stage. The robe fell down her shoulders, slipping past her back and hips, and flowing seductively to the floor. It was forgotten for the time.
The pole waited for her patiently, warming up in the places she grabbed it. Wrapped around it. Twirled, spun, slid.
It was not sexual to anyone who wasn’t filled with lust like his idiot friends were. It was an art.
And he couldn’t look away.
His friends were too busy howling at her to notice that–for once–he actually paid attention to the dancer. The rare times he would actually attend these events, he ignored the girls and drank a single dram of whiskey neat before he called it a night.
She was on the floor of the small stage now, rolling her hips, tilting her head back into a welcoming pose. And as if he’d been summoned to that exact spot, he approached.
And his friends went silent.
He had a stack of something in his left hand that she came to realize was money. And she sat up straight, eyes wide. Her dance came to a halt as she watched him, curious. What did he want? Why did he approach her?
It felt like a Twilight Zone moment for her.
He stepped closer when she didn’t move. He moved a hand toward her, graceful, unassuming, and he held onto her shoulder before leaning in. His mouth met her ear so she could hear him over the loud music. He smelled so good it almost made her knees weak and she was glad the she’d been on the floor already.
“Take it off.”
That’s what the money was for.
She pulled back quickly, almost recoiling from him. Was it fear? Shock? She wasn’t sure. No one ever asked that unless their plan was to take the girl home. That very night.
She had never been asked, never been requested. She made sure her art was only seen by high-paying gentlemen. But none offered to take her home. She crafted her routines well to avoid moments like these.
He waited.
Not impatient.
Just certain.
Her eyes bore into his, shock still fresh in those pretty, brown eyes.
Finally, her answer came. But it was not what he initially expected.
Impulse kills quicker than curiosity.
She never let them see her face.
That was where she ended and they began.
And the shake of her head felt like a knife in the gut. ‘Fuck.’
He tried once more, making sure she felt his voice in it this time.
“I need to see you.”
She forced down the shiver in her spine from the depth of his voice, the proximity of his mouth against her ear.
She knew what this would become. But if she said yes first, what would happen?
He might not be interested anymore and leave everything where it was.
Why did this scare her more than being touched?
She held onto herself, stilled in hopes he would give up.
And when she didn’t move, he placed the stack of cash on the stage for her.
He said he’d be back.
And he kept his word.
Anxious wasn’t quite the feeling. Something more would have been accurate.
But she was not quite fearful either.
She had seen him twice since that night.
He didn’t request her, didn’t go into a private room. He was always front row for her, and only her. He left her with more money than she’d received from any highroller or regular.
He whispered something to her the second night he returned that she would not soon forget before he disappeared into the sea of men.
Her routines had begun to change, more raw, loose, sexier.
It wasn’t for him.
Practice was the only thing that took her mind off of him, his offer, his persistence.
It was all she could do not to fold.
He was gorgeous. And he was rich.
And he didn’t smell like the old, touchy men from upstate.
She ignored him. She had no intention of giving herself over for a night even if the money was worth it.
She still hoped for true love, romance, and lustless desire.
But then he requested her a few months later.
He’d watched her from backgrounds, front rows, upstairs. All the possible angles.
She followed him everywhere—into meetings, into silence, into sleep.
His shower was only for thoughts of her. His pillow stored the memory of her scent, the dreams of her, and the sweet sigh he caught from the night he asked her to take off her mask.
Before she shot him down. Even though it was kind–fearful even–it hurt his pride and ego more than anything.
He was still there. Still asking with his eyes, still placing her features, or their potential.
But he knew her beauty was unlike any other.
She stood before him, bowed once with little respect and proceeded to her stage. The same room as before. But this time…it was just him.
He watched her dance, watched her slowly twirl and crawl her way toward him as he’d requested. A lap dance. Only for proximity.
He never meant to demean her.
He just wanted to be closer after months of distance. He wanted her to perform only for him.
And the club owner probably wouldn’t mind if he paid extra just for her to be exclusive for only him.
But she might not like that so much. And he wanted to be respectful of her wishes.
Her ass slid against his legs, all the way up to his hips and back down. She did it again, ran a hand up his thigh before she turned back to face him, popping either cheek against his groin and she gasped loudly when one of his hands gripped her hip. It stilled her right on top of his hardness.
She didn’t turn away from him for a long moment. Her eyes were blown wide when his eyes finally met hers.
He didn’t speak for a long moment.
They just stared at each other while she was coming undone above him from shock, and he sat cozily and comfily underneath her but worried she might run away.
She didn’t.
That was good.
His jaw flexed, and so did something else.
She didn’t have the courage to look away. She needed to watch him, make sure he didn’t pull out any other tricky stops. But she couldn’t look away from those damned eyes, that fucking face. And his hand tightened against her hip.
“I want to take you home tonight.”
Her heart sank a little bit and he felt it.
“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
She pressed her lips together tightly behind the mask, her eyes began to lose that fear and slowly coiled into something fierce. She would fight if she had to.
She didn’t care how kind he was in the club–his home was a different situation. A place unknown to her. Dangerous.
“Don’t worry. I won’t cause you any harm. You’ll be perfectly safe. I’ve already paid for your service for the night, even if you choose not to do anything. And I don’t expect anything from you.”
His lips were moving but all she heard was sirens.
And then, “I want to give you some privacy. And I’m prepared to pay you generously for just that.”
She looked down at his hand, the free one. It rested gently against his thigh, very close to her body. And she looked back up at him slowly. His eyes had darkened at that moment and her lips were suddenly dry.
His fingers twitched against her skin, the lace.
“Don’t look at me like that, Saint, I’m trying to behave.”
‘Was that his idea of a nickname,’ she wondered?
She blinked and turned away from him slightly, but a hand brought her face back toward him.
“Don’t look away from me. I want your eyes on me only, right now.”
‘What was with this push and pull bullshit? Don’t look at him, do look at him, what the hell did he want?’
“I just want to see your face. Will you accept?”
And a part of her wondered why she did. The ride back to his penthouse was silent, and the anxiety ate her up during the ride.
When he parked and turned off the car, she reached for the handle almost immediately. Before her fingers could pull, his hand wrapped lightly around her wrist.
“What are you doing?”
She blinked. “Getting out?”
A small smile touched his mouth, amused, like she’d said something ridiculous.
“No, Saint.”
The nickname landed warm and dangerous all at once.
“I open the door for you.”
“It’s quicker if I open it myself,” she said, already half turned toward him.
His grip wasn’t forceful, but it was enough.
Enough to make her look at him.
Enough to make her stay.
For a second, he just watched her—calm, unreadable, like he was deciding how honest to be.
Then the corner of his mouth lifted.
“Quicker isn’t the point, Saint.”
Her breath caught.
The nickname again. Low this time. Intentional.
He leaned back slightly, still holding her wrist like it belonged there.
“If I let you rush away from me every time, I’d never see you again.”
She tried for sarcasm, for distance.
“Maybe that’s the idea.”
His smile deepened, slow and dangerous.
“No,” he said. “It isn’t.”
Silence.
Thick. Warm. Terrible.
Then finally, he let her go.
“Stay.”
Just one word.
Not a command.
Worse—because it sounded like certainty.
He stepped out, shut the driver’s door, and walked around the front of the car like the conversation had already been decided.
She sat there staring at the windshield, annoyed at him.
More annoyed at herself.
Because she stayed.
And when he opened her door and offered his hand, she took it anyway.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured.
And that—that almost made her turn around and get right back in the car.
But, like him, she persisted and followed his movement forward.
His garage was separate from everyone else’s. It led right to his entrance. And you needed specified access to even get onto his level of the building.
Shortly, she was in his living room, which looked more like a grand ballroom with sofas and side tables.
He dropped his keys on the nearest side table along with his phone and wallet.
He gestured to the sofa, "Make yourself comfortable.”
He settled on the sofa across from the one he directed her to. He offered a drink on the way in, but she declined.
She didn’t sit.
Most girls would have taken the invitation immediately–sank into the softness, reached for comfort, tried to belong in a space that was never meant for them.
She stayed standing.
Guarded.
Eyes moving–taking in exits, distance, him.
Good.
He leaned back into the sofa like none of it mattered, one arm stretched along the back, posture loose in a way that was entirely deliberate.
“Relax, Saint,” he coaxed, voice smooth. “You look like you’re planning your escape.”
“I always am,” she quipped.
No hesitation.
That almost made him smile.
Almost.
“Then you won’t mind staying a little longer,” he hummed.
Her eyes narrowed slightly at that–measuring, recalculating.
Still standing.
Still not playing into him.
He let the silence stretch.
Not awkward.
Not heavy.
Just… there.
“You can keep the mask on.”
A flicker. Small, but real.
“I didn’t bring you here to take anything from you,” he continued. “If anything, I’ve done the opposite.”
Her gaze dropped–just for a second–to the table, like she could still see the weight of everything he’d given her over the past months.
Then back to him.
“You paid for my time,” she said carefully. “That’s all.”
“That’s never all,” he chuckled.
Soft.
Certain.
Not arguing–just correcting.
Silence again. Longer this time.
He didn’t move toward her.
Didn’t reach.
Didn’t close the distance.
And somehow…that made it worse.
Because now it was hers to cross.
Her fingers lifted–barely–toward the edge of the mask.
Then stopped.
Dropped.
“No,” she whispered, more to herself than him.
His eyes tracked the movement, sharp but unreadable.
“Tell me why,” he suggested.
Not a demand.
A question.
That made it more dangerous. Her jaw tightened behind the lace.
“You don’t need a reason.”
“I don’t,” he agreed easily. “But you do.”
That landed.
She hated that it did. Her arms crossed loosely over herself–not defensive, not quite–but holding something in place.
“If they see your face,” she started, slowly, “they think they know you.”
His expression didn’t change–but something in his gaze sharpened.
“And once they think they know you, they think they own you,” she continued, voice quieter now, “they stop asking. Stop wondering.”
She looked at him then.
Direct.
Unflinching.
“They decide what you are–who you are.”
A beat.
“And I don’t belong to anyone like that.”
Silence.
Not empty.
Full.
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees now, attention completely, dangerously focused.
“And you think I would?” he questioned.
She didn’t answer. That was answer enough.
Something in his jaw shifted–just once–like he was adjusting to a challenge he hadn’t expected to respect this much.
Then–
“I don’t want to decide what or who you are,” he offered.
Honest.
Too honest.
“I want to see what you choose to be.”
That…was new.
Her breath caught–just slightly.
He saw it. Of course he did.
He always did.
“I paid for your time,” he continued, softer now. “Not your compliance.”
He leaned back again, settling into the sofa.
She took a step back.
Another removal of pressure. And somehow–
That was the thing that broke her.
Because now–
If she did it–
It would be hers.
Not his.
Her fingers rose again.
Slower this time.
No hesitation–just…weight.
The room felt too quiet, too still.
Even the city outside seemed to pause with her.
His gaze didn’t leave her. Not once.
Not blinking.
Not pushing.
Just there.
Waiting.
Her fingers hooked beneath the edge of the mask.
A breath.
Another.
Then–
She pulled.
Slowly.
Not dramatic.
Not performative.
Just enough.
The lace lifted.
Revealing–
First her mouth.
Soft. Tense. Uncertain.
Then her nose.
The curve of her cheek.
And finally–
Her eyes met his fully, nothing between them now.
No barrier.
No illusion.
Just her.
The mask slipped from her hand and fell somewhere behind her, forgotten.
Silence.
Real silence this time.
Not controlled.
Not intentional.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
And that–
That was the moment she realized…
He hadn’t been prepared for this either.
His composure didn’t break. But it shifted.
Subtle. Barely there. Like something inside him had just locked into place.
“Saint,” he said quietly.
Not teasing. Not amused.
Something else.
Something deeper.
And then–almost to himself–
“...fuck.”
Her breath hitched.
Not because of the word.
Because of the way he said it like he’d just lost something.
Or found it.
And wasn’t sure which was worse.
He leaned back slowly, dragging a hand across his mouth like he needed a second to recalibrate.
“You should sit,” he whispered.
Not commanding.
Not soft. Careful.
Like she’d just become something fragile. Or dangerous. Or both.
She didn’t move right away. Because now she understood something she hadn’t before.
This wasn’t about a face.
This wasn’t about curiosity.
This… was about recognition. And whatever he saw–
It mattered.
Too much.
Her mask had been retrieved. She still did not sit.
He didn’t offer again. Just watched her from his spot on the sofa, one hand covered his mouth slightly.
He didn’t stare, didn’t devour. Just… watched.
Like he was learning her.
That was worse.
Her face still felt exposed, like the absence of the mask was something physical, something missing. Her fingers twitched once against the mask before she stilled them.
“You got your money’s worth,” she rubbed a finger against her nose swiftly.
He scoffed, low. “I got a lot more than that, Saint.”
The nickname was annoying, but she still hadn’t commented on it.
“I need to rest. I have a long day tomorrow.”
“Fine. I’ll drive you home. But this conversation isn’t over.”
“It never started.”
She turned away from him before he could stand and walked the extended distance to the elevator. It required a keycard to use it, and when she realized it, she stopped and stared at the door.
So much for planning an escape.
Not that she felt the need to. He made good on his promise.
It was just a fail-safe, a contingency plan.
In case he lied.
“You need a hand?”
He stood just a few feet away from her, keycard in hand, twirling.
She didn’t turn around, afraid the embarrassment would be easily read. “Please open the door.”
He sighed, amused, “You learn fast.”
She nodded once, still facing the elevator door.
He stepped closer, enough that she could feel him at her back. He didn’t speak immediately, he was waiting. Like he was watching for a sign that she wanted to stay longer, change her mind and have that conversation in that instant and not later.
Wishful thinking. He had a lot to catch up on.
Her hair looked soft. “May I touch your hair?”
Something shifted in her chest, but she shoved it down. Most of the highrollers or other rich men that strolled proudly through the club never asked. They just yanked and pulled and stroked and never asked. They just assumed they could take what they wanted without consent because they have all the money and the girls are just there for show.
“Okay…”
She flinched slightly, almost unnoticeable when his hand met her head, stroking from the root to the ends. He seemed satisfied, but then both hands pressed against her head, and she wondered what he was doing until it felt good.
He was massaging her scalp.
She was confused, surprised, worried all at once.
But it felt so good she didn’t pull away, or ask him to stop. She just…let him do it.
“That’s it…relax into it.”
She hadn’t realized that she had leaned against him, allowing him to hold her up while he stroked her hair and scalp, her eyes half-lidded from the sensation.
She sighed, short, quick and then shivered and pulled away.
“Uhm…”
“I know.”
He smoothed her as best as he could, though he did prefer it a mess already. She stayed in her spot, unmoving, allowing.
“I don’t agree with men taking advantage of women. I’ll let you go.”
He stroked her arm, her back still pressing into his chest where he held her still with his other hand on her hip. “I’m persistent. I’ll keep trying until you’re finally begging for me.”
Her breath slowed, uneven, slightly ragged.
She’d never heard that before. She had never felt it before. This desire, unbridled, unburdened, unhinged. And the way he touched her with the softness of a thousand flower petals…she sighed internally.
A relief flooded her body, her nervous system felt safer almost instantly.
He pulled the keycard out of his blazer pocket and put it in her hand. Slid against her wrist, his hand traveled up her arm once more. “You can hold onto that. Something tells me you’ll need it later.”
The warmth of his body disappeared. He took a few steps back and watched her fight with herself mentally before a part of her he knew would win forced her feet forward and she scanned it, the card that allowed her access to run home.
“I don’t trust this city at the best of times. But I want you to let my chauffeur drive you home, since you prefer to go along without me. I’ll allow it this time.”
She scoffed, but said nothing. She didn’t know what to say to that. But it was kind enough. A little controlling.
He could have let her walk home.
He could have done a lot of things.
But he didn’t. He saw her face, paid her, and let her go home on her own instead of keeping her around company she still hadn’t made a decision about.
He watched her intently as she stepped onto the elevator, the doors closed behind her and she looked up at the last second, eyes meeting his. She’d never forget that look.
And home came sooner than she realized.
She knew he would be persistent. He made that abundantly clear. But she wondered if she could avoid him. If she should avoid him.
She needed the money. But she wasn’t willing to sell herself for it.
Not anymore. Not like this.
If she gave in, it would be on her terms.
She barely removed her makeup, her clothes.
Her shoes were kicked off at the door. Forgotten already.
Her bed welcomed her like a cloud’s hug. And she drifted off to sleep.
Somewhere nearby–unseen, unheard–a small device blinked once.
