Hannah sat in the quiet of the room, her lips pursed as she fought to keep her emotions from spilling over.

Was it that obvious? she wondered. Was my love for him written all over my face?

She had spent every waking moment since her marriage telling herself to remain indifferent—to treat Oscar as an ally, a tool for revenge, anything but a husband. She realized now that her conviction was nothing more than a flimsy mask of self-deception. Oscar hadn't just seen through it; he had been waiting for her to realize it herself.

"Hannah, I love you," Oscar said.

It wasn't the first time he’d said it. She remembered that night when he lay in bed, pale and injured from saving her, whispering, "Hannah, I like you." At the time, she had dismissed it as the ramblings of a man in pain. She knew now it had been the absolute truth.

"Is there anything else you want to say?" Oscar asked.

Hannah remained silent, but Oscar didn't push. He had the calm, infuriating confidence of a man who already knew the answer. He didn't need her to say the words yet; he could feel them in the way she looked at him.

"Were you angry tonight?" Hannah asked softly. "Because of what Janet said... that I would give up my virginity to stay alive?"

Oscar’s brow furrowed, a shadow of gloom passing over his handsome features. "I wasn't angry, Hannah. Your life is the only thing that matters. Compared to you breathing, everything else is insignificant. I only care that you survived."

He didn't tell her that on the drive to the warehouse, he had stared into an abyss of a thousand terrifying outcomes. The only one he couldn't survive was her death. If he had found her cold body, he knew he would have lost his mind.

"Life is more important," Hannah whispered, almost to herself. "I don't know why, but even when Janet was mocking me—even when she said you were too far away to help—I just knew you would come. I believed that the only person in this world who could save me would show up."

She said it defensively, as if justifying her actions to him. Oscar reached out and squeezed her hand, his heart aching at the thought of how close he had come to losing her.

"I used extreme methods to buy time," Hannah sighed, her voice dropping. "But the moment they actually moved toward me... I regretted it. I regretted rejecting you before. I thought, why didn't I just give myself to Oscar? I was willing to do it."

Oscar’s expression shifted. He wasn't thinking about her "chasteness"; he was thinking about the sheer terror she must have felt. He reached out, his fingers threading through her silky hair as he cupped her cheek.

"It doesn't matter," he said, his eyes melting into a gentleness that could disarm any woman. "I don't care about 'first times,' Hannah."

"Don't you want to know if they... if they defiled me?"

"I'll know sooner or later," Oscar said bluntly.

Hannah’s eyes twinkled. He wasn't asking for a report; he was telling her that the truth would reveal itself when she was finally ready to give herself to him of her own free will.

She thought of Janet’s warning—that Oscar had a "special someone" in his past, someone he would truly be desperate for. But as she looked at him now, Hannah realized she didn't care. She had loved Charles Sawyer once, and Oscar had his own ghosts. They were even.

Suddenly, driven by a surge of affection she could no longer contain, Hannah draped her arms around Oscar’s neck. The shift in her demeanor was tectonic. Oscar stiffened, his eyes widening in shock as she leaned in.

She kissed him—truly kissed him—with a hunger that mirrored his own. Oscar, who was usually the one in control, found himself drowning in her. He cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer, his pulse racing.

"Ow!" Hannah suddenly cried out, her eyes watering.

Oscar pulled back instantly, his face a mask of panicked concern. "I haven't even touched you yet! Where does it hurt?"

"You... you touched my wounds," Hannah whispered through her tears.

Oscar stared at her, his handsome face clouding over with a mixture of dry resentment and thwarted passion. "Are you playing with me, Hannah?"

"I forgot I was still a patient," she admitted sheepishly.

"I might be tortured to death by you one day," Oscar muttered, releasing his grip. He stood up and rushed into the bathroom, the sound of a cold shower soon drowning out the quiet of the bedroom.

Hannah felt a pang of guilt, but also a strange sense of peace. When Oscar finally emerged and lay on the bed, he kept a deliberate, frustrated distance from her. Usually, he was like a magnet, always trying to pull her closer.

Men, Hannah thought with a small smile. Always thinking with their one track minds.

She turned toward him, her voice a soft caress in the dark. "Oscar? I wasn't violated."

She said it to soothe his restless mind, but her next words were the ones that truly hit home.

"I managed to save my first time... for you."

In the darkness, Oscar smiled. He had heard many beautiful things in his life, but those two words—"for him"—were the most powerful of all. It wasn't about the act; it was about the choice. She had chosen him.