For the first time in hours, I didn’t want to see what happened next.
Didn’t want to watch her hands shake.
Didn’t want to see the exact moment Floris started to wonder if I was just another monster in a better suit.
I sat there in the dark with the hum of the server cooling fans and the ache crawling up my spine like something feral trying to get out. I told myself it was nothing. Just a test. Just information.
But my fingers were already dialing the only number I shouldn’t have called.
“To what do I owe this call,” came the dry voice on the other end. “Let me guess. She’s in the vault.”
“Sia’s talking to her.”
“Ah.” A pause. “You turned off the feed?”
I didn’t answer.
“So you’re spiraling.”
“No.”
“Eric.”
I swallowed the word like it tasted wrong. “Yes.”
“Do you want me to ask what you think she’s saying?”
“She’s telling her everything. The collar. The contract. The tape.” I stared at the edge of my desk like it might cut me. “She’ll run.”
“Maybe.” She sighed. “Or maybe you want her to.”
“I don’t.”
“You always say that.”
I paced. The air in my office felt too tight, too sharp. I passed the framed invitation on my wall—Sunday dinner, embossed gold lettering, my mother’s perfect cursive.
“The dinner’s this weekend.”
“And?”
“I’m bringing Floris.”
A silence that felt like judgment. Then, softly: “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“I don’t know.” My voice cracked without permission. “She asked about love. The tape brought it up. Sia told her what happened. She saw Sia beg.”
“And what would your mother say about that?”
I laughed without humor. “Depends which version shows up. The mother who made me scrub wine from the carpet until my fingers bled, or the one who kisses both cheeks at brunch and pretends nothing happened.”
“You want Floris to see you with her.”
“I don’t want anything.”
“Bullshit.” Her tone sharpened. “You want her to understand you. But you only give her puzzles. Traps. You want her to look at your damage and say, ‘Me too.’”
I didn’t respond.
“What if she doesn’t?”
The question landed like a knife to the ribs.
What if Floris doesn’t want the truth?
What if she sees me the way Sia did—eventually? Like a virus that rewrites everything it touches.
“If she leaves…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“If she leaves, it means she still sees her own reflection. That’s not a bad thing, Eric. That’s survival.”
I hung up without saying goodbye.
Ten minutes later, I walked into the café like I hadn’t spent the last hour spiraling. The moment I saw them—Sia sitting rigidly, Floris with her shoulders squared and eyes flashing—I knew I was already too late.
Her jaw was tight. The air between them was scorched. Damage was done.
My steps didn’t falter. My voice didn’t shake. I came to end it clean.
“Floris.” My voice was casual, but steel hid underneath. “Sunday dinner. Be ready by six.”
“What dinner?” She blinked up at me.
“Family dinner. Dress appropriately.” My eyes slid to Sia, and something cold passed between us like an old war revisited. “Sia will help you select something suitable.”
I walked away without another word.