Soraya's POV
The silence between us was a noose.
Tightening.
Suffocating.
Ethan's words still echoed in my head. I want you. All of you, Soraya.
I wanted to scream, to hurl every shard of my rage into his chest until they cut him open. I wanted to remind him of every scar he left on me, every name his people and him has called me, every moment they made me feel less than human.
But when he stepped closer again, his breath grazing the air between us, my body betrayed me. My pulse stuttered. My knees weakened. And when his hand brushed the wall beside my head, caging me in, I almost forgot how to breathe.
"Stop this," I hissed, pressing myself flat against the wall, willing it to swallow me. "You can't keep doing this—dragging me back and forth like a plaything."
His eyes burned. Not cruel. Not mocking. But raw, stripped of the armor he always wore. "I don't want a plaything, Soraya. I want you. Every stubborn, infuriating, maddening part of you."
