He lifts me properly and helps me stand on my own two feet, which threaten to wobble if he lets go. His hands retreat slowly, making sure I’m steady.“I’m good,” I assure him. “And I accept your condition. I’m not leaving until our contract is over and until I get my revenge.”He stares at me intently, as if searching for even a trace of doubt on my face, but I hold his gaze, unshaken.As if satisfied with what he sees, he smiles. “Good girl,” he says, patting my head like I’m a creature he’s finally tamed. The heat of it lingers on my skin long after he turns toward the kitchen. We eat in silence. I watch him feast on the salmon, his movements graceful, and I realize he isn’t just eating to prove he isn’t mad. He’s eating because I asked him to. It’s a terrifying realization of the kind of power I’m not sure I’m allowed to have.“Did you always have magic hands?”I blink, suddenly shy, wondering if he caught me staring. “What?”“You cook incredible dishes,” he says. “You’re just ama
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