I could admit the dude was attractive. Van had that clean-cut, best-friend-next-door charm. Alic (ugh) did the whole I’ll-always-protect-you bit, which I personally foundsoexhausting, but apparently the internet thought it was hot.
Then this guy showed up—tall, elegant, powerful. Even I had to saydamn.
Add to it that he was rich. Now,thatwas the real jackpot.
When his dominant, controlling side kicked in, I couldn’t look away. It made me wonder… what ifhecontrolled how I pleased her? Directed me. Demanded perfection. Like one of those gym class instructors that yelled in your face while you squatted. Even though you hated it, it got results, so you kept pushing.
I imagined it kinda like that. Someone who would push me to be my best.
As long as it was for her, my star, I would do anything.
Hearing her say the wordstop, I immediately snapped my head toward the live feed, muscles coiled, ready to bolt out the door if it looked like she needed me, anonymity be damned.
I watched her closely, searching for any flicker of distress. She took something from Alic’s hand and examined it with a pinched mouth. My breath caught. Was thatmyrose? The one I’d left for her?
How dare he.
My fingers flew across the keyboard. Windows popped open in a flurry of digital chaos, laying bare every piece of dirt I had on him. I just needed to decide what to nail him with. Maybe the time he worked as a bodyguard for a fae royal back in Faerie? The same royal who ended up brutally murdered.
Yeah, that would throw him into self-destruction if she learned that. She probably wouldn’t care since it had nothing to do with her family or the Syndicate, but that wasn’t the point. The point was thathewould care. He would care a whole hell of a lot.
I was preparing to package it all up and drop it into her inbox when her voice sliced through my concentration.
“I’m sorry for hiding it from you.”
No.
I jerked my gaze back to the screen. She was holding his hands, looking up at him with remorse in her eyes.Remorse.What the hell didshehave to be sorry for? He was the one pushing too far, always pushing. That was his thing, crossing lines all while pretending it was noble.
All my destructive plans crumbled before my eyes. Lolling my head to the side, the end of my mouth turned down as I jabbed at the delete button.
She touched his face first, gently, the kind of touch that saidkiss me. I saw the tension ripple through his body, his muscles tightening, throat bobbing with a gulp, and then…nothing.
He just kept talking, too focused on the stalker to appreciate what was happening.
“Holy fuck, you’re a moron!” I shouted at the screen, tempted to rip it off the desk. I wanted to throttle him, choke him out so he didn't keep making the same mistakes, but let’s be real, even both hands wouldn't fit around that thick neck holding up his gorilla head.
I dragged my palms down my face, trying but failing not to spiral out.
Keeping my eyes on the screen, everything unfolded just how I thought it would. He rejected her. Softly. Politely. Predictably.
And there she was, my bright star that shined like a thousand suns, swallowing her pain with a brittle smile, brushing it off like it didn’t pierce right through her. Like it didn’t matter.
Spitting curses under my breath, I scrolled my mouse and cranked the volume on the recorded sex video. I leaned back, letting the sounds of her moans fill the room, needing to hear herpleasureto keep myself from marching down there and smashing his face in.
Out of all the men around her, he pissed me off the most.
That voice in my head yanked me back to reality.You can’t throw stones when you’ve been an idiot, too.
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping the darkness behind my lids would dull the ache building in my chest. I tried to shut it all out, my guilt, my rage, my need, but the ache bloomed into a sharp, twisting pain that started in my gut and spread like fire.
Wait, this isn't my normal self-loathing.
Before I had a moment to register that thought, pain ran up and down my body again. It felt like something was inside me, branding me with molten iron. Then it clicked, and I knew what to do.
I needed my medicine because this wasn’t just normal pain. This was my punishment for failing her. For not being there when she needed me. This pain meant something, and it was slowly killing me.
My hands flailed blindly, eyes cracking open just enough to spot the second drawer handle. I yanked it open and felt around forthe bottle as my breath hitched. My fingers trembled, fumbling, desperate.
