Page 24 of Lady and the Hitman
I blinked. “What?”
“The letter,” he said, swirling the liquid in his glass. “The form you filled out. Your preferences. Your fantasies.” His eyes flicked to mine. “And everything else.”
A chill slid down my spine. “What do you mean, everything else?”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, gaze sharp and assessing. “Your column. Your articles. The way you skewer policy with precision. The way you wield your words like a scalpel. I’ve read them all, Zara.”
My name on his lips hit harder than I was ready for.
“You know who I am?” I asked, breath shallow.
“Yes,” he said. “Lady was the mask we agreed on. But I never like pretending.”
I swallowed hard, the air thick between us.
The night had barely begun, and already it was veering off course. Not that I knew what I’d expected—how could I, when the entire arrangement was built on mystery and surrender? But this felt different. More exposed. More intimate. Like he was peeling back the layers of our fantasy before I’d even had a chance to settle into the role I thought I was meant to play.
I’d come here thinking I could hold him at a distance. That anonymity was a buffer. That “Lady” was a shield I could hide behind.
But now, hearing my name from his lips, knowinghe’d read my words, studied them, maybe even understood them better than people who claimed to love me—it changed everything.
And I wasn’t sure yet if that terrified me … or thrilled me.
“You’re a brilliant writer,” he said, voice soft but certain. “Sharp. Controlled. Careful.”
The compliment hit deeper than it should have. I blinked, caught off guard. “Thank you.”
“But there’s something missing,” he continued.
I tensed. “Like what?”
He took a slow sip of his drink, then set the glass down with a quiet click. “Permission.”
“Permission,” I repeated, wary.
“You’ve been waiting your whole life for someone to give it to you.” His eyes held mine. “To stop asking. To start taking. To own what you want.”
My pulse skipped. I didn’t know if I wanted to slap him or kiss him.
My skin flushed hot.
“That’s not true.”
He smiled, slow and devastating. “Isn’t it?”
He set his glass down. Stood. Crossed the cabin with deliberate steps until he stood beside my chair.
I looked up.
He didn’t touch me.
Didn’t move closer.
But the way he hovered—dominant, quiet, utterly composed—made my entire body pulse.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
I hesitated.
