Morning light spilled through the tall clinic windows.
Aria stood alone in the shower of Room 7, warm water running down her back, her mind spinning faster than her pulse. She stared at the wall like it held answers — answers to why her heart fluttered every time she thought of him.
> He's the man who ruined Natalie.
> The man I came here to destroy.
> So why… did I let him touch me like that?
Last night had been wrong — undeniably. But the way his fingers mapped her skin, the way his lips whispered sins against her throat, the way he made her feel…
It didn't feel like manipulation.
It felt like something else.
Something terrifyingly close to real.
She stepped out of the shower and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. A love bite bloomed across her collarbone like a brand — proof that she had crossed a line.
And now, she couldn't go back.
Downstairs, Frederick sipped espresso in his office. Calm. Composed. Dressed to perfection in a charcoal grey suit.
But beneath that polished surface, he was unraveling.
Aria had done something no woman ever had.
She had left a mark — not on his body, but on his thoughts.
> "You're supposed to be a weapon," he whispered to himself. "Not a weakness."
He lit a cigarette, something he hadn't done in years.
He had planned to break her — seduce her, use her, then ruin her.
But now… he wasn't sure if she had turned the game around. Was she still playing, or had she surrendered like him?
He didn't know.
And that made her more dangerous than ever.
That night, Aria sat on her bed, staring at her laptop screen.
The audio recording of their last session was still saved — untouched.
She hovered her finger over the "upload" button. One click, and it would all be over. Frederick's clinic would crash. His reputation destroyed. She'd get justice. For Natalie. For the others.
But her finger wouldn't move.
Instead, she replayed his words in her head:
> "Do you want the truth… or the version that lets you keep hating me?"
His voice haunted her.
And so did his touch.
The line between villain and lover was beginning to vanish.
And she hated it.
At exactly midnight, there was a knock on her door.
Three soft taps.
She reached for the knife under her pillow, heart racing, and crept to the door. She peeked through the eyehole.
No one.
But a letter had been slid underneath.
She opened it carefully.
Handwritten.
> "If you're going to ruin me, at least have dinner with me one last time."
—F
No threats. No manipulation. Just… invitation.
She crushed the note in her fist — and dropped it.
But the tremble in her hand betrayed her heart.
The next evening, they met again.
Same table. Same red wine. But this time, no candles. No pretense.
Frederick looked tired. The kind of tired that came from restraint.
He pulled her seat for her, but she didn't thank him.
> "Why are you doing this?" she asked coldly.
> "Because you make me feel like a man, not a monster," he answered.
Silence.
> "And what do I make you feel like?" he added.
> "Ruined," she said. "You make me feel ruined."
> "Then we're even."
They ate in silence for a moment. Then she asked:
> "Did you ever love Natalie?"
He paused. Looked her straight in the eyes.
> "No. I didn't love her."
"But I loved… breaking her."
Aria's heart stopped.
The glass in her hand trembled.
> "Then what am I to you now?" she whispered.
> "A redemption," he said softly. "Or a second masterpiece."
Her breath caught.
She should've stood. Slapped him. Screamed.
But she didn't.
She leaned in instead — lips parting — searching for a truth behind the madness.
He kissed her again.
And she let him.
That night, in bed, Aria lay on his chest, unable to sleep.
He held her like she was fragile. Like he cared. And for a terrifying second… she wanted it to be real.
But deep inside, her voice screamed.
> You came here to expose him. You came here to destroy him. Not… to fall for him.
And yet, her heart whispered back.
> What if both were possible?
The city outside was alive — cars humming, lights flickering, horns blaring — but inside Frederick's penthouse, the world stood still.
Aria sat in his oversized robe, curled on his couch like she'd lived there all her life. A mug of coffee steamed in her hand, her eyes lost in thought.
Frederick stood by the window, shirtless, his toned frame casting a shadow as the moonlight caught the edge of his jaw.
Neither of them spoke for a long time.
Words had become less necessary lately.
> "You still don't trust me," he said softly.
> "You still haven't earned it," she replied.
He smiled.
She didn't.
> "Then why are you still here?" he asked, turning to face her.
> "Because I want to understand… why you're the way you are."
He moved closer, crouched in front of her, and gently placed his hand over hers — the one holding the mug. Their eyes met, and the heat between them grew again, but this time not with desperation…
With tension.
Real, human tension.
> "Then let me show you," he said.
Frederick took her down a hallway Aria had never seen.
Behind an unmarked door was a dimly lit room — walls lined with old journals, framed newspaper clippings, and paintings. But not of anatomy or medicine.
Of women.
Beautiful, broken, fierce.
Portraits, sketches, fragments of obsession.
Aria stepped closer to one.
> "That's Natalie," she whispered.
Frederick nodded.
> "I painted her after she left me. Before she disappeared. I tried to keep her here… through memory."
There was pain in his voice.
Not just guilt.
Regret.
> "You loved her," Aria said.
> "No," he replied, stepping behind her. "I didn't know how to… until now."
She turned slowly to face him, her heart pounding in her chest.
> "And now?" she asked.
> "Now I do."
He leaned in, his hands sliding up her waist, pulling her into him — but softer this time. Slower. As if he was afraid she might vanish if he held her too tight.
> "You're not like the others," he whispered into her hair.
> "You don't know that yet."
> "I know enough."
He kissed her forehead. Then her cheek. Then her lips — gently, like a man touching fire but refusing to let go.
And Aria… melted.
Sunlight broke through the curtains the next morning.
Aria was already awake, lying on her side, watching him sleep. His face looked different in sleep — younger. Softer. Less… evil.
She traced the scar on his chest with her finger — the one he never talked about.
And for the first time, she wondered:
> What if there was still something good inside him?
She sat up and pulled one of his journals from the shelf. It was old. Leather-bound.
Inside were pages of notes — psychological thoughts, theories on obsession, dominance, attraction. But between the scientific scrawl, she found something unexpected:
Poems.
Rough. Raw. Unfinished.
But filled with longing.
One line made her breath hitch:
> "I ruin what I love because I love too hard."
Suddenly, she felt herself falling.
Not just into bed.
But into him.
And that scared her more than anything.
Later that day, while he was in the shower, she sat on his bed, phone in hand.
The blogger had replied to her message.
> "Where's the rest of the proof? You've gone silent. Are you compromised?"
Aria stared at the message.
Was she?
She had come here to expose a predator.
Now she was lying naked in his sheets, reading his secrets, and wondering if love could really exist in a heart so corrupted.
But even her doubt had a heartbeat.
And it beat for him.
> "Compromised?" she whispered. "No. Just… confused."
She didn't delete the evidence.
But she didn't send it either.
That night, as they lay side by side, she turned to him.
> "Tell me something no one knows about you."
Frederick didn't answer at first.
Then he whispered:
> "I once tried to kill myself."
Aria froze.
> "When?"
> "Three years ago. After Natalie. After I realized I wasn't healing women… I was hollowing them out."
> "And now?"
> "Now I want to be better. Because for the first time… someone's making me want to stay alive."
Her breath caught.
> "Me?"
> "Yes. You."
And she kissed him again — not out of lust, or revenge, or curiosity.
But because a part of her heart — a very dangerous part — was finally opening.