But satisfied.
I clean up quickly, splash cold water on my face, and look at myself in the mirror.
MaybeI’mthe one who’s wrecked.
CHAPTER 8 – LOCK AND KEY
JULIAN
The first thing I register is the dull ache in my arms.
Thesecondis cold metal biting into my wrists.
I blink hard, the haze of sleep evaporating just in time for panic to take its place.
What the fuck—
My arms are stretched above my head, cuffed to the goddamn headboard. Heavy. Tight. No give. I twist, yank, and try to slip a wrist free, but it’s no use.
“Nico,” I grit out. “You absolutepsychopath.”
No key in sight. Sheets rumpled. My body sore in places I’m not even ready to think about.
Hehandcuffedme in my sleep.
That controlling, smug, Armani-wearing bastard.
I yank harder, frustration mounting, chest rising with every sharp breath. I’m not even sure if I’m more humiliated or furious. Probably both.Definitely both.
Out of options, I shout toward the door.
“Let me out of here, you fucking lunatic!”
Silence.
Then, after a few excruciating beats, the creak of the door hinges.
My stomach flips.
Of course he heard me.
Of course he waited.
Of course he’s fuckingenjoying this.
The door creaks open slowly, like a horror movie cliché.
And there he is, wearing nothing but a black shirt and boxers, his hair tousled like he just rolled out of bed… or a warpath.
He leans against the doorway with a steaming mug in one hand and the kind of expression that makes you want to throw something. Amused. Unbothered. Like this iscuteto him.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says warmly, like he didn’t just chain me to the bed like a damn prisoner.
“You handcuffed me,” I snap. “In mysleep.”
He shrugs. “You looked like you needed the rest.”
He strolls in like he owns the air, taking his sweet time. “After the shit you pulled last night? You’re lucky all I used was cuffs.”