"Yes, I am."
"No—"
He turns to look at me, and the expression on his face makes the argument die in my throat. "This is my room. My bed. I'm sleeping in it. You can share it or sleep on the floor yourself. Your choice."
"That's not fair?—"
"Life isn't fair. Deal with it." He stands, stretches. "Now go shower. You have school."
I want to argue. Want to scream at him. Want to do something other than obey like a well-trained pet.
But I also desperately need to get away from him before I do something stupid.
So, I grab my towel and escape to the bathroom, locking the door behind me with shaking hands.
The shower is scalding hot, and I stand under the spray trying to wash away the memory of his hands on me. His voice in my ear. The way my body responded to him despite everything my brain was screaming.
I hate him.
I hate that he's right about me.
I hate that I want him.
By the time I step out, wrapped in a towel, I've gotten myself marginally under control. I can do this. I can get dressed, go to school, and pretend last night never happened.
I open the bathroom door and head for the closet where I hung my work clothes yesterday.
The closet is empty.
Completely empty.
My clothes—all of them—are gone.
"What the hell?" I pull open drawers. Empty. Check the hamper. Empty. Even the dress I wore yesterday is missing.
Panic rises in my chest.
"Dante!" I storm out of the bedroom, towel clutched around me. "DANTE!"
He's not in the room. Not in the hallway.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and call him.
He answers on the second ring. "Miss me already?"
"Where are my clothes?"
"Being disposed of."
The casual way he says it makes me see red. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Your wardrobe was... inadequate. I've arranged for replacements."
"You threw away my clothes?!"
"I had them removed, yes. New ones will arrive this afternoon."
"I need clothes NOW, Dante. I have school!"
