Three days.
That's how long Aria lasted.
Three days of silence.
Three days of pretending her mind wasn't haunted by the curve of his mouth, the scent of cedar smoke that clung to his clothes, the goddamned mirrors.
She hated mirrors now.
She saw too much in them—too much of herself. The way her breath had quickened. The heat crawling up her neck. The way his voice had made her legs tighten and her thoughts blur.
She should've walked away.
But no one ever did.
That's what made Frederick dangerous.
He knew when a woman said no, sometimes she meant try harder.
And he always knew exactly how hard to try.
But Aria… she wasn't just any woman.
She wasn't a patient.
She wasn't a thrill.
She was the storm he didn't see coming.
---
The Return
It was a Saturday evening when Aria showed up again. She didn't call. She didn't knock. She just… arrived.
Frederick opened his penthouse door, expecting no one, and found her there—standing tall in leather boots and a long navy coat, her eyes guarded and cold.
He said nothing. Just stepped aside.
She walked in, cool as ice.
"You look like a man who thought I'd beg," she said, sliding the coat from her shoulders.
He raised an eyebrow. "You look like a woman who did."
They stared at each other.
Neither blinked.
Then, slowly, she walked past him and headed straight for the mirror room.
She didn't look back.
He followed.
---
The Mirror Room
The lights in the room were dim again—gold and low. Shadows clung to the edges, and the great wall mirror reflected every move with cruel clarity.
Aria turned to face him, standing in front of the leather couch. Her reflection shimmered behind her like a second self.
She didn't sit. Didn't undress. Just watched him as he leaned against the far wall, arms crossed.
"You brought me here for a game," she said.
"Let's play it."
Frederick tilted his head. "You don't even know the rules."
"I don't need rules to win."
He chuckled softly and stepped forward. Slowly. Like a lion circling prey—but this prey had fangs of her own.
When he reached her, he didn't touch her. He just looked. Took her in. Every line of her body, every flicker in her expression.
"You're here because you want something," he said.
"Maybe I'm here because I want you."
His smile was sharp. "Too easy."
Aria leaned in, close enough to make his breath hitch, her lips near his ear.
"You think I'm falling," she whispered.
"You think I'm cracking."
Then she pulled back, looking him dead in the eyes.
"But you forget, Doctor… sometimes, the ones who fall fastest are the ones who pull the trigger on the way down."
---
The Trap
Their lips crashed suddenly—violence wrapped in velvet. He kissed like a man who studied anatomy: deliberate, calculated, devastating. She kissed like a woman with fire in her lungs and poison on her tongue.
Hands roamed. Clothes loosened. Skin heated.
He pressed her back against the mirror, one hand tangled in her hair, the other trailing down her spine like a violinist learning a new instrument.
Her breath caught as he bit her lower lip.
"You're already addicted," he murmured against her skin.
"Or maybe," she gasped, "I'm just letting you think so."
He smiled. That dark, knowing smile. "So be it."
But deep down, Frederick felt something he hadn't planned for.
Uncertainty.
Because Aria wasn't breaking.
She was matching him—move for move, touch for touch.
And somewhere between the kiss and the bed, he started to wonder:
Who was seducing who?
---
The Hidden Recording
Later that night, when her body curled against his and his breathing slowed, Aria's fingers slipped into her coat.
She pulled out a small silver flash drive.
The hidden recording device had captured every word.
She uploaded the file to a secure drive.
Labeled it:
FREDERICK: EVIDENCE — Layer 1.
Then she looked down at him—his chest bare, his face calm in sleep.
He was beautiful. Wickedly so.
But beauty was always the first weapon.
She leaned down and kissed his neck softly.
Then whispered,
> "Let's see how you like being the patient, Doctor."
Dr. Frederick awoke with the warmth of Aria's body still lingering in the sheets and a ghost of her perfume in the air. Musky, spiced… intoxicating.
But she was gone.
Not a trace.
No lipstick on the glass. No strands of hair on the pillow.
Only silence—and the subtle, gnawing feeling that he had underestimated her.
That thought irritated him. He wasn't the type to let anyone slip through the cracks, much less a woman who came into his life uninvited and played by rules she wrote on the fly.
He ran a hand through his hair, then stood. The mirror still fogged at the edges from their night before. The room held heat, and tension, and memories.
Frederick went to his desk, where he kept patient notes and private files encrypted behind multiple layers of security. He was paranoid for good reason.
But when he booted up his system, he noticed something strange.
A slight delay.
A glitch.
The last file opened?
Recording Feed – Internal Audio Room 3.
His blood turned to ice.
He had cameras, yes—but they were strictly for documentation, blackmail insurance when needed. They were not supposed to show activity unless he activated them.
And he hadn't touched them in days.
He clicked on the file.
It opened to sound.
And the sound was unmistakable.
> "You think I'm cracking.
But you forget, Doctor… sometimes, the ones who fall fastest are the ones who pull the trigger on the way down."
His voice followed.
So did the kisses.
Every moan, every whispered threat, every false promise.
It was all there.
His fists clenched.
She'd used him.
No—played him.
Frederick was used to being in control. But now, the game had flipped. And the worst part?
He liked it.
---
✦ Scene: Her Game
Meanwhile, Aria sat in a sleek café downtown, her laptop open in front of her. She wore a simple turtleneck and jeans, but heads still turned.
Not because of what she wore—but because of who she was becoming.
She wasn't just another woman Dr. Frederick seduced.
She was the first to slip past his defenses and collect proof.
The drive in her pocket contained more than just audio. She'd broken into his archive system last night—downloaded files, patient notes, altered his backups.
She was building a case.
Not for the law.
No—Frederick was too slippery for that.
This was for her justice. Her own brand.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from a private number:
UNKNOWN: You were playing with fire. Now you're going to burn.
She smiled slowly.
ARIA: Then light the match, Doctor.
---
✦ Scene: Frederick's Spiral
Back at the clinic, Frederick stared into the mirror with dead eyes.
Aria had done something worse than betray him.
She made him feel.
Lust was something he controlled.
Desire was something he used.
But need?
That was foreign.
And now it was poisoning his judgment.
He needed to reassert power.
Dominate.
Own her in every way.
His next patient—a quiet, shy woman named Clara—walked in just as he was shutting the file.
He turned, mask back on, smile painted perfectly.
But this time… the touch was colder.
The pressure harsher.
He wasn't healing anymore.
He was hunting.
---
✦ Scene: The Warning
Aria returned home that night and found an envelope on her kitchen table.
No name.
No stamp.
Inside, a photo.
It was her.
From behind.
Taken earlier that day as she sat in the café.
Written across the bottom in neat handwriting:
> "You've poked the wolf. Hope you can survive the bite."
She didn't flinch.
Didn't panic.
She simply poured herself a drink, sat by the window, and began drafting her next move.
If Frederick wanted war, he was going to get it.
Because Aria didn't fear wolves.
She trained them.
And then?
She fed them to themselves.