Page 67 of Their Arrangement

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And when I sat—corset biting into my ribs, lace dragging between my thighs—I realized something:

Wolfe hadn’t said a word.

And I was already completely undone.

I couldn’t focus.

Not on the numbers.

Not on the line items.

Not on the half-finished coffee beside my hand.

Everything was too loud. Too hot.

My back ached from the corset. My thighs pressed tighter where the garter straps rubbed. And every time I moved, the slick lace reminded me how far gone I already was.

People passed behind me.

Phones rang.

But all I could feel was Wolfe.

The way he hadn’t blinked.

The way he knew.

The way I didn’t look away fast enough.

I clicked on a spreadsheet.

The numbers blurred.

I backspaced. Twice. Three times.

Stillwrong.

Then I felt it.

That shift in the air.

The awareness.

Someone behind me.

I didn’t turn.

Didn’t have to.

He was there.

The warmth of his breath just behind my neck.

The pause.

Then—

“You wore it.”

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