[JOMILOJU'S POV]
He left me in silk and silence.
The door shut with a soft click, but the air still smelled like him—smoke, leather, and something warmer underneath. I paced, arms wrapped tight around my body. I didn't care how soft the sheets were or how expensive the room looked.
This was still a cage.
I found a crack in the window frame. Beyond it, darkness. No landmarks. No sound. Just shadows stretching into the unknown.
I needed a way out.
I moved to the dresser. Nothing sharp. I checked under the bed. Empty.
Then I saw it—partially hidden beneath a stack of books: a phone. My heart leaped. I snatched it.
Password-locked.
Damn.
I tried four numbers. Nothing.
Then the door creaked open again—and I froze.
He was back.
And he saw the phone in my hand.
[STEVE'S POV]
I'd left her for one hour.
Sixty minutes to clear my head, make calls, remind myself this was a job.
But the moment I returned and saw her standing in the corner—one hand holding my phone like it was a weapon—I felt something unfamiliar.
Amusement?
Or maybe… admiration.
She didn't flinch when I walked in. Her chin rose like a dare.
"You going to punish me?" she asked.
I shut the door slowly. "Should I?"
Her lips twitched. "Isn't that what you people do?"
"You people," I repeated, stepping closer. "What do you think I am?"
Her voice cracked slightly. "A criminal."
I smirked. "You're not wrong."
I held out my hand. She hesitated. Then dropped the phone in my palm, defiant to the last.
"I just wanted to call my sister," she whispered.
That name pulled at something in my memory—Dourochy. She used to be on the radar. Then vanished.
"She wouldn't be able to help you," I said quietly. "Not anymore."
[JOMILOJU'S POV]
He sat across from me now—still armed, still unreadable.
"Why are you keeping me here?" I asked, voice soft.
He ran a hand through his hair. The tattoos on his forearm flexed with the motion.
"Because you're important."
"Not to me."
"Not yet."
Those two words sent a chill through my spine.
"I'm not your plaything," I said, shaking. "Whatever sick game this is—my father will never give you what you want."
"I'm not asking for ransom."
"Then what are you asking for?"
His eyes locked with mine.
"Time."
[STEVE'S POV]
She had no idea what her father did.
What he stole from me. Who he let die. What he built his empire on.
And now, this rose—his daughter—had bloomed in my hands. Untouched by the dirt he buried others in.
But she wasn't fragile.
No.
Jomiloju Dorotoye was made of thorns.
"I want to understand you," she said suddenly, like it surprised her too.
I blinked. "What?"
"You've kidnapped me. You've held me hostage. But you've… barely touched me."
I stepped toward her.
Close.
Too close.
"You think kindness is confusing?" I asked.
"No," she whispered. "I think you're confused."
I reached out, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek.
She didn't move.
Didn't stop me.
I leaned in—so close our lips almost touched—and I whispered:
"I don't touch what I haven't earned."
Then I walked away.
Because if I stayed… I wouldn't be able to stop.
[JOMILOJU'S POV]
That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling.
He could've taken me.
He didn't.
He could've lied.
But instead… he walked away.
What kind of villain does that?
And why was the space he left behind colder than it should have been?
My hands curled into the sheets.
I wasn't supposed to feel anything for him.
But somewhere deep inside beneath the fear, the anger, the confusion—
I wanted him to come back.