Noah stood at the kitchen counter, the untouched glass of water sweating between his fingers. He wasn’t thirsty, hadn’t been for a long while. The cold had long since seeped away, replaced by the warmth of his grip, a rhythmic pressure as his thoughts twisted deeper into something darker and less manageable.

  Across the room, the phone rested silently on his desk, a black, lifeless shape in the dim light. It held answers he needed—information about Vince’s killer, traces of the man who had set off a chain reaction that had drawn Vivian closer into Noah’s orbit. He knew logically what his next move should be, and yet the phone remained untouched, its secrets temporarily forgotten.

  Because it wasn’t the phone occupying his mind.

  It was Vivian.

  At first, it had been nothing more than intrigue. She had been unexpected, an anomaly in a carefully controlled equation. Surviving what should have destroyed her, rising from the chaos she should have drowned in. Watching her had been entertaining—a puzzle, an idle fascination. Something to study, understand, and then discard.

  But everything had shifted when he saw her in that alley.

  The ferocity with which she had fought—every desperate, defiant twist of her body against a force she couldn’t overcome—had done something to him. The sound of her ragged breathing, the raw panic that had edged her voice, had held him immobile, spellbound. Not out of apathy or indecision. He had desperately wanted to step forward, intervene, claim that moment for himself.

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  Yet he had hesitated.

  And in that hesitation, Lucas had stepped into view.

  It was the look in Vivian’s eyes at seeing Lucas that had seared itself into Noah’s memory—the fleeting flicker of relief, the trust she allowed herself to place in someone else, even briefly. In that instant, an icy wave of possessiveness had gripped Noah, tightening its hold, becoming unbearably sharp.

  Vivian was supposed to belong to no one.

  Especially not Lucas.

  Noah set the glass down deliberately, exhaling in a controlled breath, trying to ease the tension coiled tight through his muscles. Lucas Cheng wasn’t some disposable pawn. He had been Vince’s trusted enforcer, deeply woven into Black Lotus’s fabric. If Lucas was involved now, he had likely been watching Vivian closely, even before tonight.

  Lucas had already decided Vivian was his responsibility.

  And that made him a threat.

  But threats could be neutralized. Lucas didn’t have all the cards. He had no idea about the phone, no inkling of the dangerous secrets it held. He didn’t know what Noah had truly been searching for at Silver Key. That ignorance would be his downfall—because without understanding Noah’s true motives, Lucas couldn’t anticipate what came next.

  Vivian was the key.

  She was searching for answers—about Vince, about Silver Key, about the shadowy figures pulling strings she couldn’t yet see. Noah had precisely what she wanted, could drip-feed her fragments of truth to draw her ever deeper into the labyrinth he had built for her. She yearned to break free of manipulation, desperate for a sense of control, and Noah knew exactly how to let her believe she had found it.

  She had willingly followed him once.

  She would follow again.

  But this time, he wouldn’t let her slip away.

  Noah brushed a thumb across his jawline, feeling the tender spot where the bruise had almost disappeared. The memory of pain stirred something dangerously anticipatory within him. He smiled faintly, knowing the next strike would reopen wounds.

  He would welcome the pain.

  Because each new scar would bind her tighter to him.