Vincent pulled Katherine through the streets of Paris, his grip firm, his pace relentless. The city blurred around them, gaslights smearing into streaks of gold against the ink-black night. Their footsteps echoed sharply against the cobblestones, each strike heavy with the weight of what had just happened.
The crisp night air bit at Katherine's skin, but she barely noticed. Her breath came in uneven gasps as she struggled to match Vincent's determined stride. The cool wind sliced through the fabric of her gown, but the chill was nothing compared to the raw tremor spreading through her limbs. Her pulse was still hammering from the chaos, her body still bracing for a fight, a punishment—something. Around them, the city lived and breathed—laughter spilling from taverns, the rattle of carriages, hushed whispers in the alleys—but none of it touched them. They were sealed in their own reality, a private storm raging between them.
She could still hear Madame Dupont's voice, sharp and venomous, warning her of what would happen if she ever tried to break free. She could still feel the man's hand, his grip possessive, his breath sour against her skin. The weight of his touch lingered like an invisible bruise, making her stomach twist. The memory was a stain, one she could not scrub away, no matter how hard she tried. And then, Vincent—bursting in like a thunderclap, upending everything, pulling her away from a world she had long since accepted as inescapable.
Had she wanted to be saved? Or had he simply shattered the only illusion of safety she had ever known?
They reached his carriage, and Vincent wasted no time. He yanked open the door, ushering her inside with a firm but careful hand. The door slammed shut behind them, muting the noise of Paris, yet the silence inside was heavier. Thick. Almost suffocating.
Katherine sat rigid, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her fingers gripping the fabric of her dress as though they might keep her from unraveling. Her pulse was erratic, her lungs burning with the effort of catching her breath. Across from her, Vincent sat like a coiled spring, tension radiating from him in waves. His jaw was tight, his fists still curled. He wasn't looking at her, but she could feel the weight of his frustration pressing into the space between them. The steady rise and fall of his chest was the only sign that he was trying to temper the anger still simmering beneath his skin.
A long moment stretched between them before she finally spoke. "You shouldn't have done that." Her voice was brittle, cracking at the edges.
Vincent's gaze snapped to hers, sharp and unreadable. "Shouldn't have done what?"
"Interfered." The word felt like a blade on her tongue. "You don't understand what you've done."
His brows furrowed, his expression darkening. "I understand perfectly. That man thought he could treat you like an object. I wasn't going to let him."
"You don't get it." Her voice rose, trembling. "You don't know how it works. You don't know the cost."
She had spent years learning how to survive within Madame Dupont's world, weaving carefully through its poisonous threads. Every move, every word, every breath had been calculated to keep her safe. There were rules—unspoken, brutal rules. Breaking them wasn't an act of bravery. It was suicide. Vincent had stormed through that fragile web without understanding what lay in its shadows, what could come for her now that he had disrupted the delicate balance she had clung to.
Her stomach twisted painfully. Madame Dupont would not let this go unanswered. There would be retribution. There was always retribution.
"You don't get to decide what happens to me," Katherine snapped, blinking back hot, furious tears. "I've had my choices taken from me my whole life. You can't just come in and—"
"I'm not trying to control you," Vincent cut in, his tone softer now. "I'm trying to protect you."
Her heart clenched painfully.
"And if I don't want your protection?" she whispered, but the words lacked conviction.
Vincent held her gaze, unwavering. "Then tell me," he said without hesitation. "Tell me you want to go back. Tell me you're content with that life. Tell me, and I'll leave you be."
The words sat between them like a loaded pistol, daring her to pull the trigger.
Katherine opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The lie wouldn't form. She wasn't content. She hadn't been for years. But if she admitted that, if she let herself believe there was another path—one she could take—it would mean acknowledging how much she had lost. How much she had suffered. And how much she feared what came next.
The silence stretched, thick with unspoken truths.
Her shoulders sagged, defeat creeping into her bones. "I don't know what I want." It escaped her like a confession, small and fragile.
Vincent leaned back, exhaling heavily. His hand ran through his hair, loosening a few strands from their perfect order. He looked tired. Not just from the night, but from something deeper, something that had been weighing on him long before this moment.
"Then let me help you figure it out," he murmured.
Help. No one had ever offered that before—not without a price.
Her fingers curled against the fabric of her gown, uncertainty clawing at her. She had spent years learning to fear kindness, to distrust it. Because kindness had always come at a cost. A debt. A cage disguised as mercy.
The carriage rocked as it slowed, the unfamiliar outline of Vincent's townhouse materializing outside the window. A wave of exhaustion, heavier than any before, crashed over Katherine. She had no plan. No defense. The finely crafted mask she wore had cracked, leaving her exposed in a way that terrified her.
Vincent stepped out first, turning to offer his hand.
Katherine hesitated.
Taking it meant stepping into the unknown—not just the townhouse, but something far more dangerous. A world where someone might actually fight for her, not against her. A world where she might have a choice.
Her hand hovered over his, trembling.
Then she took it.
As they crossed the threshold, the townhouse embraced them with warmth and the soft glow of firelight. The door closed behind them with a quiet, decisive click.
Katherine's chest tightened.
Filled with confusion, she wasn't sure if she should run—or stay.
And as Vincent gently guided her further inside, she realized something far more terrifying.
She has something to lose.