Page 112 of Sage Haven
He studied me, long and hard, before his tone shifted. Quieter. More dangerous. “And how is it you think I see you now?”
I held his gaze, but it was like holding on to the edge of a blade, “I don’t know,” I lied.
I knew exactly how he saw me.
As something he wanted.
His lips twitched into something close to a laugh, dark and knowing. “Oh, I think you do.”
I bristled. My walls snapped up instinctively, before saying, “As someone you can control.”
The accusation flew out like a dagger and I continued with it, “You want to know me because you can’t control someone without understanding their weaknesses.”
There was no flinch. No defense.
Reich simply tilted his head, amused and infuriating, as he retorted, “You don’t need to know someone to control them. People are simple. They just need a little motivation.”
The conversation was slipping into dangerous territory, and I knew it.
So, I veered, “How did my things get here?”
Blunt. Deflective. I regretted asking the moment it left my lips, knowing he was probably going to hit me with, “A deal’s a deal, Sage.”
But instead, he tilted his head again, considering.
So, I added, “Some of the books—”
“Are mine,” he interrupted, a wicked smirk playing at his mouth. “I put them here for you.”
My throat tightened. “Why?”
“I watched you for months out in my field, you know?” he said, like that explained everything. “And you only ever read the same things. Figured you could use something new.”
I clenched my jaw, his admission hitting harder than I expected.Watching me?“I don’t like new,” I snapped.
“Says the girl who ran away from everything familiar just to chase somethingnew.”
His words landed deeper than they should have, and he let the silence stretch.
Then he added, quieter now, “Maybe you’d actually find what you’re looking for if you stopped hiding behind what’s safe.”
I shot him a glare, sharp and scathing, but he didn’t stop.
“You know the definition of insanity, right? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?”
He tilted his head slightly. “Whatever you’re doing… it isn’t working. I watched you repeat the same routine—day in, day out. And every night, you went home looking just as hollow as you did the day before.”
He was right, and I hated that he was.
The conversation was getting too close, too personal. I couldn’t let him see it was working—couldn’t let him seeme. So I deflected.
“And the clothes?” I asked, sharpening my tone. “Am I supposed to believe they’re yours?”
Reich let out a low chuckle. “They’re for you.”
“I don’t need hand-me-downs from your last house slave,” I spat, venom sharp in my voice.
That got him.
