Sineka had never considered herself thesulking type.
And yet—here she was.
Seated before herunfinished painting, glaring at the canvas like it had personallyoffended her, her brushmotionless, herjaw tight, her entire bodyradiating irritation.
She wason the verge of losing her mind.
All because of him.
The bastard.
The smug,unbothered, utterlyinfuriatingman that wasCrocodile.
Thepainting should have been finished by now.
She hadall the supplies she could ever need—thanks to him. The high-quality oils, the stretched canvas, the custom-ordered pigments. He had given her everything,because of course he had.
Crocodile didn'thalf-assanything.
He tookpridein control. Inowning things.
And right now?
He owned this irritation simmering in her veins.
Herdefeat in his officestill burned, anitch she couldn't scratch, a bruise to her pride that refused to fade.
She hadwanted to seduce him, to tip the scales in her favor, to makehim react, tosteal the upper hand back from him.
Instead?
Instead, he hadlet her play her game—and thenturned the entire board against her.
Theworstpart?
He knew.
He fucking knew.
She could see it in the way hehadn't said a damn thing afterward.
No smug comments. Notaunting remarks. No unnecessarygloating.
Justthat knowing smirk, thatcompletely relaxed arrogance, as if he werehumoring her—as if he had alreadywonbefore she evenset foot in his office.
And that?
Thatpissed her off more than anything.
Sineka dipped her brush into the paint,swirled the deep crimson against the bristles, lifted it toward the canvas—
And thenstopped.
Shecouldn't focus.
Not when the memory of hishands on her thigh, hisbreath against her ear, hislow, dark warning of "Then you'd best be ready to lose"keptplaying over and over in her head like a goddamn curse.
Fuck him.
Sinekahuffed, throwing the brush down onto the easel with a sharpclack, crossing her arms as sheglared at the canvas harder.
She was beingpetty.
She wassulking.
And she hadno idea how to stop.
Crocodile had seenmany thingsin his lifetime.
Wars, betrayals, kingdoms rising and falling.
He had seen thebest and worstof men, hadmastered the art of manipulation, had learned topredict weakness, exploit strength, and bend people to his willwith the simple pull of a thread.
But nothing—nothing—prepared him forthis.
Forher.
For Sineka, seated before herunfinished painting, herplump lips pursed in frustration, herfingers tapping against her arm, hergolden eyes narrowed in irritation—all because she hadlost to him.
And it was the mostirresistible fucking thing he had ever seen.
Because for once—just once—she wasn't trying.
She wasn'tusing her viles, wasn'tplaying her games, wasn'tcalculating every move like a perfectly rehearsed act.
She was simplySineka.
Andthatwas when she was the most dangerous.
Too bad for her—she had no idea.
Crocodile stood in the doorway, silent, watching.
Hisgaze trailed over her, taking in everyunintentional movementthat made his blood run hotter.
The way sheseductively tucked her hair behind her ear, not for anyone's benefit, but simply out ofhabit—a small motion that led herfingers trailing down her jawline, her throat, all the way to her collarbone.
The way she tilted hersexy, delicate neck leftwards, exposingthat damn spot he had wanted to sink his teeth into for days now, completely unaware ofhow sinful she lookedas she lost herself in her own frustration.
The way herbare foot tapped softly against the wooden floor, the silk of her robe slightlyloose, revealing thetempting curve of her shoulder, herlong legs draped over the side of the chair.
She .
And yet, he knew thetruth.
She was still simmering.
Stillburningfrom earlier.
And fuck—so was he.
Thank god she didn't know.
Didn't knowhow much harder she made it for him to keep his patience.
Didn't knowhow many times he had to bite back the urge to pull her into his lap just to see how quickly he could ruin that defiant little pout of hers.
Didn't know that she wasmore tempting now—sulking, irritated, effortlessly sensual—than when she was deliberately trying to seduce him.
And the worst part?
She wasn't even doing it on purpose.
Crocodile took a slow drag from his cigar, exhaling softly.
Then—he smirked.
"What? No progress?"
Sinekastartled, turning sharply, her irritated glare snapping up to meet his.
Crocodile leaned lazily against the doorframe, watching her with thatinfuriating, smug expression, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his face.
Hereyes narrowed.
"Did you come here just to be a nuisance?" she muttered.
Crocodile chuckled, stepping further inside. "I'm simply admiring your dedication. Or rather—your lack of it."
Sinekabristled, crossing her arms, her robe slipping slightly further down her shoulder.
Crocodile's eyesflicked to it briefly.
Then back to her face.
Shescowled, but he could see the way herthroat bobbed, the way herfingers curled against her skin, the way shesqueezed her thighs together ever so slightly.
Oh?
Still sensitive?
Crocodile smirked, stepping closer, his presencecommanding, suffocating, his shadowswallowing hers wholeas he loomed over her chair.
Sinekarefused to shrink back.
That was what he liked about her.
She could bebare, flustered, utterly undone—
And she wouldstill bare her teeth at him.
He reached forward, lazilytrailing his hook along the wooden edge of her easel, his voice dropping to a slow, deliberate purr.
"Tell me, woman—how long are you going to sulk?"
Sineka inhaledsharply, her fingers twitching against her thigh.
Crocodile smirked.
He hadalready won.