I hang up with a smirk, picturing Dominic’s tight expression. For someone so commanding in business, he’s remarkably skittish about acknowledging what happened between us. During the Hunt, with Cora as his shield, he had no problem fucking my ass, exercising that dominance he’s so proud of. I can still feel his grip on my hips, the way he claimed me.
But the moment anyone suggests he might enjoy men outside the context of the Hunt, or worse, that he might enjoy surrendering control himself, he practically breaks out in hives.
Classic Dominic—happy to fuck us, but never to be fucked. As if receiving pleasure somehow diminishes his precious control. I’ve seen the way his eyes linger on Ryder’s body when he thinks no one is watching, the slight tension in his jaw when I stand too close. The hunger is there, buried beneath layers of denial.
He’s built an entire identity around being the man in charge, the one who makes others submit. The idea that he might desire submission himself terrifies him.
I wonder how long his denial can hold against the reality of living with three people who’ve seen the truth beneath the mask. The Hunt stripped us all bare in ways that went beyond physical nakedness.
Dominic can pretend all he wants that the Hunt was an exception, a temporary madness. But now we’re all under one roof, and there’s nowhere to hide from desires that have been unleashed.
32
CORA
One week. I’ve managed to maintain my dignity for seven whole days. Seven dinners of polite conversation. Seven nights of closing my bedroom door firmly behind me, the lock clicking into place like a promise to myself.
Not that they’ve pushed. After what happened at my apartment with Dominic—that raw, angry sex that left us both shaken—they’ve been surprisingly respectful of my space. Liam watches me but keeps his distance. Ryder offers tentative smiles over breakfast but doesn’t press. And Dominic... Dominic simply observes, waiting.
I’m curled up on the massive sectional in the living room, wrapped in the fuzzy throw blanket I brought from my apartment. The television drones on, some mindless reality show I’m not really watching. The penthouse is empty; all three men are at work. These quiet moments have become my sanctuary.
The “Breaking News” banner flashes across the screen, interrupting my thoughts. My stomach drops when my father’s face appears.
Mayor William Pike stands at a podium, American flags strategically positioned behind him. His expression is solemn, righteous—the face that won him three terms.
“Today, I am announcing my candidacy for governor of our great state,” he says, his voice carrying that authoritative tone that always made me flinch at the dinner table.
I sit up straighter, the blanket falling away.
“Our communities face unprecedented moral decay,” he continues, looking directly into the camera. “As governor, I will champion family values and clean up Ravenwood’s corruption at its roots.”
A bitter laugh escapes my lips. Family values. From the man who backhanded me across the kitchen when I dared disagree with him. From the father who treated me like property.
The camera pans to show my stepmother, Addison, standing beside him, her perfect false smile firmly in place. There’s an empty space where I should be—the dutiful daughter completing their picture-perfect family.
“The path ahead requires moral leadership,” my father declares. “Someone who understands traditional family values and isn’t afraid to defend them.”
I grab the remote and turn up the volume, unable to look away from this grotesque performance.
The camera shifts to show my father’s expression hardening, his eyes narrowing as he grips the sides of the podium.
“Let me be specific about the corruption I intend to address,” he continues, voice dropping to that dangerous tone I know all too well. “Men like Dominic Vega, who flout zoning laws and environmental regulations for profit. Men like Liam Hayes, who defend the criminals destroying our communities. Men like Ryder Caldwell, who promote gambling addiction among our vulnerable citizens.”
My breath catches. He’s naming them. Directly. On live television.
“These morally bankrupt elites believe they are above the law,” he says, each word like a hammer striking stone. “They operate in shadows, in places like Purgatory, corrupting the values our city was built upon.”
I reach for my phone with trembling fingers, wondering if they’re watching this, if they know.
“But this crusade is personal for me,” my father says, his voice suddenly softening. Addison steps closer, placing her hand on his arm in practiced sympathy. “As many of you know, my daughter Cora has been... absent from our family in the past week.”
My stomach twists violently.
“These predatory men have systematically isolated my daughter, manipulated her away from her family, her education, her future.” His voice breaks with what anyone else would read as emotion. I recognize it as barely contained rage. “No family should suffer as mine has. No father should have to watch as his child is lured away from everything we’ve built together.”
I press my hand against my mouth, bile rising in my throat.
“As your governor, I will ensure that other young women are protected from such predators. I will ensure that families remain sacred, whole, and protected by the full force of the law.”
