By the time I snuck back to my quarters, I knew I was in trouble.
I took a hot shower, but the chills wouldn't stop.
I had a fever. I blamed the pool and the night wind.

As I dried my hair, I froze. My sixth sense had saved me more times than I could count.
"Mr. Thorne," I said, putting the towel down.
People said Cyrus was ruthless. In reality, he was terrifyingly quiet.
Like now, he was sitting in the corner of the room, watching me silently.
If I hadn't been careful, I would have missed him.
My heart was pounding, wondering how long he’d been there.

But in action, I approached him cautiously, playing my role.
He didn't move until I reached his space, then he pulled me toward him by the waist.
His head rested against me, and he began to press slow, intimate kisses to my skin. I was only wearing a robe.
"Mr. Thorne... I... I don't feel well today."

Really unwell—my head felt like it was exploding.
I tried to pull away, leaning my burning forehead against him so he could feel the fever.
But Cyrus Thorne was a beast. He didn't care.
"You're burning up," he remarked, as if it were an interesting new toy to play with.
He threw me onto the sofa. Then I heard the click of his watch being removed.
His suit jacket, smelling of expensive tobacco and bourbon, fell over me.
I was glad my hair covered my face. He couldn't see the hatred in my eyes.
My Captain was right—he was a monster. He knew I was a "fool," and he still used me.
Everyone thought I was the one clinging to him but they didn't know the truth.
Our relationship... only he knew what it really was.