Page 41 of Sins of the Hidden

"Tried what?" I whispered.

"With feelings." His eyes burned with questions I couldn't answer, locked on some point I couldn't see.

"Who did?" I pressed softly.

He just stared ahead, not saying a word. I looked into those eyes—void-colored and uncertain—and knew I wouldn't turn away. This was my choice.

And somehow, inexplicably, I wasn't afraid anymore.

Behind the mask, behind all the scars, V wasn't a monster—just a man no one had ever stayed long enough to see.

This was my dream home. Daphne, a regular customer turned friend, greeted me at the door of her lavish townhouse.

"I always look forward to your weekly visits, Oakley." Daphne tossed her long black hair over her shoulder, her fair complexion nearly glowing in the afternoon light. As always, she was dressed in a sports bra and tight workout pants that showcased her tall, toned figure—the picture of effortless perfection.

"You just look forward to the treats I make you," I teased, handing her the parcel of cookies, reluctant to let go of the paper—the one thing I could still control.

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, catching dust motes that danced in golden rays. Mason jars filled with dried herbs lined the weathered windowsills, their earthy scents mingling with the fresh pink flowers sprouting from rustic pots. Every detail was the perfect farmhouse aesthetic–from the sage green counters to the rustic burgundy and white walls that somehow clashed in the most soothing way.

I followed Daphne to her kitchen, trying not to wince as I remembered the forgotten cupcakes for her boyfriend sitting on my counter at home. V had distracted me this morning, prowling my kitchen while making coffee, his presence suffocating–lingering long after he'd gone.

My pulse kicked at the thought of seeing him later, sending an unexpected flutter through my chest. His words from yesterday still echoed in my mind:"I felt my heart beat for the first time when I saw you."No one had ever said anything like that to me before—certainly not a man who dealt in death.

I still couldn't believe I'd offered to help him understand emotions. I needed a plan, and fast. Not just for him, but for myself. Each time I saw vulnerability beneath his dangerous exterior, it became harder to remember why I should keep my distance.

Maybe I could ask Daphne's advice. With her model-like grace, she always seemed to have everything figured out. She didn't know who V was, which made her the perfect sounding board. Our weekly chats had become something of a tradition. She spent her days alone until her boyfriend, Chet, came home.

We settled at her dining room table, steam rising from my teacup beside a perfectly placed butter cookie. Through the sliding glass doors, sunlight warmed the antique decorations that I'd been secretly coveting for my own future home. My gaze lingered on a framed photo of Daphne and Chet laughing, carefree. The pang in my chest intensified, a reminder of dreams that could never be mine. One day, I told myself. When I had my own bakery.

"Mmm." Daphne's delicate bite sent butter cookie crumbs dusting the corners of her perfectly glossed lips. "Delicious as always, babe."

Steam curled from my tea, giving my restless hands something to hold. The familiar knot in my stomach tightenedat the thought of eating the cookie in front of her. Another reminder of how broken I truly was. "Thank you. I never heard of butter cookies until you requested them."

"Kourabiedes remind me of home." Her eyes softened with memories as she savored the last bite. The late afternoon sun caught the powdered sugar on her fingers as she brushed them off. Her gaze dropped to my untouched cookie—same as every week. "A cookie isn't going to kill you, honey."

"I know." Another lie on my soul. "I just ate so I'm not that hungry."

She mercifully let it drop. "Did your boyfriend take you out?"

V's image flashed through my mind, warmth flooding my face. "I-I don't have a boyfriend."

Daphne sank back into her cream plush dining chair, the fabric whispering against her designer outfit. "You're a cute girl," She shrugged, bangles clinking softly. "I guess I'm just surprised you're twenty years old and single."

"Single and not looking." And any man interested would end up dead. A chill ran down my spine at the truth of it. I'd seen the coldness in V's eyes when men looked my way. His claim on me wasn't just affection—it was something more complex, a protection that bordered on possession. The same hands that couldn't feel the burn of a hot pan somehow felt something when they touched me.

I'd be single until the day he died–or until he figured out I wasn't worth his protection anymore. My stomach dropped at the thought, a cold hollowness spreading through me.

"I wasn't looking when I met Chet." Love softened her features as she smiled. "Now five years later, we've built a fruitful life and are happier than ever." Her hand slid over mine across the polished table—warm, grounding. "Love will find you when you least expect it to."

The weight of those thoughts pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe. I needed perspective, someone to shine a light through the darkness that surrounded my relationship with V. Someone normal who didn't know the dangerous world he inhabited.

"C-Can I have some advice?"

Daphne perked up, setting down her teacup with a gentle clink. "Shoot."

"I have this... friend." The word felt inadequate for describing V. Friend implied equality, mutual respect—things that existed in a world far removed from ours. How could I explain a man who burned himself on baking pans without feeling it, who confessed his heart only beat for me? "I think he's been through a lot and doesn't know how to show emotion. I offered to help him sort his feelings but..."

"But you can't even grasp yours, right?"

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