Page 81 of Crowned In Venom

She does not fidget.

She does not speak.

But she watches.

Like a creature in the dark, measuring the length of my patience.

I let her.

I let her sit in the unbearable quiet, let her feel my gaze, the heaviness in the air.

She thinks she can manipulate me.

That she can hold her secrets close to her chest, wrap them in soft words and honeyed lies.

But I have played this game longer.

I know how to bend a body without breaking it.

How to force someone to yield without ever laying a hand on them.

She exhales, slow, controlled.

"If you mean to kill me, you could have done it already."

I smirk, dragging a gloved finger along the carved wood of the seat beside me.

"Who says I won’t?"

Her emerald eyes flicker in the dim light. "Then why are we here?"

I should answer.

I should remind her that she is mine to do with as I please. That she does not get to ask questions.

But instead, I watch the way her breath catches when I lean forward.

The way her hands press into the seat beside her, as if bracing for something.

The way her throat moves when she swallows.

The way her lips part—just slightly.

And I know.

She is playing a role.

But so am I.

It is not supposed to happen.

Not like this.

Not at all.

But when I reach for her, it is not out of anger.

Not out of dominance.

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