I glare at him. "Get out."
He doesn’t.
Instead, he steps closer, crouching in front of me without asking. Too close....Way too close.
"Give me the shoe," he says
"No."
He looks up at me, eyebrow lifting slightly. "Little spitfire."
"I don’t need your help, and I told you to stop calling me by that name."
"You physically cannot reach your foot." He said ignoring the other thing I said.
"You sound like you’re enjoying this."
He huffs a quiet laugh, then holds out his hand. "I’m not enjoying this either just hand it over."
I hesitate. Every instinct in me screams not to let him do this. Not to give him this moment, this proximity.
But my ankle is already cramping.
I shove the heel into his hand. "One shoe. That’s it."
"So Generous."
He slides it onto my foot with infuriating ease, fingers steady, efficient. He doesn’t linger. Doesn’t make it weird just tightnes the strap and checks the clasp.
"There," he says.
I hate how gentle he is about it.
"Don’t get used to it," I mutter.
He glances up at me. "Trust me. I won’t."
He reaches for the second heel.
I pull my foot back. "I said one."
"You said you didn’t need help," he replies. " but clearly you do darling."
I scowl but let him take it.
This time, when he fastens the strap, his thumb brushes my ankle accidentally. A spark jumps up my leg before I can stop it.
I yank my foot away. "Done."
He straightens, eyes dark, expression unreadable again. "You look... weird."
"Oh fuck you."
Silence stretches between us.
Then he turns toward the door. "Be downstairs in five."
He leaves before I can respond.
I stand on wobbly feet’s.
If tonight is another performance, then fine.
I’ll play my part, on my terms.
Zane’s POV
I hear her before I see her.

When I don’t answer, she continues down the stairs.

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