Page 78 of Serpent King's Prisoner

I pushed off from the doorframe and found my way to a chair, resting my elbows on the cool surface of the table. The ease in her movements, the way she navigated my space—it made me wonder. What if she hadn’t caught me that night? If our worlds hadn’t collided in violence and secrets, could there have been something... normal for us?

I scoffed at the thought, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Normal was a luxury I had never been afforded. My life was one of control—over myself, over others. It was necessary; it was survival.

But watching Abby now, lost in the simple act of cooking, I couldn’t help but question: Was this iron grip the only way I knew how to let someone in? Could I have ever revealed the man behind the mask without the chains of circumstance forcing my hand?

I was raised in shadows, taught to keep the truth locked away behind a stern face and steady hands. I had secrets layered upon secrets, each one a brick in the fortress that was my life. But now, with Abby humming softly to herself, comfort seeping into her every pore, something in me wanted to tear those walls down.

She looked cozy, like she belonged here in my kitchen, wrapped in the oversized sweater I had given her. It was strange, this feeling of contentment that bubbled up at the sight of her. I was glad she was here—alive and breathing. Glad for the warmth that flickered in my chest, even if it felt foreign and uncharted.

“Is everything okay?” Her voice cut through my thoughts, green eyes meeting mine with an openness I hadn’t expected.

“Yeah,” I answered, more gruffly than intended. “Just thinking.”

Abby tilted her head slightly, a lock of brown hair falling over her shoulder. “About what?”

“Nothing important.”

The words came out too quickly, a lie wrapped in truth. I wanted to tell her everything: about the plants that brought me solace, the philosophy that shaped my thoughts, the dragon inked on my skin—a symbol of strength and protection.

But confessions were a dangerous game, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to play.

Before I could sink further into that dangerous introspection, the unmistakable buzz of my phone sliced through the quiet. It was a message from my father: Talk. Now.

The familiar clench of duty tightened in my gut, but I dismissed it with a swipe. This evening wasn’t about the Triad or its cold commands—it was about the woman making herself at home in my space.

“Your place is nice,” Abby commented, snapping me back to the moment. “I like it.”

“Thanks,” I said, surprised at the simplicity of her compliment. My eyes scanned the room, landing on the various shadows cast by the dimming light, the sleek surfaces of furniture rarely used. The place felt different with her in it—less like a fortress and more like a haven.

“Didn’t peg you for someone who cared about home decor,” she added with a playful lilt in her voice.

“Guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I replied, the corners of my mouth lifting in an uncharacteristic smile.

“Clearly.” Her grin was infectious, and for a second, I let myself bask in the warmth of it.

“Speaking of,” she said, her gaze drifting to the greenery that adorned my living area. “How long have you been keeping plants?”

I hummed to myself at the question, peace washing over me as I watched her curiosity unfold like the petals of a bloom. “Since I was a kid,” I admitted. “My mother…she loves gardening. We used to plant all sorts of things together.”

“Really?” The surprise in Abby’s voice was genuine, and it made something inside me twist uncomfortably. “I never would’ve guessed.”

“Guess I’m full of surprises.” There was a softness in my words I didn’t recognize as my own.

She took a tentative step towards the potted orchids on the windowsill as the food simmered, her fingers grazing a velvety petal. “They’re beautiful,” she murmured, almost to herself.

“Yeah, orchids are special to me,” I found myself saying, moving closer to join her by the window. “They need the right care to thrive—specific light, water, temperature. But when you get it right, they’re resilient. And there’s just something about their elegance, you know?”

Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, the dangerous world outside this room felt miles away. “You take good care of them,” she said softly. “It…says a lot about you.”

I shrugged, feeling the weight of her gaze like an anchor. “Plants don’t betray you. They don’t lie or deceive. They just…exist. And if you treat them right, they grow.”

“Sounds nice,” she said with a wistful tone that made me want to reveal more than I should.

“Sometimes, it’s the only thing that makes sense,” I confessed, the truth slipping out before I could stop it. Something vulnerable flickered between us, a shared understanding that was as dangerous as it was comforting.

Abby’s hand brushed mine, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through me. I was supposed to be a man who controlled every situation, but here I was, standing in my own home, feeling more exposed than ever.

“Remember that orchid killer case from down in Orlando a couple of years ago?” Abby’s question cut through the stillness, her voice tinged with curiosity.

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