Page 58 of Savage Don's Captive

She’ll stew on it for a while. Curse my name, cry, break shit maybe. But then?

Then she’ll remember I’ve never lied when it counts. She’ll see the facts don’t add up to the fantasy she’s clung to for so long.

She’ll stop seeing me as the villain of this piece. The one who shattered her world beyond repair.

Maybe she’ll even see the method in my madness. The mercy in my cruelty.

Because that’s love, baby. The true kind. The kind that’ll drag you kickin’ and screamin’ into the light, whether you like it or not.

And I do love her. Fucked up as it is.

Lord help anybody who tries to get in my way.

Even her.

Chapter sixteen

Alessa

“You’reoutofyourmind.” I force steel into my voice, but his words slice through my armor like it’s paper. The confidence I felt moments ago—strutting in this ridiculously expensive Prada dress—gone.

“Am I?” Dominic challenges.

God, he’s lethal this morning. All Black—expensive slacks and a polo that strains across muscles that shouldn’t be legal. His scent hits me like a drug—cedar, spice, and something sweet I can’t quite make out. I hate how my body responds, how I have to fight the urge to close the distance between us. My captor. My enemy. The man I shouldn’t want to climb like a tree.

“Yes!” The word comes out too shrill, betraying me.

I should’ve hidden in that closet longer. Talking about my mother tears me open every time. Not just her death—but the holes in my memory. Was she smiling in those final moments? What was the last thing she said? The gaps feel like betrayal, like I’m losing her all over again every time I try and fail to remember.

“You said you’d hear me out,” Dominic complains.

I shake my head and walk to the full-length mirror, smoothing my hands over the dress. The pearls catch the light, gleaming against the fabric. For a moment, I allow myself to admire the woman staring back. Strong. Collected. Nothing like the terrified girl inside.

Dominic’s footsteps approach, deliberate and unhurried. In the mirror, I watch him stalk toward me like a predator who knows his prey can’t escape. Each click of his shoes against marble matches my quickening pulse. Without touching me, he stands close enough that I feel the heat radiating from his body.

He stops inches behind me, a shadow with substance. Electricity crackles between us, dangerous and undeniable. If he touched me now, I might combust.

I maintain my mask even as his eyes tell me he sees right through it. He slides his hands into his pockets and leans close—so close his breath caresses my cheek. A shiver races down my spine, my skin prickling with awareness.

“What happened to not wanting to eat with me?” His eyes never leave mine in the mirror.

“I’ll pray you choke on a pancake and die.”

“Brat.”

“Asshole.”

My mind short-circuits with him this close. I can’t move—can’t push him away. All I can do is breathe him in—that intoxicating blend of cedar scent makes my head swim.

He inhales deeply, almost deliberately, before stepping back. The invisible tether between us slackens, and oxygen rushes back into my lungs. My thoughts return, one by one.

He holds the door open, watching me compose myself. I clear my throat and walk past him, allowing myself one dangerous moment of pretending—pretending I’m not his captive, pretending my life isn’t balancing on a knife’s edge.

The hallway stretches before us, our footsteps in perfect sync despite everything.

The dining room stops me in my tracks. Timmy places a tray of chocolate croissants on a table that looks like it’s set for royalty. Fresh fruit glistens in crystal bowls. Golden scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and fluffy pancakes steam on silver platters. The rich scent of butter and maple mingles with coffee—bitter, complex, and sinfully good.

My stomach growls loud enough to echo. I ignore it, taking a tentative step forward.

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