Page 9 of Her Soul to Own

This should be interesting.

“What thefuckis this?” she demands, her voice slicing through the quiet like a scalpel. “There are cameras in my bedroom. And the hallway. Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice?”

I glance up from my breakfast of two poached eggs, avocado sliced to surgical precision, halved cherry tomatoes arranged like a soldier’s discipline, and rye toast crisped just shyof burnt. And coffee, black. Next to one folded napkin. I take another bite, slow and unbothered.

“Your perimeter,” I say. “I upgraded it.”

“You put a camera in mybedroom,” she seethes, her hands clenched at her sides.

“Correct.”

Her jaw drops, her disbelief turning into something hotter, darker. “Andthe fuckingbathroom? Are you serious?”

“My access extends to areas where you’re most vulnerable.”

Her voice cracks. “You’reviolatingme.”

I take a slow sip of coffee before replying, “I'm protecting you.”

“You’re dissecting me.”

“Semantics.”

She storms forward, her robe swishing with every furious step. Her bare feet slap the stone floor, and I notice a bead of water slide down her collarbone and vanish between her breasts.Focus, Creed.

“I’m not your patient,” she hisses, “your property, or your goddamn problem.”

“Wrong.” I tilt my head. “You’re my assignment.”

There it is… the spark. The moment something in her stalls and recalculates. Instead of her rage fading, which I was expecting from her, it sharpens.

She stops in front of me, leaning close. Close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her eyes. She smells like jasmine and fury.

“You don’t scare me,” she whispers.

I look at her parted lips, still damp from sleep or steam or both, then back to her eyes.

“You should be scared,” I say quietly, “of what watches you. Not what guards you.”

For a heartbeat, nothing moves. Even the wind outside stills. She looks at me with disdain, like she’s disgusted by my presence, but I know there’s a part of her that’s intrigued. Even if there isn’t, I’ll take it as a challenge.

“You think youknowme?” Her voice shakes now, but not from weakness. It’s rage barely contained in flesh. “Get the fuck out.”

I stay seated. One breath. Two.

“I know what happens next,” I say. “You rebel. You seduce. And you test your cage until it bites back.”

She sucks in a breath like I slapped her. Color floods her cheeks, but it’s not from embarrassment. It’s rage. Real, raw, and beautiful rage.

“Oh, I’ll make your jobhell,” she spits, her eyes blazing like she’s about to flip the entire table onto my lap.

I nod, slow and purposeful, fighting the urge to smile. Or worse… get hard. Because apparently, I’m that sick bastard who finds a silk-robed hurricane threatening him in a marble dining hallarousing.

“Then we understand each other,” I murmur, keeping my tone flat but my jaw tight.

She stares at me like she wants to claw my eyes out, and I let her. Because I already know her next move. She’ll pull back, retreat, and plot.

And I’ll be right there, watching. Because that’s the job. And because I can’t look away even if I wanted to.

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