Chapter 80: Red in the Net – Part II

Adrienne

I didn’t keep him waiting in the hall this time. I wanted the atmosphere inside the room to feel tight and close. The lights were cooler than before, and the chair had been adjusted slightly lower so that his line of sight would meet mine, rather than the ceiling. Everything was calibrated.

He was already smiling when the guards fastened the cuffs. It wasn’t a wide smile—just a subtle tilt that suggested he had come prepared to enjoy himself at my expense.

“Back so soon?” he asked.

I ignored the bait and let the silence settle—not the vast, punishing quiet of the first session, but a finer tension drawn taut between us. I stood within arm’s reach and did nothing. No touch, no words—just presence. The body learns before the mind does.

His gaze dipped once to my hands and then returned to my eyes. “You’re changing tactics.”

“Not changing,” I replied at last. “Refining.”

I moved to his side, close enough that I caught the scent of his breath. His shoulders remained relaxed, but the pulse at his throat quickened. He was aware of it; I was aware of it. He gazed straight ahead as if we were discussing the weather.

“You believe you’re immune,” I said.

“I believe you’re used to winning.”

A small pressure formed behind my ribs. I rested one palm on the back of the chair, leaning just enough that my shadow crossed his knees. “Bodies are predictable. Yours is no exception.”

He laughed softly, the sound chasing along my skin like a cold current. “Predictable isn’t the same as obedient.”

I let my fingers trail along the edge of the armrest, never touching his skin. His breath hitched anyway. The crack in his composure was real; I could feel it. But when I looked up, there was still amusement in his eyes.

“Say the thing you always say,” he murmured. “Tell me I’m not special. Tell me everyone breaks.”

“Everyone learns,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”

He tipped his head, considering my words. “And what are you learning?”

I was certain that the usual rhythm was too neat for him, and stating that only fed his resistance. I stepped back, denying him the closeness he pretended not to want.

“Next time,” I said, “we move past preliminaries.”

“By all means,” he replied. “I’m dying to see your best.”I smiled, precise and unkind. He thought he was still choosing. That illusion would be my tool.

The guards left us alone, the click of the door serving as a clear punctuation mark. I dragged a chair across the floor and placed it in front of him, the scrape loud and deliberate. I sat so close that if I moved my knee just an inch forward, it would brush against his. I didn’t. Denial was as potent as contact.

He studied me with that insolent calm, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He believed that his endurance made him untouchable. It didn’t. Stillness was merely another mask, and masks cracked over time.

I folded my hands neatly in my lap. “Tell me something,” I said.

His brows rose in mock surprise. “We’re talking now?”

“Answer,” I replied.

He leaned back as far as his restraints would allow, his shoulders settling into the chair as if he owned it. “Depends on what you want to hear.”

“The truth.”

A low, humorless laugh escaped him, sharp and cutting. “The truth is, you hate this. I’m sitting here calmly, comfortable. You need the twitching, the stammering, the eyes darting everywhere but yours. Without that, you can’t measure progress.”

His words cut deeper than I expected. He wasn’t wrong. The others had always betrayed themselves with fidgeting and shallow breaths long before they broke. Riven sat here as if none of it touched him.

I leaned forward, closing the small space until I could feel his breath stir the air between us. His chest rose slightly faster—subtle but real. “Progress isn’t always visible,” I told him. “Sometimes it’s measured in what you don’t notice until it’s too late.”

For the first time, his smirk wavered, replaced by a more calculating and colder expression. “Careful,” he said. “That sounds more like a warning than control.”

I let the silence linger, then pushed my chair back an inch. His jaw flexed at the withdrawal, betraying what his mouth refused to show.

Good. There it was. The body always tells the truth.

I rose, smoothing my sleeve. “You’ll learn the difference soon enough.”

His response followed me to the door. “Or you’ll learn I’m not like the rest.”

I didn’t turn back. “Every man says that,” I replied, and left him with the silence he couldn’t shape.

I didn’t waste time circling him again. Circling was for subjects who needed to feel preyed upon. Riven wasn’t prey—not yet. He wanted me to treat him as an equal opponent, and that was his mistake.

I stepped into his space without hesitation, stopping at the edge of his knees. My hand rested lightly on the chair’s arm and then slid across the grain of the wood until my fingertip hovered over the cuff clasping his wrist. I didn’t touch his skin—not yet. But the distance narrowed to a fraction of an inch, and I saw his pulse jump.

“You’re observant,” I said quietly. “Patterns, silence, routine. You’ve noticed more than most.”

“Most,” he repeated, the word laced with disdain. “That’s all I’ll ever be to you, isn’t it? Another file. Another folder.”

I smiled. Naming the cage never freed anyone from it. They always thought it would.

I bent closer, letting the scent I’d chosen linger in the air between us. Balanced notes: soothing on the inhale, sharpened on the exhale. His lips parted, drawing the scent deeper even as his eyes narrowed in mock amusement.

“There,” I murmured. “Your body betrays what your mouth denies.”

He held my gaze, steady and unbroken. “Maybe I just like the smell.”

Arrogance. Always arrogance. But his breath hitched just slightly. The crack was real.

I let my finger trail the edge of the restraint until I hovered at the ridge of his hand. Close enough to exchange heat, but not close enough to satisfy. His jaw clenched, betraying the tension he wanted to hide.

“You’ll bend,” I said, my voice even and assured. “Not today, maybe not tomorrow. But you’ll learn that there’s only one rhythm here—mine.”

His grin sharpened, defiance flashing like steel. “Then you’d better hope your rhythm doesn’t break first.”

I straightened suddenly, withdrawing touch, scent, and presence all at once. The absence pulled at him more than my nearness had. He shifted slightly in the chair—not out of discomfort, but because his body wanted back what I had just denied.

Perfect. The body always reveals the truth.

I smoothed my sleeve, re-establishing my composure. “We’ll see,” I said, calm and certain.

The door opened at my nod, the guards stepping in. I didn’t look back as I left, although I felt his gaze following me—heavy, amused, unbent.

Not broken. Not yet.

But I had seen the fissures forming. And fissures widened under pressure.