Natalia squirmed in the leather chair, the slick surface sticking to her bare thighs. Every slight movement created a soft peeling sound that seemed to echo through the room. The simple act of breathing had become an exercise in torture—the black silk camisole sliding against her hardened nipples with each inhale, making her bite back a whimper.

Twenty-three minutes. Only twenty-three minutes had passed, and she was already losing her mind.

Her eyes darted to Satori, who leaned against the wall with that infuriating half-smile. How could he look so composed when her entire body was a live wire? His casual stance, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded—it was a performance designed to drive her mad.

"I need another drink," she announced, pushing herself up from the chair.

The room tilted for a moment as the blood rushed from her head, making her grip the armrest for balance. Crossing the floor became a gauntlet, each step sending vibrations through her hypersensitive body. The floorboards creaked beneath her bare feet, sounding impossibly loud in the quiet room.

She could feel Satori's eyes on her, following the sway of her hips, tracing the curve of her spine visible through the thin silk.

At the water dispenser, Natalia filled a glass with trembling hands. The cool glass against her palm sent shivers up her arm. She brought it to her lips, tipping her head back slightly as she drank. The water slid down her throat, its coolness a shocking contrast to her heated skin.

As she lowered the glass, Natalia deliberately let a single drop escape the corner of her mouth. She didn't wipe it away, instead allowing it to trail slowly down her chin, along the column of her throat. The droplet paused at her collarbone before continuing its journey downward, disappearing into the valley between her breasts beneath the black silk.

She turned, glass still in hand, and caught Satori staring. His eyes were locked on the path the water had taken, his jaw clenched tight enough that a muscle twitched in his cheek. His throat worked as he swallowed hard.

A rush of power surged through her. For the first time since taking the pill, Natalia felt something besides overwhelming desire—she felt control.

And then she saw her.

Standing by the window, bathed in moonlight, was a woman of impossible beauty. Tall and statuesque, with flowing hair like liquid silver and eyes that held ancient wisdom. She wore a flowing gown that seemed woven from starlight itself, and though Natalia knew she couldn't be real, the vision was so clear she nearly gasped.

"He sits upon his throne while you perch on a stool like a commoner," the goddess spoke directly into her mind, her voice melodious and commanding. "This will not do. A queen does not wait. A queen takes."

Natalia blinked, and the vision vanished. But the words remained, resonating within her.

She spotted a deck of cards on Satori's nightstand. Without asking permission, she picked them up, fanning them with a snap of her wrist.

"This is boring," she said, her voice emerging as a husky purr she barely recognized. "How about a real game? Strip poker."

Satori's eyebrow arched, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. "Too easy. You'd be naked in ten minutes."

The casual arrogance of his statement made her blood boil even as it sent heat pooling low in her belly.

"How about this," he continued, pushing himself away from the wall. "We play. Every time you lose a hand, you tell me something you've never told anyone else. A secret." His dark eyes gleamed in the dim light. "Every time I lose, I'll do the same."

Natalia hesitated. This was far more dangerous than baring her body. This was baring her soul. The rational part of her brain screamed to refuse.

"He wishes to see your soul?" The goddess's voice whispered in her mind again. "Then show him a glimpse, my queen. And in return, you shall take his."

"Fine," she agreed, her voice tight with tension.

They moved to the center of the room, sitting cross-legged on the floor with the deck between them. The space separating them seemed charged with electricity, a no-man's-land neither dared to cross.

Satori shuffled the cards, the crisp sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room. Each snap of the cards matched the rhythm of her pounding heart. He dealt five cards to each of them.

Natalia stared at her hand, trying to focus through the fog of desire clouding her mind. Two eights, a five, a jack, and a queen. Not terrible, but not great either. She discarded the five and the jack, receiving a three and a seven in return.

Her heart sank. A pair of eights. Worthless.

Satori revealed his hand—a pair of jacks.

"Looks like I win the first round," he said, gathering the cards.

Natalia's throat went dry. She had lost. Of course she had lost. Her mind wasn't working properly, her thoughts scattered by the constant awareness of her body, of his proximity, of the way his t-shirt stretched across his chest when he moved.

Satori didn't gloat or smile. Instead, he looked at her with an intensity that seemed to strip away every layer of her defenses, leaving her emotionally naked before him.

"Tell me," he said, his voice a soft command that brooked no resistance, "what's your biggest fear?"

Natalia's initial instinct was to deflect, to lie, to give some shallow answer about spiders or heights. But something in Satori's steady gaze made her pause.

"Becoming nothing," she finally whispered, the truth pulled from somewhere deep inside her. "Being forgotten. I'm afraid that no matter how hard I train, how good I become, I'll never step out of my father's shadow. That I'll always be Luka Kuzmina's daughter, never just Natalia."

Satori nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "I see you, Natalia."

His words wrapped around her heart, squeezing painfully. How did he always know exactly what to say? It wasn't fair.

He shuffled the cards again, dealt another hand. This time, Natalia forced herself to concentrate, carefully evaluating her options before discarding.

Three queens. Her lips curved in satisfaction as she laid down her cards.

Satori's two pair—tens and sixes—couldn't match her hand.

"Your turn," she said.

Satori leaned back, supporting himself on his hands, a contemplative expression on his face. The position stretched his t-shirt across his chest, highlighting the definition of muscle beneath the fabric.

"Before I made the choice to change," he said slowly, "I sometimes wished I would die."

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