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Summary
"The confetti from the stage was still in his hair, glittering like a mockery of the night’s victory. Doran had spent years building walls, perfecting the art of control—over his emotions, his reactions, his game. But one open case, one coil of silk rope, and he was unraveling. The image of the collar, the cuffs, the blindfold, seared into his mind, refusing to fade. He could still feel the weight of the rope in his palm, the way it had warmed to his touch, as if it had been waiting for him. And behind the wall, Oner’s laughter echoed—loud, boisterous, and utterly delighted. It wasn’t cruel. It was worse. It was knowing."
OR; Doran learns there are more ways to surrender than just on stage—with Oner.