She reaches for a tissue, but I catch her wrist.
"Leave it," I murmur.
“What?” Her breath hitches. Eyes wide, pupils blown.
“I want you to go back out there with my cum dripping from your cunt,” I demand, my voice low, possessive, “as a reminder of who you really belong to.”
A shiver runs through her.
She sucks in a breath as lust flashes through her expression. She smiles, a real one, then rearranges her underwear and pulls her dress back down.
“I should head back out there,” I sigh, my words reluctant, knowing full well I’d rather stay here, with her. “Wait a bit so it’s not too obvious,”
She's so close, and yet I know I need to be smart about this.
Just as I’m about to turn towards the door, the real reason I came here tonight hits me. I stop in my tracks, my steps retracing towards her. I reach into my pocket, pulling out the small phone I bought for her and tucking it carefully into her bra.
"Be careful. Stay strong."
I brush my lips against hers one last time before turning to leave.
Forcing myself not to look back.
36
This Isn’t My Life
Hypothetical Question: Do you think it's more satisfying to know you’ve ruined someone’s life or to have them thankyou for it before you end it all?
Carina
Iquicklyfixmyhair and touch up my makeup as best as I can, my hands trembling as I smooth down my dress. With one last glance in the mirror, I slip out of the bathroom and follow Nate’s retreating figure.
God. Seeing him tonight was like breathing again. I’ve missed him so much it physically hurts. And I told him—I told him I loved him. The words came so easily, like they’d been waiting on the tip of my tongue for weeks. No hesitation, no fear like there was when he first said them to me.
The look in his eyes when he saw the bruises—anger, heartbreak, helplessness—nearly shattered me. I could see it, the way his body tensed, ready to say,“Fuck it”and drag me out of here, consequences be damned. But I couldn’t let him. Not tonight. Not here. It’s too high-profile, too dangerous. We have to wait.
But God, the thought of waiting feels impossible. The rage simmering in my chest is suffocating. I want to kill them both with my bare hands. It takes everything in me not to scream, not to break.
At the end of the hall, Lucian waits, his posture rigid, his dark eyes sharp and unrelenting. My pulse thunders in my ears.
Does he know? Did he see us?
“You were gone a long time,” he says, his voice low and heavy with suspicion. His gaze rakes over me, dissecting, searching for cracks in my composure.
I lower my eyes, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “Sorry,” I mumble, forcing an evenness into my tone. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
He studies me for a moment longer, the weight of his scrutiny suffocating, before he straightens and extends his arm. “Time to go home. The party’s winding down.”
I nod, slipping my hand into the crook of his elbow, the perfect picture of obedience. Time to play my part. To pretend nothing’s changed.
But everything has changed.
Because Nate was here.
Because I told him I loved him.
Because Lucian can never find out.
