“May I take a seat?” I ask politely.
Ty tilts his head slightly toward the chair opposite him, a small gesture. I carefully take a seat, placing my notepad and pen on my lap, crossing my legs to get more comfortable.
“So, Dr Moss tells me you’re being released in a few days?” I say, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose.
He doesn’t blink as he dissects my every feature with a detached stare, as if I’m something less than human—something to be studied, rather than a therapist. It’s not surprising; I don’t look the part, and my lack of experience probably radiates off me like cheap perfume. But it’s not just suspicion I sense—there’s something darker. Something predatory.
I try to remain still, refusing to prod him with forced conversation since this needs to be at his pace and trust, but the silence seems to stretch between us.
When he finally moves, it’s calm—his hands sliding down to his thighs before pushing himself upright, as if he has all the time in the world. My gaze follows his relaxed rise, and as I tilt my head back to meet his eyes, a cold shiver trickles down my spine. He takes a step toward me. Then another, and stops directly in front of me, looming like a storm on the verge of shattering.
He slowly crouches down, bringing himself to my eye level. My pulse races, the thud of my heartbeat extremely loud in my ears and my fingers tense around my notepad, the edges biting into my skin.
His gaze sweeps over every inch of my face before his head tilts, like a hunter analysing its prey and for the briefest second, I see something flash behind his eyes. Hunger? Whatever it is, it’s dangerous.
“Your glasses hide your beauty,” he finally says, his voice deep and smooth. He leans in closer, and I fight the instinct to recoil. “Show me what you look without them,” he demands.
It’s a command wrapped in velvet, seductive yet terrifying. The room suddenly feels smaller, the walls closing in as I think carefully. This isn’t part of my job, of course, and I should know better, but sometimes, you have to play the game—just enough to make them think they hold the upper hand. One little compromise, I tell myself, just to see where his mind is. To understand him before he slips back into whatever shadows he calls home.
I swallow again, harder this time, forcing my gaze away from his and toward the door. I feel a new kind of dread—the thoughtof someone walking in, seeing us like this, witnessing me unravel right in front of him.
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “I won’t tell them you were a good girl for me.”
The way he just said that hits me like a jolt, my eyes snapping back to his with a sharpness that almost hurts. His lips curl into the faintest grin, and there it is—small dimples that shouldn’t be panty wetting but somehow are. It disarms me, and I feel the tension in my body shift into something dangerously close to surrender. For a second, I could melt into this damn chair.
Shit. Get it together, Raven.This is a psychopath, of course he’s going to be unbelievably charming. It’s just a shame he’s extremely beautiful to look at as well.
I raise my hand, slipping my glasses from my face and rest them on my lap. When I meet his gaze again, his eyes are already sweeping over my face. First my blue eyes, then my lightly freckled nose and cheeks, until they finally settle on my lips, lingering there.
“You’re like a little kitten,” he remarks, his tone disturbingly even, his pupils dilating as they devour the sight of me. His face remains expressionless as his gaze starts to move down the front of my body, shameless, and unapologetic.
A shiver runs through me everywhere they reach, and before I can stop myself, I speak—anything to distract him from the way he’s undressing me with his eyes. “I have a kitten, now you mention it,” I say softly. “Midnight. That’s her name.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, his eyes dart up to mine, and something shifts in the depths of them..Midnight. I can almost feel him toying with the name in his mind, as if it feeds his fascination.
“Let me guess,” he responds as he arches a perfect thick brow. “She’s black.”
His eyes sharpen, narrowing as if he already knows more about me than he should and I just went ahead and handed him something personal, something he could use. But he isn’t wrong, she’s black with big orange eyes.
“Maybe one day, I could meet her,” he suggests, the words rolling off his tongue with a coldness that feels anything but innocent.
My reaction is instant, and I feel my eyes expand, betraying the shock that twists inside me. To hide it, I quickly drop my head, sliding my glasses back on and shift in my seat, clearing my throat.
“Maybe,” I manage to say, forcing the word out, now desperate to end this conversation.
From the corner of my eye, I can feel him observing me, watching every twitch, every nervous fidget. He knows. He sees it. He knows he’s gotten to me, and worse—I’ve given him the satisfaction.
“How many psychopaths have you met, Kitten?” He asks. “Are you afraid of me?”
My brows knit together as I shake my head once. “No, of course not. People don’t scare me. I’m here to help. I’m here to help you.”
For a moment, he just watches me, as if dismembering my every word .
“How many psychopaths have you met, Kitten?” he repeats, slower this time.
Fuck.
His pretty brown eyes bore into mine, unblinking, daring me to slip, to show weakness. He’s the first psychopath I’ve ever met in my short career—there’s no denying that. And I can feel it—feel him—swarming my mind, wrapping himself around my thoughts. But it’s no time to crack. Ty’s my challenge, my first real challenge, and I can’t let him play with me.