Savannah inhaled sharply, narrowing her gaze.
“You’re such a smug asshole,” she gritted out, shifting on her feet, still flushed and aching and desperate for relief.
Chase chuckled, shaking his head, completely unbothered.
Then, the final nail in her coffin:
He leaned in, just enough to brush his lips against her ear, his hands gripping her hips again—
But instead of giving her what she wanted, what she needed, what he damn well knew she was begging for—
He murmured:
“Enjoy your shower, Monroe.”
And then?
He fucking walked away.
Savannah gasped, her entire body betraying her, her legs shaking with need, her breath coming too fast, too uneven, too wrecked for a man who had just abandoned her in this state.
She whipped around, watching as he disappeared down the hallway like he hadn’t just ruined her life.
The sound of silverware clinking in the kitchen only infuriated her further.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered under her breath, running her hands through her hair.
Her pulse hammered, her body still on fire, still aching, still throbbing for him.
She stared at the into the bathroom, then at the empty hallway, then back at the bathroom.
She was going to kill him.
She was going to make him pay.
Game. Fucking. On.
29
Game Over
TheentiretimeSavannahwas in the shower, her mind was racing.
How the hell was she going to get back at Chase for what he just did?
For leaving her like that, desperate, on the edge of complete oblivion—only to walk away and clean the damn kitchen like he hadn’t just fucked her mind?
The arrogance. The cruelty. The absolute nerve.
She had been seconds away from unraveling for him, from falling apart completely, and he had just walked away.
She clenched her jaw, letting the hot water cascade over her, but no amount of heat could burn away the frustration still pooling in her stomach.
No, she needed payback.
And then?
It hit her.
