“And youlovedit,” he breathes into my ear, the words dripping with satisfaction. “You’re welcome.”
The room feels like it’s closing in on me, the walls shrinking as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the reality of his presence so close to me. But there’s no escaping it. I can still feel him there, his breath brushing against my cheek, his body so close it’s suffocating. A tear slips from the corner of my eye, and I bite my cheek to keep from sobbing. I feel the slow, deliberate path the tear takes as it travels down my face and reaches my jawline.
I flinch when I feel his finger brush the tear away, the touch intimate and invasive. It sends a fresh wave of revulsion through me. He hasn’t stepped back, hasn’t given me even a sliver of space to breathe. I’m shaking now, but I force myself to stay still, to show as little of my fear as possible.
I’m not convinced I’m safe.I don’t feel safe.But I’m also not convinced he has any immediate plans to hurt me physically. There’s a terrifying ambiguity in the way he’s behaving, like he’s playing a game with rules only he knows. But knowing now that he’s not actually married—that he’s been lying about every part of himself—puts everything in a different light. It changes the stakes. He has nothing to lose if this affair comes to light. Nothing.
But me?I have everything to lose.
The realization falls hard around me. My marriage, my family, my life—everything could crumble because of this.
I thought I was in a bad place before showing up here, but after the awful decisions I’ve made these last few weeks, I have sunk to a new low. I haven’t just reached rock bottom—I’ve burrowed myself through the rock and am now sinking into the earth’s mantle, on my way to the core. Down, down, down I fall.
In the midst of my spiraling thoughts, it comes to me. A title for this book.Woman Down. Because that’s what I am. How I feel. Itperfectly describes the trajectory of my life, which will more than likely mirror Reya’s. If I survive this, that is. The book may never get finished because I have no idea if I’m safe or doomed right now.
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat painful as I force myself to meet his gaze. I can’t tell if he’s enjoying the power he holds over me or if he’s as lost in this twisted fantasy as I am.
“Are you going to tell my husband?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper, the question heavy with fear. It’s the one thing that could ruin me completely, destroy everything I’ve worked so hard to protect. If he tells Shephard, it’s all over.
He looks almost offended by the question, his brow furrowing as if the very idea is beneath him. “Do you really think I’d do that to you?” His voice is sharp, almost angry, as if he can’t believe I would even suggest it. But I can’t trust him. Not anymore.
“I have no idea what you’re capable of,” I say quietly, the truth of my words hitting me hard. I don’t know who this man is.
He’s quiet while his eyes trace every inch of my face as if he’s trying to memorize it, trying to burn this moment into his mind. His gaze lingers on my mouth, his lips parting slightly, and for a brief second, I’m reminded of his taste. I want to spit the taste out. I want to delete it from my memory. I want every reminder of his touch and his mouth gone from my mind completely.
Saint leans forward, just a little, and brings his hand up to touch my trembling bottom lip with his fingers, the gesture almost tender. It’s as if he’s longing to kiss me again, a thought I can’t even fathom how he could be having right now.
“I’m capable of a lot of things,” he says softly, his voice thick with meaning. “But destroying you isn’t one of them.”
But you have.
I’m struggling to maintain control of my reactions, to keep my face neutral, my body still, but I’m beginning to think I might make it out of this cabin alive. I just have to keep my cool.
“Do me a favor, Petra,” he says, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper. “When you finish this book, dedicate it to Saint, because he fucked that story out of you.”
His words hit me like a slap, and I gasp—an instinctual, visceral reaction. But it’s not fear that makes me gasp. No, it’s something much darker, something far more unsettling. I gasp because I shouldn’t be feeling what I’m feeling right now, but my body reacts in the complete opposite way from my mind.
My intellect is screaming at me to protect myself, to run. But my nerves and the warmth building in my stomach are craving the opposite. My body still wants him to touch me, to kiss me, to fuck me.
I hate myself right now. I hate that I feel like two different people, warring over a monster.What is wrong with me?Why can’t I just run? Why can’t I push him away or do something other than stand here, frozen under his gaze?
Quit being stupid, Petra! This isn’t a fucking book.
“I want to leave,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. The words come out shaky, more uncertain than I intended. It’s the truth—Idowant to leave. My mind does, anyway.
He’s still staring at my mouth, his fingers grazing my lips with a touch so light it sends a shiver down my spine. His eyes flick back to mine, locking me in place with a gaze so intense it feels like he’s seeing right through me, like he knows exactly what kind of battle my body is waging against my conscience.
He completely ignores my request, as if I never said it, and instead, without warning, his tongue dives into my mouth with a heat that steals my breath away. The heat blends with my terror in a kiss that is equal parts passion and desperation, and for a moment, I’m stuck in it.
Idon’twant to kiss him back. Idon’twant to give in to the pull of him. But my body betrays me, my lips moving against his as if theyhave a mind of their own. I feel the familiar rush of adrenaline, the desire coursing through me, and it scares me, like I’m not in control of my actions.
Petra, you are smarter than this. Stronger than this.
I press my hands against his chest, pushing him away from me with all the strength I can muster.
As soon as I break contact, he pulls back with a deliberate slowness that feels calculated. He takes a step back, creating a physical gap between us that mirrors the emotional one I’m desperately trying to put in place. For a split second, as our eyes meet, I see something in his gaze that I haven’t seen today—a flash of vulnerability.
It’s almost as if he doesn’t want me to leave. He’s hoping I’ll change my mind, hoping I’ll stay.
