The next morning, the scent of something warm and rich filled the air. Nyx stirred, her body sluggish and aching, her mind fogged with exhaustion. She blinked slowly, trying to orient herself. The sheets beneath her were soft, clean, a luxury she hadn't experienced in years.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then, reality came crashing back.
Severin. The escape. The cold streets. Collapsing in front of the club.
Raphael.
Her heart pounded as she pushed herself up on weak limbs, her bruised wrists aching in protest. The memories of the previous night were jumbled, but one thing stood clear-she wasn't in Severin's house anymore.
But that didn't mean she was safe.
She flinched at a soft knock on the door.
"Are you awake?" Raphael's voice was calm, unreadable.
Nyx hesitated, her throat dry. "Yes."
The door opened with a measured creak, and Raphael stepped inside, carrying a tray of food. He looked as composed as he had last night-dark slacks, a fitted black shirt, his expression impassive yet strangely patient.
She hated that look.
Pity.
She wasn't weak. She didn't want to be someone's burden.
But the sight of the food made her stomach twist painfully. It had been days since she last ate.
"Eat," Raphael said, setting the tray on the nightstand.
Nyx eyed the food suspiciously. Toast, eggs, a cup of coffee. Simple, but real.
"Did you drug it?" she asked, her voice rough from disuse.
Raphael exhaled, amused. "No. But if you're that paranoid, I can take a bite first."
She narrowed her eyes but didn't push further. Hunger won over pride. She reached for the toast, but the moment she took a bite, her body protested. Her stomach cramped, unused to sustenance.
She forced herself to chew.
Raphael didn't speak as she ate. He merely sat across from her, watching.
"Do you always stare at people while they eat?" she muttered between bites.
"Only when I want to make sure they don't pass out from malnourishment."
She scowled.
Minutes passed in tense silence before she finally asked, "Why are you helping me?"
Raphael leaned back, his golden eyes studying her carefully. "Because I can."
"That's not an answer."
A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before he said, "I know what it's like to be powerless."
Nyx's fingers tightened around her coffee mug.
Powerless.
That word felt too familiar.
She swallowed hard, focusing on the warmth of the cup against her palms.
"I'm not powerless," she muttered.
Raphael's gaze sharpened. "You were under Severin's control for how long?"
She flinched.
"That's what I thought," he murmured.
Nyx hated the way her chest ached at his words. She didn't want sympathy. She wanted to forget.
"Eat," he said again, softer this time. "Then we'll talk."
She didn't want to talk.
But she finished her meal anyway.
When she was done, Raphael stood, taking the tray with him. "You need a bath."
Nyx froze.
No.
The idea of stripping in an unfamiliar place made her skin crawl.
"No," she said sharply.
Raphael's expression didn't change. "You haven't bathed properly in days."
"I said no."
Silence.
Then, Raphael exhaled, setting the tray aside. "Fine. But you should at least clean your wounds."
Nyx's breath came faster, her nails digging into her palms.
"You can do it yourself," he continued. "I'll leave towels and clothes in the bathroom. No one will come in."
Nyx didn't respond.
Finally, she whispered, "Okay."
Raphael nodded. "Take your time."
He left without another word.
Nyx sat frozen for a long time before finally forcing herself to move.
The hot water burned against her battered skin, but she didn't care.
She sat in the massive tub, her knees drawn to her chest, staring at the rising steam.
The bruises on her arms, the welts on her back, the ghost of the cuffs that once bound her wrists-Severin had left his mark on her.
She scrubbed harder, as if she could wash him away.
But no matter how much she cleaned, she still felt filthy.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Severin wasn't here.
She wasn't his anymore.
Raphael had said she was safe.
But safety was a lie.
Still, for the first time in years, no one was watching her. No one was waiting to punish her for taking too long.
And that thought alone made her chest tighten.
When she finally emerged from the bathroom, she found fresh clothes waiting on the bed.
Not leather. Not lace.
Sweatpants. A simple T-shirt.
Her fingers trembled as she touched the fabric.
She wasn't used to this.
She wasn't used to choice.
After dressing, she hesitated by the door. Should she leave? Should she run?
But she wasn't strong enough yet.
Severin was still out there.
With a deep breath, she stepped into the living area.
Raphael sat on the couch, sipping whiskey, his golden eyes meeting hers instantly.
"Better?" he asked.
Nyx crossed her arms. "Why do you care?"
He set the glass down, standing slowly. "I don't expect you to trust me, Nyx. But I need you to understand something."
He approached her, slow and deliberate. She stiffened but didn't move.
"I am a Dom," he said. "But I am not like him."
Her breath caught.
"I take control," Raphael continued. "But not in the way Severin did. True submission is about trust. Choice. And right now, you have both."
Nyx's throat tightened.
"I don't know how to trust anymore," she whispered.
Raphael's expression softened just a fraction. "Then I'll teach you."
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words.
Then, Raphael stepped back. "You can stay here as long as you want. No expectations. No demands."
She narrowed her eyes. "And if I want to leave?"
"Then I won't stop you."
It was a test.
She knew it.
But the truth was, she had nowhere to go.
And for now...
For now, staying was the lesser evil.
She exhaled shakily and turned away, heading back to her room.
Raphael watched her go, his expression unreadable.
The real battle hadn't even begun yet.