Adelaide presses her hand to her mouth. Constance’s voice drops. “You’re playing with fire.”
I nod, staring at my lap. “I know. And I can’t stop. I think that’s why?—”
Adelaide leans closer, whispering softly. “Summer… he showed up at your house? That’s not just a bar flirtation. That’s—something.”
Constance’s tone cuts like a blade. “It’s a death wish, that’s what it is. Jacob’s got eyes everywhere. He probably already knows Benny’s every move.”
My throat tightens. I’m not sure what hurts more—the fear in their eyes or the way a traitorous heat coils in my stomach when I think about Jacob knowing.
“Jacob is—” I fumble for words. “He’s a monster. But he’s safe. He makes me feel things I can’t explain. And Benny….”
Constance cuts me off. “Benny’s a man who doesn’t know what he’s walking into. He has no idea what Jacob will do if he thinks another guy’s got you feeling like this.”
Her words slice through me, jagged and true. Jacob doesn’t see me—he owns me. The difference feels paper-thin when you’re living inside it.
“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I admit, my voice trembling. “But when Jacob touches me—” The words die in my throat. “Ihatehim,” I whisper instead. “But sometimes… sometimes I want him too. And that terrifies me. That’s why I have to get out. I’m losing myself.”
Adelaide’s face softens. She reaches across the space between us, fingers curling around mine. “Trauma messes with your head. It confuses things. Don’t twist how Jacob makes you feel it into something it isn’t.”
But Constance isn’t as gentle. She leans in. “Listen to me. He’snot complicated. He’s not tragic. He’s not misunderstood. He’s a predator—and you’re the prey. Every time you give in, every time you tell yourself it’s want instead of fear, you let him win. This is why we always kept you away from him—remember?”
I flinch. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Then prove it. Keep your head down. Get through the next few months and get to Blackwood. But if he hurts you again, Summer, I swear to God, I’ll?—”
“You won’t do anything,” Adelaide cuts in, calm but firm. “We’ll get her the hotel like we promised, and we’ll stay for a couple of weeks. We’ve both got vacation time.”
“I’d still love to smack the son of a bitch,” Constance mutters. Then, quieter: “But seriously, Summer—you need to stop questioning your feelings. This isn’t you. You don’t have to obey every rule he sets. Make your own choices.”
For a second, I imagine it—defying him openly, tearing off his hold like chains. But the vision breaks before it can bloom. I can see his face when he finds out. The sting of the belt. The end of his gun. The way he’d strip me down to bone just to make me remember I’m his.
“I can’t,” I breathe. “Not yet.”
Constance’s jaw tightens. She wants to argue, but Adelaide lays a hand on her arm. “Don’t push her. Not now. She needs us, not another lecture.”
The room softens, the tension thinning under Adelaide’s calm. She turns back to me, voice steady. “Summer, whatever you’re feeling—it doesn’t define you. It doesn’t make you weak. It just means you’re surviving.”
Her words land like forgiveness. But guilt claws at me instead. Because surviving doesn’t feel like surviving when part of me aches for the man who breaks me. I look between them—my girls, my anchors—and realize what I’m really afraid of. Not Jacob’s wrath. Not even the men he says he’s protecting me from. I’m afraid of the day I stop fighting him. The day I forget why I ever hated him at all.
“When I get to Blackwood,” I whisper, “things will be different.I’ll have housing. Classes. A future. Neither Jacob nor Jackson will be able to touch me there.”
The words hang between us, fragile as glass.
Constance exhales roughly. “You talk like he’s just going to let you walk out the door. You think Jacob Darnell’s the type to shrug and say, ‘Fair enough, sweetheart, off you go’? He’s obsessed with you. It won’t be that simple.”
Adelaide frowns, gentler. “She knows that, Con. But this is solid. We can pull it off together. Don’t tear it down.”
“I’m not.” Constance’s tone softens when she sees me shrink. “I’m just saying—he’s watching you. Always. You can’t treat this like some fairy tale where you slip away in the night, and he never notices. He will notice. And when he does—” She stops, lips pressed tight.
My chest constricts. Because she’s right. I know she’s right. But the thought of never escaping—never even trying—feels worse than the risk.
“I have to believe it’s possible,” I whisper. “If I don’t, I may as well lie down and call this life mine.”
Adelaide squeezes my hand. Her palm is warm, grounding. “Then that’s what we’ll hold onto. Blackwood. Six months. Until then, we’ll cover for you. Whatever you need.”
The words sting sweet—hope and sorrow tangled together.
Constance studies me, her jaw tight. “Fine. But if you’re serious, you have to be smarter than him. You can’t let him catch even a whiff of doubt. He’ll sniff it out.”
