Page 181 of The Sin Binder's Vow

And she still gave me another chance.

I press my palm to the wood of my door, cool and solid beneath my touch. I could stay here. Pretend this night is like every other. Let her bargain hang between us like something hypothetical, theoretical—an offer never accepted, a price never paid.

But I won’t sleep.

Because I need to know.

Need toseeher. Need to confirm with my own eyes that she meant it. That there’s still something inside her that sees me as more than what I’ve already shown her. Or maybe less. Maybe shedoesn’tbelieve in me, and that’s why she offered it. Because she knows I won’t take advantage. Because she thinks I’msafe.

That thought turns my stomach.

I’m not safe.

Not for her. Not for anyone.

But I’m still opening the door. Still stepping into the hallway, quiet as breath, shadows long and familiar. The hour is late enough that no one’s wandering. Even the house feels subdued, like it knows something’s about to shift.

Her door is only a few steps away, and every one feels like a mistake I want to make.

I’m not going to touch her. I’m just going to ask. Just going toclarify. That’s all. Set the terms. Understand the rules of the deal. That’s what I need—structure. Boundaries. Something to hold onto so I don’t fall into her the way the others already have.

Because if I fall, I won’t get back up.

And I think—gods help me—Iwantto fall.

I stop in front of her door, heart a steady drum in my chest, loud enough I’m certain she’ll hear it through the wood. I don’t knock.

Not yet.

I just stand there.

Wondering if she’s awake.

Wondering if shewantsme to be the one standing here.

Wondering if I’ll be able to walk away if she says yes.

Does this make me a total bastard?

The thought drips down the back of my mind like molasses, slow and sticky, clinging to every rationalization I’ve spun to get myself this far. My knuckles hover above the grain of her door, the wood aged and familiar, warped slightly from a house that bends under the weight of everything we’ve ever done inside it. If I knock, I’m not just disturbing her sleep—I’m acknowledging that I came here for something I can’t admit I want.

Sex.

Not love. Not comfort. Not softness.

Just release. Just the feel of her against me. Her silence. Her eyes. Her skin, lit like an oath in the dark.

I could pretend it’s about clarification. Could dress it up in words I wield like weapons, twist the conversation into something philosophical and detached. But that would be a lie. The truth is far more simple—and far more damning.

I want her.

I want her like I’ve never wanted anything I haven’t already taken.

But I don’t want anythingelsefrom her. That’s the difference. That’s the rot in the center of this. I want the part she offered, not all the things she didn’t. Not the parts the others already have. Not the bond. Not the affection. Not the unraveling that comes after. Just this. Just now.

And gods, if Riven knew I was here…

He’d rip me apart.

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