Noah paused outside his apartment door, gripping the canvas tote tighter as an unsettling weight coiled through his chest. Behind this thin barrier lay Vivian—fragile, bruised, and frustratingly defiant—so completely Doll Face that the realization still tore at his carefully maintained control. The keys she’d handed him earlier, hesitant and uncertain, had felt oddly heavy in his hand. He had walked through her dorm with methodical precision, deliberately choosing the softest clothing he found—clothes he knew would comfort her without betraying his intention to do so.

  When he finally opened the door, Vivian’s gaze snapped up from the book she clearly hadn’t been reading. Her eyes were guarded, the fading bruises stark against her pale skin, yet Noah could still see the vulnerability lurking just below the surface. It twisted something deep within him, something dangerous and possessive he wasn’t ready to confront.

  Dropping the bag at her feet, Noah allowed his gaze to flick briefly over her face, clinical in appearance, but in truth, searching for any new damage. He’d catalogued every bruise, every scrape; each faded mark was proof he’d let her down once. He wouldn’t again.

  “Your thrilling wardrobe, as requested,” he said dryly, forcing a lightness he didn’t feel. “Nothing but sweaters, t-shirts, and sweatpants. I’m shocked at your bold fashion choices.”

  Vivian barely acknowledged the joke, quietly rummaging through the clothes he’d brought. Silently, she selected a few items and headed straight for the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. Noah watched her disappear, irritation mixing with quiet discomfort. Were his clothes really so uncomfortable for her, or was she just that determined to maintain distance?

  She emerged shortly after, dressed neatly in her own clothes, hair pulled back to reveal the bruise still stark against her skin, the cut on her lip scabbed but healing. “When you’re ready, let’s go,” she said bluntly, voice coolly decisive.

  Noah raised an eyebrow, masking his irritation. “And where exactly are we going?”

  “To find Mochi,” Vivian replied without hesitation, already grabbing her bag. “We only have a small window to act.”

  Noah frowned, irritation sharpening his voice. “You don’t want to wait for your guard dog to return first?”

  Vivian paused, turning to face him fully, her expression a carefully crafted mix of innocence and mockery. “Why would I? You’ll be there, right?”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of dark amusement quickly swallowed by fresh irritation. She knew exactly how to provoke him, blatantly exploiting the control he’d sought so desperately. He’d manipulated her from the beginning, yet now she threw his own games right back at him, openly and without remorse.

  That dark thrill was quickly replaced by frustration as he watched Vivian move through his kitchen, pulling open cupboards and methodically placing two bottles of water into her bag. She moved as though she owned the space, defiant and dismissive of his unspoken boundaries.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “You’re still injured,” he said bluntly, irritation clear in his tone. “This is reckless.”

  Vivian looked back sharply, eyes narrowing with bitter sarcasm. “I think I’ve earned the right to see this through.”

  “What does that even mean—earned the right?” Noah’s voice tightened defensively.

  Vivian’s gaze hardened, the sarcasm giving way to cold anger. “I’m sorry, were you the one nearly raped by Sammy?”

  Her brutal honesty froze Noah briefly, forcing him to confront the stark, ugly reality of her trauma—the trauma he had allowed to happen. He recovered quickly, expression tightly controlled, voice deliberately calm. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

  “I’m not proving anything,” Vivian retorted sharply, eyes glittering fiercely. “You’re the one who pulled me into this chaos. Now I’m in it—fully. I don’t need protection; I need answers. And we both know you won’t let me go after Mochi alone.”

  Noah hesitated, momentarily disturbed by her boldness, the unsettling reality that she wasn’t pulling away from him but stepping deeper into the dangerous web he’d woven. He hadn’t anticipated her willingly stepping into the darkness alongside him. It rattled him.

  He assessed her quietly, the raw edge of determination and fury clear on her face. After a charged pause, he reluctantly nodded. “Fine. We’ll track her together.”

  Vivian hesitated slightly, clearly expecting more resistance. The brief moment lingered between them, a dangerous acknowledgment that they were bound together now, willingly or otherwise.

  “Given your relationship, I assume you know where Mochi might hide?” Vivian asked coolly, her tone controlled but sharply pointed.

  Noah considered briefly, his voice flat but practical. “She won’t risk Red Phoenix or any traceable location. She’ll be somewhere anonymous—cash-only, no questions asked. There’s only a few motels outside city limits she’d trust. We start there.”

  They sat in Noah’s car, parked inconspicuously at the edge of the motel’s parking lot, neon lights casting an artificial glow across the windshield. Vivian stared thoughtfully ahead, expression cool, composed—far calmer than Noah had expected her to be, given everything she’d just endured. It unnerved him slightly, seeing her strength, her ability to compartmentalize. Hesitantly, almost unwillingly, he broke the silence.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Vivian didn’t even glance at him, clearly dismissing the question as irrelevant. Instead, she asked crisply, “Do you have a plan for how we’re going to ask about her?”

  Noah raised his eyebrows, surprised and slightly amused at her decisive tone. “You sound like you do.”

  “She probably has some cover story, right?” Vivian said, gaze still fixed ahead, mind working quickly through the possibilities. “If I were her, I would. Something to keep the staff from telling people they saw me.”

  Noah nodded slowly, considering her logic. “She usually uses the same one every time: running away from an abusive husband.”

  Vivian mulled this over briefly, a faint, cold smile flickering at the edge of her mouth. “So her husband is either you or Sammy right now. Probably you—she knows Sammy would just send his men.”

  Noah gave her a sideways glance, attempting to ease the heavy tension. “Jealous?”

  Vivian shrugged nonchalantly, still not looking at him. “Not really. You’re about to find and kill her. Doesn’t exactly scream marital bliss.”

  Noah laughed despite himself, startled yet oddly delighted by her dark sense of humor. He studied her closely, warmth unexpectedly surfacing in his gaze. He could see Vivian clearly in moments like these—the girl beside him overlapping seamlessly with Doll Face, both strong, both quietly fierce. Had she always been like this? Had that humor always lurked beneath her quiet, reserved surface?

  “So what now, oh wise one?” Noah asked, deliberately playful, leaning his head into his palm, elbow resting casually on the armrest of his door.

  Vivian finally turned, fixing him with an expression that was both knowing and dangerously amused. “Well,” she said softly, “good thing she and I share a…certain aesthetic.”