He did not look at me the way the patrons at the club used to.

His gaze was heavy, deliberate, and entirely focused on my movements.

When I spoke, he listened to every inflection of my voice as if he were trying to decode a secret.

When I adjusted my collar, his eyes followed the movement of my fingers.

One evening, as we rode in the back of his armored sedan, the city lights streaked across his face in shades of blue and white.

The interior of the car was warm, smelling of expensive leather and tobacco.

“How is Lily?” he asked suddenly, turning his head toward me.

“She is good,” I said, clutching my purse tightly in my lap. “Mrs. Patel says she is sleeping through the night now.”

“Good,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “She deserves a peaceful life. And so do you, Sophia.”

I looked out the window, my chest tightening at his tone.

There was a dangerous warmth in his words that I knew I should resist.

I was his employee, a desperate mother who needed his money.