"Run, little strawberry."
The words brushed against her skin like a gust of wind, cold and burning at once.
She didn't know if it was an order, a challenge, or a provocation.
Maybe all three.
Naiara froze for one second. Just one.
Then she turned toward him.
The Grey was right there, a breath away from her nape, his warm breath on her skin, those silver-grey eyes glowing in the shadows like sharpened blades.
She lifted her chin.
A half-smile, pride, defiance, madness, appeared on her lips.
"As you wish." And she ran.
She had no idea where she was going. No idea what she was doing.
She just ran. Ran because he told her to.
Ran because her body reacted faster than her mind. Ran because she hated him.
Ran because she wanted to hate him even more.
The hallway was a labyrinth of shadows.
Cold floor, closed doors, the villa silent as if holding its breath.
She spun around. No one. No footsteps.
No sounds. No shadow behind her.
Damn it.
Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs.
Did she really want to escape?
Or did she want… him to chase her?
Don't answer that.
Don't think.
She kept running. That's when she heard it.
The sea. The distant crash of waves.
The salty breeze seeping through the walls like a whisper. She followed it.
Turned a corner, crossed a colonnade, and there it was.
A small private beach under the villa, hidden like a secret.
Moonlit sand. Slow, quiet waves. The whole world suspended.
Naiara stepped forward until the cold water reached her feet.
She stopped. Heart in her throat. Mind in utter chaos.
You want to escape. Right? …right?
She couldn't tell instinct from stupidity anymore. Or from desire.
"I can't believe this," she whispered to herself. "I don't even know what I want."
That's when she saw him.
He was descending the stairs to the beach as if walking onto a stage, not into a chase.
Calm. Completely in control.
He wore the grey pants of his elegant suit, bare feet sinking into the wet sand, skin glistening under the moonlight, that mocking smile on his lips.
He walked toward her.
With every step, her heart skipped a beat.
When he reached a breath from her face, she froze.
He tilted his head slightly. Smiling. That slow, sensual, dangerous smile.
"You like playing, little strawberry."
She opened her mouth, but didn't even get the chance to answer.
The Grey gently brushed past her, and dove into the sea.
Naiara gasped.
"What the… ?!"
He resurfaced, hair soaked, his bare chest shining with moonlit water.
He was laughing. Truly laughing.
As if she were the most entertaining thing in existence.
Annoyance shot through her chest.
"You're not even worried I might run away?" she shouted.
He slicked his wet hair back, still laughing.
"I don't know where you'd go, little strawberry…" He looked straight at her, those grey eyes piercing through her soul.
"But even if there were an escape route, you'd stay right here."
A strangled half-laugh escaped her throat, equal parts frustration and disbelief.
"You're unbearable!"
He emerged from the water with a slowness that felt sinful.
Droplets sliding over muscle, the moon outlining every line of his body.
Then, he grabbed her by the waist. And dragged her into the waves.
She screamed.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
His laugh was closer now, deeper.
"I'm letting you live, little strawberry."
He released her only when the water reached her waist.
She stumbled back, angry, confused, unwillingly aroused, and ended up sitting in the wet sand with the waves washing over her legs.
The Grey advanced on her like a storm.
A hand on her knees. A slow movement.
Her legs parted on their own, guided by nothing but his presence.
"Stop," she hissed, breathless. "Don't… "
He took her foot. And pressed a slow, sinful kiss against her ankle.
A shiver sliced through her spine.
"What do we do now, little strawberry?" he murmured.
"I'll never do anything with you," she shot back. But her voice shook.
He chuckled low.
"Promises, promises… let yourself go."
Something snapped inside her.
Pride? Fear? Desire?
She didn't have time to figure it out.
She grabbed his shoulders and, surprisingly strong, flipped him onto the sand.
He didn't resist. He let her.
She straddled him, but when his eyes locked onto hers…
Naiara lost her courage and turned her face away.
He guided her gaze back with two fingers under her chin.
"I'll teach you how to be free. To never be ashamed. And when that happens… you'll be mine. By choice."
"You keep me prisoner," she whispered, fragile. "It'll never happen."
"Do you feel like a prisoner right now?"
His voice was velvet and danger.
"I don't see chains. No locked doors.
Yet here you are, in my arms."
She flinched. Lowered her gaze. Part of her was giving in. Another part was fighting.
He saw the shift. He saw her feeling him.
And then, calmly, deliberately, he slid down the straps of her robe.
One.
Then the other.
The fabric slipped to her navel.
A tremor ran through her skin.
The Grey gently laid her onto the sand.
He leaned down. Kissed the scar on her stomach.
"A woman like you must be kissed exactly where it hurts the most."
Naiara tensed. Met his eyes.
And for a dangerous, impossible moment, hatred and desire fused into one single feeling.
"I… you should stop… stop… please…"
He paused. Not out of mercy. Out of choice.
"I haven't even begun, little strawberry," he whispered. "We have time."
A scandalous thought flashed through her mind.
If this is the beginning… what will the rest be?
He stood. Walked away without looking at her.
No words. No touch. No glance back.
He left her there. On the sand. Breath uneven.
Skin burning where he had touched her.
A thread pulling her toward him every step he took away.
"I'm insane…" she whispered, forcing herself to stand on shaking legs.
She walked back to the villa.
Wounded pride. Storming heart. Mind at war.
Her room was empty. Quiet. Safe. Fake.
She stepped into the shower. Turned on the hot water.
She searched for peace.
Found only the memory of his hands.
When she closed her eyes and the water spilled down her face, a voice appeared behind her.
Low. Right at her ear. Dangerously calm.
"Tell me where it hurts the most, little strawberry."