Chapter 10

The wheels of her car ate up the road in silence, but inside Elena’s chest, chaos reigned.

She gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white, as her heart pounded hard against her ribs. The late evening sun bled across the sky in violent shades of crimson, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were fixed on the road, her mind consumed with one sickening thought.

She left it behind.

Her journal.

That damned leather-bound thing she'd brought to every interview, not for notes, but because it was her escape. Her thoughts. Her fears. Her confessions.

And Cain had been sitting right across from it.

Right where she’d left it.

She cursed under her breath, pressing the gas harder. How could she be so stupid? She had been so shaken by his questions, by his smirk, his gaze that stripped her bare, she had practically sprinted out of that room. And now...

Now, it might be in his hands.

When the prison's gates finally came into view, she didn’t wait. She flashed her ID at the booth with trembling fingers, and the guard recognized her face and buzzed her through without a word.

As she pulled into the parking space closest to the entrance, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wild. She didn’t even look like herself.

This wasn’t just panic.

It was humiliating.

Shame.

Fear.

Elena didn’t wait for an escort this time. She knew the way. Every step through that gray-lit corridor felt heavier than the last. Her heels echoed sharply, each one matching the frantic beat of her heart.

The guard stationed by the door gave her a strange look, half amused, half confused. He stepped aside without a word and opened the door.

Cain was already inside.

Seated. Relaxed.

And her journal was in his hands.

He didn’t look up right away, as if he were purposefully finishing a paragraph. Then, slowly, he raised his head.

Smirked.

And let his gaze trail from her eyes, down her frame, and back up again.

“Well,” he said, voice thick with amusement. “I was wondering when you’d come crawling back.”

Elena froze in the doorway, her heart slamming into her ribs. “Give that back.”

Cain lifted the journal slightly, thumbing a page. “You write like someone who wants to be caught.”

She stepped into the room and snatched the door shut behind her. “Cain, I’m serious.”

“You’re always serious.” His tone lowered, dangerous and smooth. “Even when you’re thinking about things you don’t say out loud.”

Her voice caught in her throat. “You had no right.”

“Maybe not,” he said, rising from the chair. “But you left it for me. Why? To see if I’d read it? To punish yourself?”

He circled her now, slow, deliberate. Like a predator.

“I didn’t….”

“You wrote about me.” He flipped the journal open. “‘His voice does something to my chest.’” He quoted it with a lazy smile. “‘There’s something in the way he looks at me. Like he knows what I taste like before even touching me.’”

Elena’s breath left her in a sharp exhale and she turned out of embarrassment. “Stop.”. “Stop.”

“Why?” Cain stood up and stopped behind her. His voice was right against her ear. “Because it’s true?”

She spun around to face him, but he was already close, too close. The journal dropped from his hand, forgotten, and landed with a soft thud on the floor.

“Elena,” he murmured. “You want to study me so badly. To understand me. But let’s not pretend anymore.”

She was trembling. Not with fear. With heat.

His fingers came up, slow and gentle, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Tell me to back off,” he whispered. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Elena didn’t speak.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

The tension stretched, taut and electric. Her heart was a drumbeat in her ears. Her breath caught when he leaned in just a little more, his mouth hovering dangerously close to hers.

“I read what you want,” he said, eyes locked on her. “But I want to hear it from your mouth. If you want it all you have to do is ask sweetheart.”

Elena tried to hold her ground, to steady herself. “You’re dangerous.”

“And that excites you.”

She hated that he was right.

He wasn’t just getting into her head anymore.

He was already there.

Cain’s hand brushed her waist, barely a touch, and even that sent lightning through her veins.

“Why do you keep coming back?” he asked, voice low. “It’s not the thesis anymore, is it?”

She couldn’t lie. Not here. Not now.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

Cain leaned in, his forehead brushing hers. “I do.”

A knock on the door shattered the moment.

Elena jerked back, and Cain’s hand fell away. The heat between them didn’t.

The guard stepped in. “Sorry. I thought this room was empty, it wasn’t on the schedule.”

Elena snatched up her journal and shoved it into her bag, her hands shaking.

“I was just leaving,” she muttered, her voice raw.

Cain said nothing, just watched her. His gaze was heavy. Dark. Possessive.

As she reached the door, he spoke again, low and deep, meant for her alone.

“Next time you write about what I make you feel…” His lips curved. “Make sure you say my name.”

Elena fled the room before she could fall apart.

But she could still feel him.

On her skin.

In her mind.

Underneath it all.

As she stepped into the hallway, Elena didn’t look back.

But when she got to her car and opened her bag to shove the journal deep beneath her books,

She found a slip of paper tucked inside it.

One that hadn’t been there before.

It was torn from one of the journal’s pages.

And in Cain’s bold handwriting, it read:

“You’re mine now, Elena.”