Page 168 of Problematic

Why all this effort if I wasn’t even his mate?

My fingers tightened around the mug. If he were my mate, this would make sense. Horrifying sense. Dark, obsessive, legally concerning sense. But sense, nonetheless.

A mate would do this. He would notice the coffee I liked. He would even build a library because I loved books. A mate would almost come apart when I touched his mask because seeing his face would . . .

I set the mug down too hard. The ceramic clinked against the counter.

“No,” I whispered.

No. He was not my mate. He couldn’t be. My mate mark hadn’t appeared. I had no mark, and he was absolutely not Lux, because I had been kidnapped by his assassin. His assassin. His masked, violent, infuriating, too-careful-when-it-counted assassin.

Not Lux.

He was not . . .

Fuck.

Except Vale had said Lux needs you like it meant something completely different. I’d caught that. The resemblance, even with the mask. I wasn’t stupid.

But the most powerful demon in New Abaddon falling for me? Scratch that, the East Coast. That was crazy. Right? “Fuck,” I whispered. “I’m spiraling.” I unlocked my phone and opened the browser.

No signal.

I frowned. Turned it off. Turned it on. Still no signal. Not a weak signal . . . no goddamn signal.

My stomach dropped and dread settled in. “He wouldn’t . . .” Who am I kidding. He absolutely would.

I moved toward the windows, lifting the phone like that would help, because, apparently, panic turned me into someone’s grandmother trying to get better reception during a storm.

Still nothing. Did he really jam the phone signals? “That bastard.” I stomped my foot, no longer caring about his fancy fucking marble.

The kitchen shifted around me, all polished stone and gold fixtures and curated comfort, and suddenly none of it felt romantic. The mugs looked less like affection and more like bait. The library became less a gift and more a cage.

I ran to the door, bare feet slapping against the floor. The hallway door was huge. I grabbed the handle. It didn’t move. I twisted harder.

Nothing.

There was no lock on my side. Just the handle and a seamless panel. “Shit.” I yanked again. “No, no, no.”

The door didn’t even rattle. Of course it didn’t. Lux Tower probably had doors that could survive bombs, dragons, and, especially, emotionally unstable women who didn’t even have pants on.

I pressed my palm flat against the wood. Locked from the outside. He had locked me in. Or Vale had. On his orders.

No one enters or exits.

At the time, it had sounded possessive. Dark. Hot in a way I planned to unpack never. Now it sounded a lot more like kidnapping.

Did he plan to keep me here?

My back hit the door. I slid down it before I meant to, knees folding, the bookstack mug abandoned on the counter, the whole tower pressing in around me with its expensive air and hidden locks and no phone signal.

Is it really kidnapping if I walked in willingly because he built my dream library and offered me a black card with no limit? Mandi and Sam would say yes. Could I leave the penthouse on the sixty-fourth floor? No. Did I have free food, unlimited coffee, and all the books I ever wanted, rolling ladder included? Yes. Yes, I did.

Was my masked stalker, who was apparently an assassin, out unaliving someone right now? Probably. Would I do it again? Absolutely. For the plot, obviously.

The abs and orgasms were strictly a bonus.

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