“I knew you’d come back to me, Dr. Andrews.”

The way Ghost addresses me should be a barrier, a professional title that creates formality. But the way it rolls off his tongue is soft. Intimate. Like the brush of fingers over skin. Like he’s reminding me who I am when I’m with him… and who I pretend to be when I’m not.

“It would seem that you know a lot, Ghost. More than you should.”

Like my fucking phone number, for instance.

His smile widens, turning puckish. “I suppose I do. Information is the only thing I have to keep me company. It’s lonely here, and you’re my only friend.”

I roll my eyes. “We are not friends.”

“We could be. You’re not going to ask me for my real name?”

“Do you want to give it to me?”

He grins. “No. No. No.”

“Then why waste time?”

“Why indeed?” His eyes shine with satisfaction, and something devilish. He spreads his powerful thighs as he settles deeper in his chair. “So cold. So distant,” he murmurs. “But I suppose that’s what makes you so good at what you do.”

I put my elbows on the table and steeple my fingers, using this posture to send a message of confidence and control. “I’m not the only one who’s good at what they do. From my understanding, you’ve manipulated someone into giving you certain privileges?” Like a cell phone.

Ghost shakes his head, his smile never wavering, as if we share some private joke. I suppose we do. “Me? Manipulate? Never. I haven’t been given anything that hasn’t been approved by the great state of New York.”

“Then I guess you found other ways to get what you want.”

“Loneliness breeds creativity. One has to be innovative if they want something that’s unattainable, Dr. Andrews.”

I hold his stare while my mind churns. There’s something different in the way he’s looking at me this visit. It’s a subtle shift, minuscule, but I sense it. It’s how his eyes trail over my face as though he’s captivated by every inch of skin, every eyelash, every freckle. It’s intense, unnerving, and… fascinating.

For the first time since I met him, I feel like I’m the one being studied. My insides clench and I instinctively squeeze my thighs together to eradicate the sensation of desire.

I peer at him from behind my steepled fingers. What was once a gesture of self-assurance has now become a shield. Against him and my unwanted attraction. “Have you always been good at getting what you want, even when it’s impossible?”

“Oh, yes,” he purrs, his voice a deep rumble. “Nothing is impossible. Some things just require more patience. More… finesse.”

“Finesse is a decent strategy, but it won’t do you any good with something as immovable as a mountain.”

He laughs softly. “Even a glacier will melt, given time and the right circumstances.”

His reference to me doesn’t go over my head. It’s not the first time Ghost has called me cold and guarded.

“Why me?”

The question I’ve been agonizing over falls from my lips and into the silence between us with the impact of a bomb. I may have detonated it, but I’m not ready for the explosion. For the destruction that follows.

At first, there’s nothing. Then his gaze sharpens, and something flickers behind his eyes—something that feels almost like recognition.

“Because,” he says slowly, his voice soft but deliberate, “you’re just like me.”

I rear back, a mix of anger and denial surging through me. “I’m nothing like you,” I say through clenched teeth.

His smile doesn’t falter. “Oh, but you are, Dr. Andrews. The only difference is that you’re still trying to bury your ghosts, but I invite mine to dinner.”

He’s pushing again, trying to blur the lines between us. The worst part is that the connection I felt while texting him returns with full force. And it’s more than a mere ember. It’s scalding.

He adjusts in his chair. “Once you embrace your ghosts, that’s when real freedom begins. No amount of work, alcohol, or meaningless sex will help you. You can’t outrun them.”

“I—”

“You know, even ice can burn with prolonged exposure. Does your current distraction enjoy the pain you offer? Or has he finally gotten tired of it?”

“You know the rules,” I snap. “No personal information about me.”

Ghost’s smile widens and his eyes gleam with that infuriating calm, completely unbothered by my anger. “Oh, Dr. Andrews, I’m not breaking any rules. I’m simply asking questions. You’re not the only one who wants answers.”

Fury bubbles up inside me, warring with the cold edge of fear. How does he know about Mason? Not that I give a shit about him, but our relationship was never public. Yet here Ghost is, dropping it into conversation like it’s common knowledge.

Like he’s been watching me.

It’s not a stretch to assume that a man who can send me texts from prison would also know the details about my love life.

“For example,” Ghost continues, his relaxed tone at odds with the predatory glint in his eyes, “I want to know when was the last time you felt anything with him, beyond routine? Or what you think he’d say if he saw the real you? The Geneva that I see.”

The truth of his words cuts deep, past the lies. Past the bullshit. I hate that Ghost is right. I hate that every time I’m with Mason, I’m left with a gnawing emptiness, a sense of going through the motions, but never truly feeling anything. It’s predictable and safe. But it’s not what I need. It’s not what I want.

And somehow Ghost knows it.

I clench my fists under the table, my nails digging into my palms. “You don’t get to talk about my life like you understand it.”

“But I do understand it, Dr. Andrews. That’s what terrifies you, isn’t it?”

Ghost’s maddening smirk only deepens, as if he’s savoring every flicker of emotion I’m trying so hard to suppress. For the first time, I’m irritated by the glass between us because I want to smack the shit out of him, to remove that knowing look off his face.

I get to my feet. Even as I’m staring down at him from this position of superiority, Ghost maintains the air of power surrounding him. Once again, he’s the victor of our exchange. But that doesn’t mean I can’t try to take him down a notch.

“Let me tell you what I see.” I lean forward and narrow my gaze. “I see a man who’s trapped. Trapped in his own twisted mind, trapped behind these walls. You think you can manipulate me like I’m a rat in a lab. But you’re the one who’s nothing more than a prisoner, Ghost. A prisoner of your own delusions.”

His smile wavers, a flash of something behind his eyes. At last, I’ve finally gotten to him. It’s a small win, but a win nonetheless. He recovers quickly, his lips curling, almost taunting.

“Is that what you think, Dr. Andrews? That I’m the one trapped?” His voice is maddeningly calm, but there’s an edge to it now, something sinister. “I guess I’ll have to prove you wrong.”

“Don’t waste your time,” I say, keeping my gaze fixed on his. “Don’t contact me anymore—not through legitimate means, and definitely not through your other methods.”

I turn and quickly make my way toward the door. I need to get out, to breathe, to put as much distance between us as I can. But just as I reach for the door handle, his voice slithers through the air, soft and chilling.

“Oh, Dr. Andrews, you should know by now that nothing I do is a waste of time. It just takes others longer to discover the results… or consequences.”

CHAPTER 12

I’ve pissed off Geneva.