“Did you see his face?” The words come out as a laugh—sharp and brittle and completely devoid of humor. “Thirty years of tough-on-crime speeches. Thirty years of standing on every podium in this city preaching about family values and morality while secretly profiting from the very enterprises he condemned.”
I pause, my fingers digging into the fabric of my dress. “And there I was. Spread out on display like a trophy. Like alesson. Letting three men use me however they wanted while he was forced to watch. While everyone watched. People who watched me grow up. People who’ve attended my father’s campaign fundraisers. People who know exactly who I’m supposed to be.”
My reflection stares back at me from the rain-streaked window—a stranger wearing my face. Chestnut hair tangled and wild. Lips swollen from hours of use. Eyes that look hollow and hungry all at once.
“I broke him,” I whisper. The realization hits me like a physical blow. “Not them. Me. I broke my father more completely than any scandal or investigation ever could.”
And the truly horrifying part? Some twisted, dark piece of me is satisfied by that fact. Because after all those times he hurt me, it’s about fucking time.
“Do you want me to stay with you tonight?”
The question surprises me. I finally turn from the window to look at Mira properly, and I see the tears she’s been holding back glistening in her eyes. There’s genuine concern there and real guilt. She feels responsible for bringing me into this nightmare.
If she only knew the truth—that I walked into that maze willingly. That I signed those contracts knowing full well what they meant. The only mistake I made was underestimating how much I wouldenjoyit.
I nod once, quick and sharp, because I don’t trust my voice to remain steady.
When the taxi pulls up outside my brownstone, we both climb out into the cool night air. Mira hands the driver a twenty and waves off his attempt at change. My hands shake as I fumble with my keys at the lock.
Three times. It takes me three times to get the door open, my fingers trembling so badly I can barely grip the metal. Mira hovers behind me, clearly wanting to help, but something about my rigid posture most likely warns her to keep her distance.
The moment we step inside my apartment, something breaks inside me.
I collapse against the closed door, sliding down until my back strikes the hardwood floor. The sobs escaping me are so devastating, so all-consuming, it seems like they’re ripping fragments of my soul away. My entire form trembles with their force—months of restrained tension, years of buried anger, three days of overwhelming sensation all crashing down simultaneously.
Mira kneels beside me and draws me against her chest. This time, I don’t withdraw. I clutch her dress like a lifeline.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs into my hair repeatedly. “Cora, I’m so sorry.”
I weep harder at her words, my tears dampening the thin material of her dress. But I’m not crying because of her. I’m crying because of the impossible truth I can no longer reject.
“My father,” I gasp between sobs. “Did you see... did you see what I did to him?”
“You didn’t do anything to him,” Mira says fiercely, her arms tightening around me. “This isn’t your fault.”
But it is. It absolutely is. Because Iwantedit. Because in that moment, with all three of them touching me, with my father watching, I was more alive than I’ve ever been in my entire existence.
“I wanted it,” I whisper, the words strangled out as fresh tears run down my cheeks. “In that moment, with all three of them... God help me, Mira, I wanted it. What does that say about me?”
She holds me tighter, and I feel her own tears beginning to fall. “It makes you human.”
I pull back from her embrace, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. My brow furrows as I look at her. She has no idea of the pain and abuse I’ve endured from my father, completely oblivious to it—everyone is except for my three men.
“There’s something wrong with me,” I say flatly. “What kind of woman enjoys three men forcing themselves on her?”
Mira opens her mouth to protest, but I continue before she can speak.
“And all for revenge, too.” I laugh—a bitter, broken sound that bounces off the walls of my apartment. “Dominic told me exactly why they targeted me from the start. Because of my father. Because they wanted to hurt him, and I was conveniently the deepest cut they could make.”
My hands clench into fists in my lap. “I was a weapon. A tool. A means to an end.” I shake my head. “And you know what the sickest part is?” I continue, my voice rising slightly. “I still came apart. Even knowing they were using me as revenge against my dad, I still screamed their names when they made me come. All three of them, at the same time. They didn’t even wantme—they wanted to destroy him. And I let them use me to do it because it felt good.”
I stand abruptly, pacing across the small living room. “I’m nothing. Less than nothing. I’m just a means to the end they want for him.”
“Cora—” Mira reaches for my hand, but I pull away.
“No. Don’t try to make me feel better about this.” I stop in front of the window, my reflection ghostlike in the glass.“There’s no excuse for how my body responded. No justification for how much I wanted it, even after they told me the truth about why they chose me.”
I stare at my reflection—the swollen lips, the marks visible on my neck despite my attempt to cover them with the dress they gave me. Evidence of their ownership is written across my skin.
