Page 39 of Falling for My Matchmaker

“Well, you were right. I am,” I said. “Different in that I don’t respond well to kidnapping. Or restraint. Or juice that makes me pass out.”

He tilted his head again. I was starting to hate that move.

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “You’ll see. When the panic wears off, you’ll understand. It’s better this way.”

Better thanwhat,I wanted to scream.

But I didn’t.

Because I had one hope—one ridiculous, remote hope—that Nate had gotten my text. That someone knew where I was. That help was coming.

Until then, I just had to stall.

“Quick question—where’s the bathroom?” I asked, aiming for breezy. “Figured I should pee before the trauma bonding begins.”

He didn’t move. Just stared at me with that too-soft intensity you only saw in dark romance novels—right before the kidnapping becomes emotional.

“I just want to take care of you,” he said. “No one else ever really has, right?”

I froze.

So...no bathroom, then.

“I’m good, actually,” I said. “Emotionally, physically, bladder-wise. All set.”

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he whispered. “Not with me.”

I smiled too brightly. “Right. Because pretending in this exact situation would bewild.”

He ignored me. Stood up slowly. Walked to the edge of the room. And then—I swear on every Kindle Unlimited subscription I’ve ever opened—turned back and started taking off his shirt.

I blinked. “Oh my God. Is this happening? Is this the shirtless trauma reveal? With full nipple eye contact?”

He dropped the shirt.

And yep—there they were. The scars.

Like the Kindle algorithm had finally loaded him in high resolution.

“I didn’t always look like this,” he started, voice low. He stepped closer. “People look at me and see...intensity. Control. But I didn’t choose this.”

“I mean, you did kidnap me, so—”

“They made me this way.”

There it is,I thought.The Villain Origin Story.

He knelt again—shirtless, wounded, dramatic.

Stared up at me like I was both salvation and symptom.

“No one will ever love you like I do,” he said.

“I hope not.”

His face flickered—confusion, then hurt.

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