Page 138 of His Game His Rules

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My cheeks burn. But I keep going.

"He watched me with those eyes of verdant ice

That strip away pretense and leave me bare

No armor left against his cold device."

I risk a glance up. Giovanni's expression is intense, focused entirely on me.

"I thought I knew what men like him could share?—

Control disguised as love, possession dressed

As care. But this? This is beyond compare."

My voice wavers. Because this is where the poem gets personal. Where I stop describing and start confessing.

"For he is not the monster I assessed

When first I met him in that hotel hall

All swagger, silence, danger in his chest."

Giovanni lets out a small breath.

"He is the poem I could not recall

The rhyme scheme that escaped me in the night

The words I needed when I felt most small."

I turn the page, my hands shaking.

"And yes, he terrifies me. Yes, the sight

Of him unleashed—that creature in his eyes?—

Should send me running toward the safety light."

My throat tightens.

"But here's the truth beneath my survivor's lies:

I don't want safety. Don't want soft or kind

I want the man who sees through my disguise."

Giovanni leans forward slightly.

"I want the King who claimed me, body, mind

Who killed to keep me safe from greater harm

Who makes me feel like I am his to find."

The words are coming faster now, tumbling out in a rush of desperate honesty.

"And yes, I let his cousin work his charm

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