Ashley's POV:
Ashley cycled faster than she ever had, the humid morning air burning in her lungs.
The speed was less about travel and more about escaping the feeling of Roman's eyes on her back.
When she finally braked outside Mia's brightly colored house, she was shaking.
Mia, a whirl of enthusiasm and bright yellow sundress, yanked the door open before Ashley could knock.
"You're late, you menace! I thought you were bringing the laptop for the history project—not running a marathon!"
"Sorry," Ashley gasped, pushing the terrifying contents of her backpack deeper into her mind.
"Honestly, Mia, my head is a mess. I need to clear it before I can look at any historical documents. We need to go shopping. Like, right now."
Mia, always ready for an adventure, didn't protest much. "Say no more! I do need a dress for Liam's party tonight, anyway."
Ashley grabbed her keys. "Perfect. Let's go. I'm driving." This felt like control. A tiny, temporary piece of it.
As Mia drove them toward the mall, she glanced over at Ashley. "So, about that friend Daniel was bringing home? The hot one? Roman, right? How is he?"
Ashley kept her gaze fixed on the passing scenery. "Oh, him? He's fine. Kind of quiet. Mostly just doing 'work stuff' with Daniel. Honestly, he's kind of a snooze." Ashley gave a dismissive shrug, the best performance of her life. I won't drag you into this, Mia.
They were soon lost in the chaos of the department store. In the garment section, a display caught Ashley's eye: a shimmering, deep black satin nightgown.
It was incredibly short, delicate, and utterly reckless. It was the complete antithesis of the fear currently crawling in her stomach.
"Oh my god," Mia breathed. "You have to try that."
Ashley snatched the gown and headed into the nearest dressing room.
Once the door was latched, she pulled out her phone and logged into her secret Instagram account—the one her parents and her brother didn't know existed.
The familiar, shallow ritual of social media offered a perverse kind of comfort.
She quickly stripped and pulled the black satin over her head.
The cool fabric felt luxurious and light against her skin. She looked in the mirror, and for a fleeting, dangerous second, she saw a girl who wasn't hiding from a killer.
She quickly snapped a mirror selfie of her body in the gown. She kept the phone high enough so her face was obscured, a dark, tantalizing mystery, tagged with the mall's location.
Caption: New aesthetic loading... 🖤 #RetailTherapy #SummerVibes
She hit post. It was a tiny, defiant, public act of rebellion. A flicker of her old, impulsive self, creating a perfect, vulnerable image.
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Roman's POV:
Roman wasn't in the guest room. He was a mile away, deep in a forgotten, graffitied alley behind a defunct loading dock. He was on a serious call, his voice low and laced with steel, finalizing details on the true objective that brought him to the Bennett house. A plume of smoke curled up from the cigarette pinched between his fingers.
His secondary phone—the burner he used only for tracking Ashley—vibrated in his hand.
He ended the other call abruptly and unlocked the screen. There she was. Not her sweet, smiling face, but a silhouette of defiance wrapped in shimmering, incredibly short black satin. The location tag was the mall.
A muscle ticked furiously in his jaw. She had left the house under the pretense of a lie he'd allowed, believing she would use her freedom to panic. Instead, she had used it to expose herself publicly in that manner.
His gray eyes darkened with an intense, possessive fury that consumed his focus. She belonged to his surveillance, his mission, and his gaze. She was currently showing what was his to the public. The thought of any other man seeing that image ignited a primitive, consuming rage.
He dropped the cigarette and crushed it under the heel of his boot.
His eyes, still fixed on the image of the black satin, narrowed with deadly intent. He didn't need to call anyone. This was personal. This was about ownership.
"No," he growled, his voice a low, gravelly promise. "You don't get to run, and you certainly don't get to sully yourself in public."
Roman stood up, the tension gone, replaced by predatory focus. He slipped the loaded gun back into his jacket pocket.
"I am coming, sunbeam," he murmured to himself, the words dark and possessive against the backdrop of the dirty alley. "To teach you exactly whom you belong to."
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Authors Note:
Okay, look. Ashley's idea for "retail therapy" was... ill-advised. Using a secret Instagram account to post a mirror selfie in black satin while hiding from an armed, possessive operative is what we in the writing community call "escalation."
Roman's internal monologue? That's not love, people. That's a five-alarm emergency of possessive fury. He saw the location tag, he saw the short dress, he heard the clock ticking, and his only thought was, "Mine. No one else looks at mine."
So, what do we think happens now?
Grab your popcorn and maybe a security guard. Chapter 6 is where the hunter and the hunted finally meet outside the safety of the house. See you there!
— Vaanni, who is genuinely terrified of what's about to happen to poor Mia.