Trapped

Sienna

Calm down.

You hate him. Yes, Sienna, you fucking hate him—just remember that. Only that.

But those abs... hating them seemed unfair to god—to his creation.

I held my breath as he glanced at what looked like a mirror, drying his hair with one hand while holding the phone low with the other. And—if I had to describe it as best as I could—I caught a glimpse of his side, the sharp line of his waist, a teasing hint of that V, the sculpted perfection of him. The angle... it was a straight-up thirst trap, the kind that clogs your feed with stupid reels—but Alex wasn't an influencer. He didn't have to try. Just existing, he made one. Perfectly.

God! His jaw was so fucking sharp.

"I almost thought you wouldn't pick up." He raised the phone, grinning, water droplets trailing down his neck. My brain immediately betrayed me. I did not want to think about those droplets let alone dreaming of being one of them.

"Well..." I forced logic into my panic. Think with your brain, Sienna, not... other parts. "...I wasn't planning to, but my finger slipped."

He chuckled, stepping out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. "I believe that." He ran the towel through his hair again, and my fingers twitched, aching to do the same. My mind replayed my touch at his desk when I'd fisted at them while he had his mouth on—and then he spoke again, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"By the way—you shouldn't leave those curtains open like that. I was watching you... maybe half an hour ago. The view? I don't mind. But the idea of other people seeing it? Not okay."

"I do whatever the fuck I want with my curtains, Grayson." My frown stiffened my jaw. "Don't lecture me."

"Sure." He shrugged, tossing the towel aside and flopping onto his bed. "Just so you know—I saw that beautiful ass of yours, wrapped in tight strawberry-printed shorts. Looked... delicious. There are plenty of men like me around, but they wouldn't just watch—they'd probably jerk off to you too."

I cringed—not at his watching, but at the thought of other men.

"You're a creep, Grayson. You know that?" I huffed. His grin widened, smug, satisfied. He already knew I wouldn't keep my curtains open anymore.

"That kinda sounds sexy coming from your lips," he teased, biting his lower lip. My thoughts wavered dangerously.

"You know... 'asshole' sounds even sexier."

He chuckled, shaking his head before shifting on the bed, one arm behind his head. The flex of his muscles pulled my eyes like magnets. That bicep alone was bigger than my face. To think I was talking to a man this big, this dominating, dangerous, fucking irresistible—it made me realize how stupid I'd been. Ryatt was small, a fraction of Alex's size, and nowhere near as... lethal, as attractive. I survived him. Let Alex in... and there would be no second chances. He'd bury me and laugh at my face.

"What are you thinking, Flower?" Alex's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "That I have secret fangs and will drain every drop of blood from you like a vampire?"

"Was that... your attempt at humor?" I arched an eyebrow. Was this fucker reading my mind? If yes... I couldn't risk a single thought around him.

"No—was it yours when you painted Penelope's Obsession? Pretty sure she wasn't handing that vampire her blood—it was her soul he slowly bled dry."

I froze.

He... he knew that painting?

That was one of my earliest works, barely noticed outside a small circle. How the hell did he...?

"How do you... know about that?" I whispered, heart thudding.

"I've been keeping tabs on you, Sienna," he said, casual, like he was talking about the weather. "I know more about you than you think."

"I'm serious, Alex," I said, my voice tighter now. "That painting... it was sold to some small company for their office. There's no way you know about it."

"Did I look unserious this whole time?" He raised an eyebrow, smirk playing on his lips. "Like I said—I know more about you than you think."

"God! Why do you never answer anything straight?" I groaned, frustration rising.

"Where's the fun in that?" That smirk widened. "Besides... a little mystery always makes everything better."

"You goddamn piece of—"

"Shit," he finished for me, almost serenely. "That habit—cursing when you're mad—it doesn't suit an artist's personality. You should be more soft-spoken. Jacob not teach you that? He clearly spoiled you too much." His tone was mocking, precise.

"Guess what? I don't give a fuck about your opinion," I snapped, though a small, stubborn smile tugged at my lips. And he laughed. Actual laughter—Alexander Grayson laughing—and for some reason, it felt monumental. The sound was effortless, magnetic, and it should have annoyed me—but it didn't.

"You're funny," he said.

I blinked. Funny? I was clearly roasting him.

"Oh really? Then your humor's clearly broken, because I wasn't trying to be funny."

"Maybe. I'll pick you up tomorrow. Be ready."

What in the—

"That's cute—but no."

"Now that's funny," he said, eyes sharp, challenge written all over them. "Be ready at five, Sienna."

"No way in hell—I am not—"

"Goodnight, Flower." He winked and just like that, the line went dead.

I stared at the screen for a solid minute before a groan tore from my chest. I threw myself onto the bed, hands and legs flailing, almost on the verge of tears. I hated this jerk!

Furiously, I typed: I will never, ever, even over my dead body get ready tomorrow! Do whatever the fuck you want.

A second later, his reply buzzed in: "Now isn't that cute? We'll see about that tomorrow. I have my ways. Besides, Evelyn's Team Grayson anyway."

This handsome piece of...

"I fucking hate you, Grayson."

"Good luck making yourself believe that." came his smug reply.

I froze. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, unable to craft a response. Finally, I threw my phone across the bed and buried my face in the pillow, screaming profanities at Alex—who probably knew exactly what I was doing.