Page 57 of The Maverick

She met his gaze and let him see it—what he wanted. A flicker of submission. A hint of regret. She softened her mouth, tilted her chin, widened her eyes. “I want to remember.”

Miles stepped forward and crouched again. “I knew you’d understand. You’re too smart not to.”

She swallowed. “May I… ask you something?”

He blinked. “Of course.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “When did you fall in love with me?”

He stilled, his pupils dilating.

“I just… I want to know when it happened. So I can remember it clearly.”

Miles sat back on his heels, visibly surprised. He looked at her like she was a miracle. “The first time I read your blog. You wrote about the difference between power and violence. Said submission wasn’t weakness. It was a choice. I knew then that you’d understand me, even if the world didn’t.”

Vanessa nodded, letting her hair fall slightly over one eye. It gave her cover—time to shift her balance, to free her ankle fully from the restraint.

“I wrote that post two years ago,” she said softly.

He nodded. “I printed it. Carried it in my wallet for months.”

God. He was so far gone.

“I said it was about choice,” she murmured, carefully dragging her foot beneath her. “Do you still believe that’s true?”

“Of course.”

“Then you won’t force me,” she said, keeping her tone sweet. “Not really. You’ll let me choose. Like in the story.”

He hesitated.

Good.

She pressed her advantage, voice lower now. “If I go to the cross willingly, it has to be my decision. You said you read all my books. Then you know. It’s never real submission if she’s dragged there.”

Miles stood slowly, pacing again. Uncertainty flickered across his face.

“I can choose it,” Vanessa said. “But you have to let me want it.”

He paused, one hand running through his hair. Then he turned and reached for the collar.

“You’ll see,” he said. “Once it’s on, you’ll feel it too.”

As he turned, she moved—fast, fluid—training from years of watching, learning, moving on instinct. She kicked the bucket ofcandle wax on the table, sending it flying. The wax splattered, catching the flames from the lit candles and igniting the edge of the red drape that hung from the cross.

Miles spun toward the fire, cursing. Vanessa didn’t wait… she ran.

The door wasn’t far—just across the dungeon room, around the curve of the artificial stone wall. Her bare feet slapped the floor as she sprinted.

But behind her, Miles recovered faster than she expected.

“You ungrateful bitch!” he shouted.

She didn’t stop.

He lunged for her just as she grabbed the doorknob. It twisted—locked. Panic surged. Her hands scrambled for the code panel just beside the frame.

Miles grabbed her arm, wrenching her back, but she was faster.

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