The day he had me sprawled in a chair, shy and innocent, yet somehow wearing my nudity like power beneath the heat of his ocean eyes. I’d savored the way he brought me to life on his canvas. God, how he painted me.

Not like a girl, but a woman.

A woman with undeniable sensuality.

A woman he wanted.

Sebastian saw me, his brushstrokes a possessive caress, discovering every curve through his art. Those hours weren’t forbidden or stolen, but they were ours.

Now the shadows of what could have been haunt me down the hall. My pulse wavers, throttled by regret, and I don’t fight the fog waiting to swallow me whole.

It’s the only way to survive.

I reach Dr. Price’s office and find it oddly empty. Untethered without instruction, I hesitate before sinking onto a plush velvet settee as Astrid melts into the background. Still, the weight of her surveillance remains, blending with thought, time, and the cushion beneath my thighs. Unsure of what else to do, I press a thumb into my damp palm and give myself over to a mindless rhythm that erases the world.

“Miss Van Buren?”

A deep baritone cuts through the haze, snapping me back to awareness, and I register a man sitting across from me, hands folded in his lap. His eyes are an unusual shade of grey, almost colorless in the soft light of the room. Vaguely, I remember seeing him last night at dinner.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

“You were looking right at me.”

I muster a lift of my shoulder.

“It’s unfortunate we’re having our first proper meeting under these circumstances.” He rests an elbow on the armrest, his square jaw framed by a well-manicured hand. The crisp navy of his suit is free of imperfections, each stitch a tailored work of art. “I’m Dr. Price.”

Another shrug.

“I’m here to help you, Novalee.”

“Are we dropping the formalities already?”

His brows pull together. “What do you mean?”

“Sixty seconds ago, you addressed me by my surname.”

“Is it important that I use your surname?”

“No, just an observation.”

Several beats pass.

I stare at him. He stares back.

“Are we going to sit in silence to pass the time?” he asks, leaning forward. “Or will you indulge me in a conversation?”

My lips press together.

“I don’t mind. Silence can be as telling as words.” His lips curve into something resembling a smile. “I’ve cleared my schedule for the night.”

The insinuation threatens to yank me into surrender. Oliver, Liam, the doctor—they hold all the power. If I don’t cooperate, I’ll be stuck here indefinitely. Still, I can’t bring myself to take the bait.