"Love," Abigail's voice dripped with satisfaction, each syllable like honey concealing poison, "soon you won't be able to resist me. You'll stop pretending you don't want my help. You'll beg me for it."
Her words hung heavy in the room, curling through the air with the same sickly sweetness as the scent Roman could no longer ignore.
She had been about to turn away, her confidence radiant, but then she stopped abruptly.
Something dark flickered across her face before she pivoted, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor.
Slowly, deliberately, she turned back to him.
The smirk on her lips widened, reshaping into a look that balanced between taunt and confession.
"I heard you earlier," she said, her voice soft but sharp enough to cut. "You were wondering what's wrong with you, weren't you? Then let me tell you."
Roman's breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythms.
